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V0MAN IN SAGRED S0N6. 



A LIBRARY OF 



HYIfNS, RELIGIOUS POEMS p SCORED MUSIC 

BY WOMAN. 



CONTAINING SELECTIONS FROM THE WRITINGS OF MORE THAN SEVEN HUNDRED AUTHORS, INCLUDING 

MUSICAL PRODUCTIONS OF UPWARD OF FIFTY COMPOSERS, ALSO SHORT 

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES OF MANY OF THE WRITERS. 



A REFERENGE BOOK FOR THE LIBRARY AND IN THE HOME. 



COMPILED AND EDITED BJT 

EVA MTJNSON SMITH. 

WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 

FRANCES E. WILLAKD. 




ELEGANTLY II2I2HSTRATEB. 



CHICAGO: 

STANDARD PUBLISHING COMPANY. 

NEW YORK: Martin Garrison & Co. BOSTON: Adams, Putnam & Co. BUFFALO: G. A. Lee & Co. 
ST. LOUIS: Columbia Publishing Co. HARRISBURG, PA.: Pennsylvania Publishing Co. 

1888. 







COPYRIGHTED 

By MRS. EVA MUNSON SMITH, 

1885-1888. 



DEDICATED 

TO THE CHRISTIAN WOMEN 



OF THE 



NINETEENTH CENTURY. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



Portrait, Mrs. Eva Munson Smith. ........ Frontispiece. 

Portrait, Miss Frances E. Willard .......... IX 

Sacred Song ............ 15 

There is a Song Ever New. ........... 38 

The Evening Prayer. ........... 68 

The Christening. . . . . . . . . . , .86 

The Springtime of Life ........... 88 

Portrait, Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe. . . . . . . . . 117 

Portrait, Miss Elizabeth Stuart Phelps. 1 . . . . . . . . 117 

Portrait, Miss Angelina Fuller, now Mrs. G. E. Fischer. ....... 117 

Portrait, Miss Lucy Larcom. . . . . . . . . . . 117 

Portrait, Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney. . . . . . . . . . . 117 

The Appearance of the Blessed, from Dante's Paradise. . . . . . . 154 

Portrait, Mrs. Elizabeth B. Browning. . . . . . . . . . 156 

Portrait, Miss Alice Cary. . . . . . . . , . .156 

Portrait, Mrs. Sara Lippincott, (Grace Greenwood.) ....... 156 

Portrait, Mrs. Felicia Hemans. . . . . ..... 156 

Portrait, Mrs. Lydia H. H. Sigourney . . . . . . . . 156 

Death of the Widow's Daughter . . ..... , . 170 

Cluster of Easter Lilies. . . . . . . . . . .190 

An Easter Hymn. ........... 199 

Little Children Dear. . . . . . . . . . .199 

It is the Soul Shining Through the Face. . . .... . .202 

Trust. . . . . . . . . . . . . .211 

Sorrow and Tears. ........... M4 

O Strength of God. . . . . . . . . . . .247 

Watching and Waiting. . . . . . . . . • • • 2 55 

Bless Thou the Truth. . . . . . . . . . .281 

At the Church Door. ........... 326 

An Eastern School. ............ 33° 

Children of the Mission Bands. ......... 4°° 

The Drunkard's Family. ........... 595 

Portrait, Mrs. Esther T. Housh. ......... 627 

Politeness. " . . . . . . . . . . . . .658 

Home Jewels. . . ......... 672 

Which Would I Spare? 6 74 

Angel Whispers. ............ 6 7 6 

A Letter from Home. ........... 737 

Our Years. . . . . . . . • ... • .779 

Genius. ........••••• s °3 



CONTENTS. 



Editor's Preface » v 

Introduction by Miss Frances E. Willard ix 

Preface to Missionary Department by Mrs. Sarah J. Rhea 365 

Illustrations '. ii 

Index of Authors . <> xi 

" " Tunes xxvii 

" " First Lines xxix 

" " Special Topics xxvi 

I. — Devotional Department 16 

Comprising hymns of Praise, Dedication, Anniversary Occasions, Ordination, Consecration, 
Omnipresence, Thanksgiving, Evening Devotion, Christmas, Christ our Shepherd, Baptism, 
Juvenile Hymns, Communion, Way of Salvation, Easter, Christian Encouragement and 
Enjoyment, Faith, Hope, Trust, Love, God's Discipline of Sorrow, Mystery, Warning, 
Refuge, Invitation, Prayer, Revivals, Transient and Unsatisfactory Nature of Earthly Things, 
Nearing the Celestial City, Departure, Death, Funeral Occasions, Second Coming of Christ. 

II. — Missionary Department 258 

Monthly Meetings, Tributes to and Prayers for our Missionaries, Consecration Songs, 
Readings and Recitations for Young Ladies' Societies, Annual Meetings, Praise Meetings, 
Parlor Entertainments, Mothers' Meetings, Mission Bands, Comfort in Bereavement. 

Home Missions 397 

Social Parlor Meetings and Dorcas Societies, Songs and Recitations for Mission Bands, 
Children's Day, Christmas and New Year's, Young Ladies' Societies. 

III. — Temperance Department 450 

Weekly Gospel Temperance Meetings, Consecration Praise Meetings, Maternal Associa- 
tions, Annual Meetings, Home Protection, Crusade Songs, Sabbath Gospel Temperance Meet- 
ings, Reform Club Meetings, Invitation to Sign the Pledge, Signing the Pledge, Invitation to 
Accept Christ, Warning, Repentance, Accepting Christ, After Conversion, Jesus our Refuge 
and Defence, Parlor Meetings and Entertainments, Christmas, New Year's, The Ruin Rum 
hath Wrought, Hope for the Fallen, Encouragement for the Toiling Ones, Tributes to our 
Women, Crossing the River, Comfort for the Bereaved, Band of Hope, Cold Water Army 
Songs and Recitations, The Fruit of the Vine. 

IV. — Miscellaneous Department 671 

Motherhood, The Nursery, Lullabys and Mother Songs, Nursery Rhymes, The Children's 
Prayers, Christmas, Bereavement, Tributes to Parents, Songs and Readings for the Fireside, 
Thoughts for Life's Evening Hours, Our Dead. 
Patriotic Poems — The Puritans, The Pilgrims, Poems of the Civil War, Other Lands, Our 
Martyred Dead, Lincoln, Garfield; Poems of Peace, Memorial Day, Longing for Home, 
Grant, etc., etc. 

iii 



PREFACE 



In bringing this volume before the public, the only apology offered is that there has long been a demand for it. 
Not only have the Christian sisterhood, for a considerable length of time, been sending out appeals for some one to under- 
take the work of collecting and publishing the sacred songs of woman ; but numerous members of the devout brother- 
hood, recognizing and appreciating her labor in this line, for the praise and glory of the Master, have united in the 
demand. 

Accordingly, three years ago, the task was undertaken, and it must be confessed, with but a faint realization of the 
vast amount of research necessary to glean from a field the broad extent of which was little imagined. 

Woman in Sacked Song is designed to be chiefly a reference book for the home and library, embracing about 
2,500 hymns, dating from the year 1546 to the present time, and including the sacred verse of upwards of 820 authors. 

With such a wide range, this compilation will necessarily be something akin to a garland of flowers gathered from 
mountain, valley, prairie, roadside and conservatory. Some of the choicest blossoms may be overlooked. Thus among 
so many hymn-writers from the ranks of pious womankind, some of the most worthy may be inadvertently omitted, 
and perchance some pilgrim in search of a favorite hymn or song, may fail to find it in this collection. Another 
reason may be that a great number of hymns written by woman, have been published anonymously, or with the ini- 
tials only, or without the prefix designating sex. Many gems of religious poetry have been purposely omitted, because 
positive information in regard to authorship could not be obtained, though there was every reason to believe that they 
belonged to woman. 

Among such a multitude of authors, it will be quite remarkable if there are no errors in dates and names. The 
utmost care, together with an extensive inquiry, during the past three years, unite to render the work as nearly free 
from misstatement as possible. Should omissions or discrepancies be observed, it will be regarded a favor if notice is 
sent to the editor, together with information as to the omitted data, such as date of birth or death, or any item or inci- 
dent of interest in connection with the author or writing of certain hymns or poems. This request is extended to 
all music publishers, composers and owners of copyright pieces. If anything has been included in this volume for 
which due credit has not been accorded to all concerned, it has been because of ignorance as to the rightful ownership, 
as for instance when the name of the book from which a song or hymn was taken, was not furnished to the editor of ' 
this compilation, by the person sending it. It has been the intention to make mention of every house publishing music 
to these songs of redeeming love, as well as to give the names of the composers; and any information for the correc- 
tion of errors, in future editions, will be gratefully accepted. Caution as to the use of any hymn, poem or musical 
composition which bears the name of any book, publishing house, or composer on the margin, is recommended, as all 
such are copyrighted. 

It is a noticeable fact that there is scarcely a hymn written by woman, that does not make frequent mention of or 
reference to Jesus. Is it any wonder " Has she not abundant reason ? Christ's coming to earth has resulted in her 
exaltation to her proper position by the side of man, where God originally placed her. What has she done In return ? 
Gladly do we point to the Mary who anointed Him with the perfume of gratitude ; to the Marthas who have served Him ; 
to the Priscillas who have taught His precious precepts ; to the Harriet Newells and Emily Judsons, and the many pupils of 



PREFACE. 

the sainted Mary Lyon, who, counting their lives as nothing for His sake, have gone to distant lands to spread the rich 
tidings of His saving love to those sitting in darkness. And now this volume is offered as a token of woman's 
gratitude expressed in song and verse, in praise of her Creator, Benefactor, and Redeemer. 

Deep religious feeling is wont to call for a song, and inspires song; and although all will admit that some of the 
selections in this book rise to the height of true poetic fervor, many are yet very simple and unpretending, but none the 
less touching and sweet. Let us beware of prescribing too narrow limits to what may be considered hymns of a high 
order. Are not those which give testimony from the deepest experiences of the Christian heart, the most worthy, as 
being productive of the most good? Is it riot apparent that the grandest of all, are those which set forth the doctrines 
of grace, the compassion of Jehovah, the condescension of Christ, the power of the Holy Spirit? 

In this volume will be found the ancient hymns. which have been handed down through the past 33S years; 
utterances of faith and trust by martyred woman (as witness that of Anne Askewe, written 1546, in the vernacular of 
those days, followed by those of Madame Guyon, and others), together with the portrayal of the deepest heart and 
soul experiences of other consecrated ones, — hymns now in general use by all evangelical churches in Christendom ; 
then the later productions, written especially for this work, by hymnologists of the present day, which bear just as 
much witness for God, and bespeak equal gratitude for the blessed way of Salvation. These lay hold of the human 
heart, because they are entwined with the sacred experiences of other hearts. They touch and call out all the truest 
and best instincts of the being, because they breathe the very spirit of the Master. This is said without any dispar- 
agement of the productions of Watts, Bonar, Wesley, Heber, and others by devout men, which have stood the test of 
time. The hymns of woman dwell largely upon the suffering on Calvary, and the risen Lord, thereby taking deep hold 
on the heart, understanding and conscience; setting forth that redemption which virtually belongs to all churches in 
every age and clime. It has been the constant aim, that the hymns collected for this volume shall show forth the very 
symbol and might of the holy religion of our Lord and Saviour. In short, it is the glory of this compilation, that it 
teaches the Gospel and true Theology; that its hymns point out the way of Salvation, because they testify of Christ. 

Hymns are characteristic of the times in which they were written. By comparing the hymnology of to-day with 
that of 50, 75 or 100 years ago, it will be noticed that the style has undergone a change, although the same essential 
Christian doctrines are as firmly inculcated. There is an aggressive warfare expressed in these more recent hymns, that 
is indicative of an awakening to the necessity of reform in many directions. Truly, "while man slept the enemy sowed 
tares." Note the difference of sentiment expressed by the singing army of to-day, marching forth to exterminate King 
Alcohol and other potentates of evil with "Rescue the Perishing," etc., etc., and the hymns of those conservative 
days — for instance: 

"My willing soul would stay in such a frame as this 
And sit and sing herself away, to everlasting bliss." 

While it is a happy reflection that many have enjoyed their religion, it cannot be denied that there has been 
entirely too much of the "At ease in Zion" spirit. Our adorable Redeemer, while on earth, set the example of going 
about doing good, seeking the lost, casting the money-changers from the Temple ; and his parting commission to his 
disciples was— "Go Ye." While heartily uniting with the grand chorus of singers in "Working will not save me," we 
are inclined to settle down into a narrow groove of thought and action. By faith in Christ alone, and not by works, are 
we redeemed. Works are the results of our having been saved. The fruit of laboring in the vineyard is borne sponta- 
neously, because Christ is in us and working through us. 

WOMAN AS A MUSICAL COMPOSER. 
It was not until a late date that it was decided to include music in this volume. Music was sent with the request 
that it accompany the words, and after due consideration it has been so arranged. But the 130 or more pieces by these 
composers, must not be regarded as fully representing woman's work in this field. A few weeks have been entirely 
inadequate to obtain the addresses of our musical writers, and as many well-known pieces are copyrighted by various 
publishing houses, some of them cannot appear in this collection. Still, no one will be ashamed of the 130 productions 
of about fifty composers represented. That which has been accomplished by woman in this direction has been without 
the stimulus of encouragement, but with an irresistible impulse to place upon paper the melodies and harmonies in her 



WOMAN IK SACRED SONG. 

heart and soul, and this too, oftentimes, amid a multiplicity of domestic cares. Madame Schumann took up the golden 
thread of song that had been dropped by her husband, and has carried it on, weaving and interweaving, until his grand 
work has been supplemented by wonderful, rich, harmonious strains, pronounced, by the most eminent critics, fully 
equal to his in excellency. Miss Spindler, author of the famous hymn for piano, "St. Agnes Eve," and other works, 
has also proven that woman can write music. Madame Carreno. who is at present commanding much attention and 
admiration by her heaven-born voice, is a pronounced advocate, and herself a living example, of woman's ability to com- 
pose music of a high order. For years she has written much which is said to rank with that of Beethoven and Mozart. 
Apropos! — It is asserted that last Spring she was in the company of an eminent doctor of music, who remarked, "There 
have been women who were fine writers, poets, painters, and sculptors, but composers not one; and why, if woman pos- 
sesses the genius you say?" "Ah, doctor," responded the artist, "if your assertion were true, one reason would be 
because, where a brother and sister begin to compose, everybody discourages the one and encourages the other. The 
girl is advised to keep to fancy work, more suitable to her sex." Seating herself at the piano, under the pretense of 
offering him a South American composition, she played a hymn, one of those touching, sacred songs without words, 
always so tender and devotional in spirit. Her listener was much pleased. "That is not South American!" exclaimed 
lie. " It might have been composed by any of the best German musicians of the present day! It is an inspiration ! 
Who wrore it?" Turning to him, Madame Carreno replied: "I wrote it." Our authority says she has many others in 
manuscript, just as good. Some day the world may hear them. It is with pride that we can point to our own Mrs. 
Gen. W. S. Hancock, author and editor of the " Church Service and Tune Book," than whom no one writes finer or 
more acceptable music for the Episcopalian service; to Mrs. Clara H. Scott, author of the " Boyal Anthem Book;" to 
Mrs. J. F. Knapp, of Brooklyn, author of the Cantata, " Prince of Peace,'" a lady of wealth, culture and position, who 
sings beautifully, writes much music simply by inspiration, because she must give expression to the melody that rises a 
grateful incense within her; to Miss Hattie E. Sneed. of St Louis (Kirkwood Seminary), whose instrumental arrange- 
ment of "0/(2 Hundred," "Nearer, My God, to Thee," etc., etc., are so much admired. Her setting to music of Ten- 
nyson's "Break! Break! Sea!" is pronounced the most fitting melody yet applied to that grand poem. The same 
is said of Lady Carew's matchless music to " The Bridge." Then there is Lady Scott, Mrs. T. J. Cook, Emma Pitt, 
author and publisher of "Gospel Light," Helen Douglas, Sophia C. Hall, and Miss Lindsay (Mrs. J. W. Bliss), author 
of "Far Away," and many popular songs. 

Vienna Demorest, and Virginia Gabriel, author of "Cleansing Fire*," also occupy high rank as composers. And 
so the list might be extended. If a few weeks of research has brought to light the compositions, that are available, 
of fifty or more ladies, how many more there yet must be at present timidly writing under some nom-de-plume, or using 
their initials only, and many not publishing at all. The next few years, I venture to prophesy, will bring a revela- 
tion, showing that woman has already done much more in musical composition than is generally supposed, and concern- 
ing which this volume will give but a faint idea; a dim foreshadowing of what shall be achieved in the future, when 
she receives the stimulus, born of encouragement, which is her meed. As a late writer has beautifully expressed the 
same idea: — " The triumph of woman in sacred song, is but the prelude to the triumph that awaits her." 

IN" CONCLUSION 

it is hoped that this book will be received as the uttered desire of a multitude of women to bear witness for Christ, "in 
psalms and hymns and spiritual songs." 

Thanks are hereby extended to the various publishers and owners of copyrights, for their kind and generous cour- 
tesy in granting permission to use the same. 

A tribute of affection is tendered my devoted sister, Mrs. E. M. McGaughey, for substantial aid and sympathy, 
during all the progress of this work; to Miss Margaret E. Brooks, my faithful Secretary, to whose intelligent perception 
much is due; and to the hundreds of my Christian sisters who have written especially for this collection, and for whose 
co-operation and words of cheer, they will be held in grateful remembrance here and in eternity. 

EVA MUNSON SMITH, 
(Mrs. G. C. SO 




MISS FRANCES E. WILLARD. 



INTRODUCTION 



Woman always had a great heart. In the sorrowful, unwritten ages of her history she still "loved much." 
Through this beautiful genius of the affections she had kinship closer than any other created being with Him "whose 
nature and whose name is love." Her own development, her own success and glory were not the motive power of 
character, but the happiness of her beloved formed woman's chief ambition. Subtract from the world to-day the sum 
total of "sweetness and light" shed into its heart out of the heart of woman, and a horror of great darkness would 
settle there, to be dispelled by no guiding star of ambition or galaxy of fame. What wonder, then, that when He came 
who was the express image of Eternal Love, his dual nature, outlined upon the background of the Disciples, should 
less clearly depict for us manhood as it is, than womanhood as it might be ? What wonder that above all others she 
was honored by Him, and He, by her beloved ? Forever blessed to every woman must be tbe thought enshrined in 
Elizabeth Barrett Browning's matchless verse : 

"Not she with trait'rous kiss her Saviour stung; 
Not she denied Him with unholy tongue; 
She, while apostles shrank, could danger brave, 
Last at His Cross, and earliest at His grave." 

Song is the universal language. It correlates the poetry of motion with the poetry of thought. No names are 
deathless save those of the world's singers, for they caught the vibration of universal nature, fell into accord with it, 
and repeated in the hungry ear of Humanity the music of the spheres. Whoever weds perfect music unto noblest 
words reaches the acme of expression and soothes the world's heart as no other can. Song is the symbol of perpetual 
gladness. " Somewhere the birds are singing, evermore." Somewhere the heart brims over with a sense of God, His 
beauty and His loveliness, and then we hear Anthems of Creation and Hymns of the Nativity. 

Sacred Song is the highest "sustained note" of Humanity's chorus; its aspiration is supernal and its object 
supreme. As the relation of child to parent is its earliest, its most determinative and sacred, so is our relation to the 
father and mother Soul of the Universe. Whatever expresses this comes from the deepest places of the soul and 
reaches to its highest note of Reason, Love and Worship. " But how shall we love God whom we have not seen, if we 
love not our brother whom we have seen ?" No song of lips or life is Sacred save when it blends the precepts on 
which all the law and prophets hang: The Love of God with Love for all His children. No age has perceived so clearly and 
| felt so tenderly this ruling law of spiritual dynamics as this nineteenth century, which Victor Hugo calls " The 
I Woman's Century." And herein is to be found the explanation: That the great heart-force of the world is now the 
recognized motor of religious and philanthropic work. The highest verbal expression of this new force is our new 
Hymnology. Its prophecy is earliest found in that one tender Hymn of the primitive Church, the "Mater Dolorosa." 
But it has waited long for full expression, and meanwhile the "Dieslrae" has tinctured with portentous undertone 
the literature of sanctuaries. 



X INTRODUCTION. 

Woman in Sacred Song could hardly become a felt force until woman in sacred deeds of public philanthropy 
bad taken her true place. Twilight foreshadowings have gleamed along the centuries, as the chronology of this choice 
volume shows, but the sunshine dates from our own century. Even now it is a Rembrandt gleam rather than a 
Raphael noontide, but one blessedly significant of "more to follow." About fifteen years ago began the movement 
known as the " Women's Foreign Missionary Society," now an established auxiliary in every Christian Church. About 
ten years ago came that whirlwind of the Lord called the " Woman's Crusade," now crystalized into the "Woman's 
Christian Temperance Union," and organized on a non-sectarian basis throughout Christendom. The sacred fire that 
burns on these twin altars has flamed into many a priceless song, of which this volume gives the fullest collection yet 
offered to the public. In looking over "Gospel (Good News) Songs," one cannot fail to note that their bright era is 
contemporary with woman as a song writer. "I need Thee every hour;" "O, Prodigal Child, come Home;" "Just 
as I am, without one plea;" " Saviour, like a Shepherd lead us;" "Rescue the Perishing, Care for the Dying;" — all 
these sweet songs, and a score besides, equally well known, have come to us warm from the heart of woman. Indeed, 
it is not too much to say that to her we owe the chief Gospel hymn of our own era, Elizabeth Clephane's "Ninety 
and Nine;" and the great world-hymn, acceptable to Catholic and Protestant, Gentile and Jew, Sarah Flower Adams's 
"Nearer, my God, to Thee." The highest patriotism is inseparable from religion, and the noblest Christian anthem 
of the Republic, its glorious "Battle Hymn," we owe to a woman, Mrs. Julia Ward Howe. Happily its use as an 
incentive in the strife of brothers has been superseded by its rare adaptation to the new anti-slavery war against the 
traffic in strong drink, where North and South march side by side to conquer the greatest foe of Home and native land. 

We are fortunate in the compiler of this unique volume,' because she has not only the rare taste and skill essential 
to a task at once delicate and difficult, but for the reason that her own gifts of music and of song help to enrich the 
work upon which she has bestowed such patient and laborious care. We who share the fruits of her long research can 
by no means rightly estimate the innumerable consultations, immense correspondence, and varied anxieties, to say 
nothing of the study and expense that have resulted in this beautiful volume, whose value is greatly enhanced by its 
double adaptation to the organ and the voice. May its pure, ennobling mission be abundantly fulfilled, and a blessing 
follow it into every home where it is welcomed as a friend. 

FRANCES E. WILLARD. 

Rest Cottage, Evanston, Illinois. 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



A * opposite a hymn, indicates that a sketch or note accompanies it. 



Abdy, Mrs. 
Too Late 515 

Adams, Elise M. 
Prohibition 611 

Adams, Mks. Sakah Flower 

Faith in Divine Goodness 204 

Nearer, my God, to Thee * 304 

Adkins, Alice M. 

Indwelling 52 

Akerman, Mrs. Lucy Evelina 

(Born, Providence, E. I., 1816, 
died 1874.) 
Nothing but leaves 491 

Akers, Mrs. Elizabeth 

(Later, Mrs. Allan.) See "Florence 

Percy." 

Akerstrom, Ullie E. 
Hold Thou my hand 137 

"Alcio. - ' 
Safe, now 593 

Alcott, Louise M. 

My Kingdom 668 

Our Madonna * 719 

Aldrich, Miss S. V. 

Anniversary Hymn 44 

At the Mercy Seat 28 

Buried with Thee 85 

Christmas 77 

Come and help us 266 

Dedication of a Church 42 

Drawing Nearer 146 

Easter Hymn 197 

Faith 213 

Give me that heart of flesh 107 

He is risen 189 

He leadeth 35 

In the battle 34 

Look not upon the wine 500 

Light of the World 197 

Missionary Hymn 266 & 316 

Nearer Home * 147 

Our Offering 41 

Prayer for the Holy Spirit 118 

Rejoicing Hope 208 

Sign the pledge 497 

Submission and Consecration 294 

The Messenger 251 

To do Thy will, O God 294 

Alexander, Mrs. Cecil Frances 

Be pitiful, O God 126 

Christ's Eeturn 195 

Crucifying afresh 96 

Day by day, we magnify Thee. . . 270 

Souls in heathen darkness 278 

The Bleeding Hand * 509 

The Soul's desire 31 

Touched with a feeling, &c 241 

Who died to save us 188 

Allen, Mrs. E. A. C. 
Home-Brewed Beer 564 

Allen, Zella 
Lost 722 

Allerton, Mrs. Ellen P. 

Philosophy 823 

Woman's Work 320 

Ames, Mrs. Mary Clemmer 
See, "Clemmer." 

Anderson, Miss Maria F. 
Home Missions 404 

Anderson, Mrs. Galusha, Wife of 

Rev. Dr. Anderson, of Chicago Educa- 



tional Institution. 
Prayer for Missions 262 

Angier, Mrs. Annie Lanman 

The Mount 550 

Via Crucis, Via Lucis. . ., 178 

Armstrong, Lena 

God's Providence 239 

Arnold, Eunice S. 
Touch it never 663 

Askewe, Anne 
The Fight of Faith * 212 

Atkinson, Mary E. 
The Unfinished Cathedral 850 

Atjber, Miss Harriet 

Bright was the guiding star 81 

From Everlasting 36 

God's watchful care 403 

Sweet is the work, O Lord 400 

The Promise 122 

Written 1829. (abridged.) 
The World's Conversion 264 

Austin, Mrs. W. B. 
Prayer for Cleansing 137 

A Young Lady. 
On the Death of Gen. Washington 753 

B. M. E. 

Auctioning off the Baby 682 

B. J. N. 

A Mother's Prayer 472 

Cloud of God's Presence 275 

Babcock, Emma T. 
Let your light so shine 814 

Bailey, Mrs. Urania Locke 

A song for sorrowful women 620 

At the door 525 

At the pool Bethesda 184 

Christ is in the Universe 51 

Christ and the little ones * 686 

Little Willie 710 

Mary 739 

Mary of Magdala 184 

Mother's Song 694 

Out in the Wilderness 182 

Out of the night 206 

Saint Stephen 554 

The Lord's Day cometh * 38 

The Saviour to the sorrowful soul 247 

The Slave Mother * 398 

The Unseen Guard 575 

The Unseen Kingdom 567 

The Young Mother 736 

Valley of the Heartsease 84 

Wished myself among thera 141 

Baker, Ella M. 
Something to do for the King. . . 369 

Baker, Mrs. Lizzie Fermer 
The Singer's Prayer 290 

Baker, Miss Mary Anna 

Are we faithful? 292 

By and By 458 

Hasten, Lord 459 

I'll go 526 & 184 

Lead us, O Shepherd True 281 

Our Prayer 452 

Peace, be still 513 

Slay not thy Saviour 503 

Temperance Battle Hymn 452 

The Power of Prayer 451 

We are coming 453 

Balch, Mrs. Mary E. 
Castle and Cot * 854 



Baldwin, Annie F. 
When the day breaks 618 

Ballard, Mrs. Julia P. 

Author of "Building Stories;" "Seven 

Years from To-Night ;" " A Little Life ;' ' 

"Insect Lives," etc., etc., 
And they also which pierced Him 256 
Communion of the three pastors . 100 

Here and There 149 

Hymn for Church Dedication *. . 44 

Hymn to the Holy Spirit .... 119 

I pass this way but once 778 

I will ransom them 224 

Jem and Velvet 657 

No Idol in the hand, &c 375 

The Body of Christ 96 

The Bishop's Epitaph ■ 594 

The Drunkard's Wife 592 

The Lost Will 603 

The Search 107 

Thy Brother's Blood 512 

What Worshipers are these 319 

World without end 101 

Ballard, Miss Winifred P. 
Hymn on the Passion of our Lord 99 

Bancroft, Mrs. Charitie Lees 
Before the throne of God above . 120 
He comes in blood-stained 

garments • 492 

Oh ! for the robes of whiteness . . 142 

Barbauld, Mrs. Anna Letitla 

An acceptable offering 33 

Awake, my soul ! 113 

Blest is the man 217 

Death of the Righteous 164 

How blest the sacred tie 313 

Praise to God 53 

The Eesurrection of Christ 190 

Trustfulness 33 

Welcome Morn* 32 

Whosoever will 109 

Barber, Mary A. S. 

Make Thy will mine! 526 

Perfect Peace 118 

Barnard, Mrs. H. M. 

The Little Eunaway 697 

Barkuloo, Anna R. 

The happy Christmas Morn 458 

Barnes, Fannie J. 

The Fruit of the Vine 669 

Barnes, Mrs. Maria Burbank 

Williams. (Born 1836, died 1873.) 
See "Kate Cameron." 

Barnett, Ellen C. 

A Prayer * 546 

Hope 870 

The Golden Wedding 723 

Tribute to Frances Willard 622 

Barb, Lillie E. 

Crying for the Moon 686 

Easter 192 

The oldest doll in the world 712 

The two legacies 777 

Barb, Amelia E. 

For Freedom's Sake 775 

Barrett, Elizabeth G. Barber 

At Evening Time, &c 71 

Hymn for the Morning 342 

Bartlett, Miss Susan P. 

An Easter Strain 196 

He Careth, &c 64 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



MyCross. (1882.) 95 

UntoThee 67 

Bates, Charlotte P. 

(Cambridge, Mass.) 
The Praying Band 786 

Bateham, Minnie D. 

His Dwelling-Place * 178 

Undertones" 854 

Bathukst, Lavinia 

Angelus Domini 50 

Baxter, Mks. G. W. 

Come unto me * 102 

My Willie is gone; or, was it only 
a dream? 714 

Baxter, Mrs. Lydia 

Angels rolled the stone away 537 

A starless crown 411 

The angel boatman 392 

The bright hills of glory 153 

The gate ajar for me 180 

The Name of Jesus 319 

Work and Pray 325 

Baxter, Mrs. Marion B. 

By and By* 151 

Bayard, Miss E. Justin 

See "Mrs. Fulton Cutting." 

Bayley, Mrs. Nelly H. 

If one talent 493 

Beamish, Frances 
Set wholly apart 466 

Beardsley, Ella 

Golden rod 364 

Beauchamp, Mrs. Jenny Bland 

Consecration Hymn 287 

Dedication Hymn * 40 

God's Discipline 388 

In His Temple 28 

Lady Shepherd by the Sea 85 

The Christian Inquirer 220 

Why do you bring Oblations? 183 

Beavers, Mrs. Mary Fletcher 
Hymn of Praise and Prayer 485 

Beers, Mrs. Ethel Lynn 

Baby looking out for me 713 

The Picket Guard * 757 

Weighing the Baby 679 

Bell, Jane Cross 

See "Simpson." 

Bell, Emma J. 
Saved by faith 211 

Bell, Marie 

My Prayer 125 

Bennett, Lucy A. 

All for Jesus 303 

Bennett, Julia M. 
A cup of cold water 617 

Benson, Mary A. 

Garfield is dead 762 

Best, Flora L. 

Oh! 'tis glory in my soul 179 

Eing, ring the bells 199 

Bidwell, Mrs. F. H. 

Poor little Blossom 658 

Bigelow, Mary 
Sheltered 695 

Bird, Isabella L. 

Follow Me 108 

Blackmar, Matilda A. 
Ragnar's Daughters 560 

Blank, Anna 
One by One 637 

Bleecker, Mrs. Anna Eliza 

Jesus Christ, regard my anguish. 130 
Return to Tomhawick * 130 



Blinn, Mrs. Lucy M. 
Thy will be done 191 

Bolton, Fanny 

As I have loved you 560 

A true story, &c 666 

Frow it down 659 

The Little Old Church 830 

Bolton, Sarah T. 

Awake to effort 615 

Left on the Battlefield 756 

Motherless 729 

Bolton, Mrs. Sarah Knowles 

Our Poets * 797 

This is life 736 

Waiting for Mother 730 

Bonar, Mrs. Catherine J. 
(Born 1808, died 1884. ) 
Jesus is mine 121 

Booth, Mary M. C. 
O Beautiful Friend 870 

Borthwick, Miss Jane 

Christian Union 319 

God calling yet 109 

Our Life and Guide 35 

Submission 132 

Your lamps trimmed 270 

Bowles, Mrs. H. P. 
For God and Home, &c 455 

Bowley, Mary P. 
Significance of Baptism 85 

Boyce, Mrs. M. V. 
Two scenes in a life 593 

Boynton, Anna (Mrs. Averill.) 

Born Alton, Me., 1843. Resides 
in Dover. 
Before Dawn 610 

Bradley, Mrs. Nellie H. 
Father's a drunkard and mother 

is dead * 600 

Save the Boys , 581 

Bradley, Mary E. 
The Song in the Dark 796 

Bradford, Mrs. N. K. 

Over the Lsie 182 

Bradstreet, Mrs. Anna 
Contemplation * ... 51 

Brainard, Mary G. 

He knows 203 

My Mother's Prayer 331 

Braman, Josephine 

Thine is the Power 435 

Bradenburg, Louisa Henrietta, 
Electress of, 

JesuiTiein Zuversicht 122 

Jesus Lives * 198 

Jesus my Redeemer lives 192 

Brant, Mrs. David 
Only Waiting* 176 

Breese, Carrie A. 
Morning and Evening Prayer 548 

Bridges, Mrs. Frances E. 
Our Father and our Friend 42 

Briggs, Caroline A. 

Waking 563 

Bronte, Charlotte (Mrs. Nicholls) 
(Born 1816, died 1855.) 

Life* 82S 

Oppressed with sin 553 

Brooks, Mary E. 
Oh ! weep not for the dead * 170 

Brown, Achsa Mills 

Joy in Heaven 223 

Let your light so shine 222 

The unsatisfying nature of earth. 145 



Brown, Emma Alice (Mrs. E. A. 
Bevar. ) 
Measuring the Baby * 712 

Brown, Mrs. Helen E. 

From day to day * 215 

Katy's Pledge 652 

My Morning Hymn 287 

My Precious Bible 203 

The Right Way 645 

Waiting 290 

Brown, Jessie H. 
Assurance 209 

Brown, Mrs. Phcebe Hinsdale 

Communion in Love 35 

How sweet the lay 32 

Retirement * 124 

Revive thy work Ill 

Brown, Sylvia 
Thanksgiving 58 

Browne, Mary Frank 
Into the light 231 

Browning, Mrs. Elizabeth Barrett 

Comfort* 580 

De Profundis 787 

How sure it is 96 

Sleep 174 

The Cry of the Children 596 

Work 442 

Browning, Miss Ophelia 
("Phelia" or "Felie.") 

Amen * 860 

Praying without ceasing 860 

Brotherton, Alice Williams 

The Empty Hands 292 

Brotherton, Frances E. W. 

Which could I spare? 674 

Bruce, Helen 
The Sick Child 673 

Buchanan, Sarah 
Faith 812 

Buck, Mrs. Mary K. 

If I could know 7£6 

Morning and Night 875 

Buell, Harriet E. 
The child of a King 271 

Bugbee, Mrs. Emily J. 
Battle Hymn of the Crusade ... 484 

Church of God awake 317 

Help 482 

Bugbey, Miss Carrie E. 

Our unforgotten Dead 774 

Bunce, Mrs. M. 
Patient and pure 211 

Burnham, Anna F. 

Crumbs 94 

Growing 684 

Her Angel 689 

His Way 239 

Burnside, Miss Helen 

Tired (for contralto) 169 

Tired (for soprano) 747 

Burr, Mrs. Kate Sumner 
(Walworth, N. Y.) 

Heaven 155 

Up, Friends of Jesus 313 

Work and Pray 402 

Burr, Mary A. 
Daily strength for daily duties. . . 613 

Burton, Mrs. A. E. 
Whosoever loveth me 579 

Bush, Isabella 
The beautiful 454 

Bushnell, Louisa 

The new Day 567 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Butleb, Miss Nelly H. 

Christmas Hymn * 79 

Harvest Time 56 

Butts, Mrs. M. F. 

Christmas 76 

Christmas Giving 422 

Home Mission Hymn 406 

Not here and yet not lost 391 

Trust 300 

Buxton, Ida M. 
What we need 656 

"C." 
At the Piano 825 

"C. C." 
Lines on Gen. Grant 767 

C, Kathebine 
The ruin rum hath wrought-. 600 

Cambridge, Ada 
The Temple of Christ * 42 

CAMEBON, MBS. CfiABLES 

See the King desired for Ages . . . 253 

Camebon, Kate. 

(Mrs. B. W.Barnes.) 

Consecration 616 

In time of trial 240 

The foolish virgin 437 

The Land of Eden 160 

We're nearer Home 238 

Who will join our army? 648 

Campbell, Augusta Scott 

Bitter Wine * 246 

Motherhood 677 

Trust 835 

Canfield, Mbs. M. C. 
The Elector of Saxony, &c. * 868 

Caeew, Lady Elizabeth 
Forgiveness * 817 

Caer, Laura Garland 
Opinions .' 848 

Carter, Miss 
Baptismal Hymn 86 

Carter, Annie A. 

Gethsemane 96 

Peace, be still 561 

Cart, Alice 

(Born 1820. Died 1871.) 

Her dying Hymn * 156 

Jesus my Master 520 

Mariners 613 

Reconciled 225 

The pure in heart 566 

Gary, Phosbe 

(Born near Cincinnati 1824, 
Died 1871, New York.) 

Death Scene * 174 

Dreams and Realities 784 

My Blessings 54 

Nearer Home * 154 

Thou and 1 785 

Cassell, Marietta A. 
Watch the Boys 656 

Chadwick, Fannie 

Over Life's Sea 221 

The dear old Home * 559 

Charity. 
Go forth among the poor 473 

Chaff a, Lucy M. 
At the Gate 156 

Chambers,Mrs. G. W. 
New America 483 

Chandler, Bessie 
A logical conclusion 699 

Chapin, Mrs. S. F. 
A woman's platform, &c. # 629 



Chapman, Mrs. E. W. 

Look to the light-house 273 

Trust in Jesus 463 

Chauncy, Helen 
Glory yet to be revealed 235 

Charles. Mrs. Elizabeth Rundle 

At Eventide it shall be light 394 

At the foot of the Cross * 390 

Come and see 119 

How doth death speak of our 

beloved? 391 

Salome 474 

The Cruse that faileth not 436 

The way, the truth, the life 869 

The Widow of Nain 197 

Child, Lydia Maria 
The Stream of Life * 861 

Child, Miss Abbie B. 

Light for the Gentiles 260 

Trusting Jesus 260 

While in toil and in weariness. . . 275 

Church, Fanny 
Songs of Faith 204 

Clark, Luella 

After Ascension 194 

Confidence 83 

Easter 193 

Providence 263 

Rest 469 

Supplication 470 

The Name of Jesus 531 

Trust 211 

Clabk, Mrs. R. W. 
As once of old 258 

Clark, Mrs. S. R. Graham 
(Mrs. S. C. Clark.) 
Harvest Home 350 

Clement, Amelia 
What is my mission? 302 

Clemmer, Mrs. Maby 
(Mrs. Hudson.; 

Life Threads 855 

Not dead * 789 

The Childless Mother 720 

The Journalist * 576 

Rest* 828 

Clephane, Miss Elizabeth C. 

The Cross of Jesus 221 

The Ninety and Nine * 535 

Cleveland, Mrs. Cecelia 
No sects in Heaven 805 

Clifton, May 
The cold water army of the Royal 
Army 646 

CODDINGTON, HANNAH 

O tired Heart 851 

Coffin, Eliza J. 

The Saviour's Love 299 

Codnor, Elizabeth 

Even Me, No. 1. * 112 

Even Me, No. 2. * 112 

When can I trust 238 

Colby, Celestia Rice 

The Dear Old Spring 574 

Colby, Maby 

Rifted Clouds 188 

Collins, Mbs. M. A. 

Lo ! a mighty host 797 

Condeb, Joan E. 

Saturday Evening * 66 

Cooke, J. Zitella 

Easter Flowers 798 

Cooke, Mrs. Rose Terry 

Christmas 412 



Flowers 700 

Pane Pictures * , 838 

It is more blessed 435 

Cook, Eliza 
I thank thee, God, for weal or woe 234 
Let not the sun go down upon 

your wrath 126 

Prayer 125 

The Old Arm Chair 726 

Thy Kingdom come * 129 

Cook, Mrs. Belle W. 
Childhood's Home revisited 730 

Cook, Mrs. M. A. W. 
The Lord will provide 208 

Cook, Mrs. T. J. 

Merry, Merry Christmas 74 

Singing all the way 227 

"Coolidge, Susan" 

(Miss Sarah C. Woolsey.) 

A miduight Carol 177 

Arise and shine, &c. * 538 

Early taken 791 

Eighteen 710 

Forgiveness 126 

Here and There 391 

How shall I pray? 131 

Like the strong mountains . . 831 

The Vision and- the Knock 441 

When 230 

Cooper, Mrs. Alexander 
We are coming 647 

Cooper, Mrs. Sarah B. 
'Twas a vision beaitific * 836 

"Cora." 
After the Toil 274 

Cousin, Mrs. Anne Ross 

Immanuel's Land 158 

None but Christ 121 

Substitution 182 

Cowper, Miss Frances M. 
Deliverance is at hand 224 

Cowan, Jessie 
The wail of a Mormon wife* 733 

Cox, Mrs. Frances Elizabeth 

All praise and glory 37 

Wake, the welcome day, &c 318 

Coyne, Maggie A. 
Baby Alta 684 

Craik, Mrs. Dinah Maria Mulock 
(See Dinah Mulock.) 

Craig, Miss 

Until He comes 253 

Cramer, Mrs. M. A. M. 

Hymn to the Cross * 492 

Renunciation 549 

Crane, J. Miriam 
(ne'e Havergal.) 
On the Church and Rectory, &c. . 736 
To my father 726 

Crawford, Alice Arnold 
O seed time * 447 

Crewdson, Mrs. Jane Fox 

Joy in sorrow 240 

Thanks for all 233 

Crooks, Mrs. Sarah B. 
Pastor and People 42 

Crosby, Fanny- 

(See Van Alstyne.) 

Cbozier,Mrs. M. P. A. 

Home at last 637 

Only a little while 157 

Crocker, Mary G. 
Is it well? 78* 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Cummings, Annie 

'Tis Jesus, only Jesus 540 

Who is ready? 405 

Cumings, Elizabeth 

Mrs. Rev. Geo. R. Pierce, 
Terre Haute, Ind. 
Martha 359 

Cutts, Mary 

Lo ! I am with you, &c 846 

Solomon's Prayer *..... 81S 

Cutting, Mrs. Fulton 
A funeral chant for the old year * 423 

Curby, Lily M. 
Renunciation 843 

Dana, Mrs. Mary S. B. 

Flee as a bird. 105 

Pass under the Rod 722 

Pilgrimage 140 

Sparkling and bright 497 

Dale, Ella (Fanny J. Crosby.) 

Star of my only hope 225 

Dare, Ella. 

Not only these 574 

The need of the hour 570 

Davjs, Addie F. 
Maternity 673 

Davison. Mrs. A. L. 

Prayer for purity of heart 115 

Davies, Mrs. Asenath Woodbury 

The Potter and the Clay 403 

Victory * 533 

Dawson, Mrs. M. P. 
Eighteen Hundred and Eighty- 
five 772 

1. For Decoration Day 772 

2. In Meinoriam 773 

Day, Beth 

The Old Maid 807 

Day, Martha 

Father Almighty 135 

The boundless Universe . * 37 

Day, Susan M. 

Lord, help me waich 549 

Deck, Mary Jane 

The wanderer no more will roam. 181 

De Fleury, Marie 

Adoration 139 

Come, Saints, let us join 316 

De Geer, Mrs. M. E. 

Grandma's baby, sweet Irene 698 

Demarest. Mary Lee 

My Ain Countree * 151 

Deming, Anna 
God's care 562 

Denison, Mrs. Mary A. 
The Children's Prayer 700 

Denton, Clara J. 

Traces 835 

Dickinson, Ltllie 
Only a little dewdrop * 667 

Dickinson, Mary Lowe 

As a little child * 510 

As one his mother comforteth. . . 618 

Biddy Flynn's reason why 654 

He maketh all things new 533 

If we had but a day 780 

If thy right hand offend thee. . . . 812 

In His coming 253 

The Easter Guest 198 

The Lord is Risen 198 

The Old and the New 586 

The Old and the New Crusade. . . 644 
The Woman's Crusade 641 



Dietreich, Mrs. . Helen 

Another reaper gone * 

Dingle, Mrs. M. E. 
He'll guide me still 547 

Dingwall, Mary- R. D. 

A Spring Refrain 

Johnny's piece 

Dober, Mrs. Ann S. 
Panting for purity 

Dodd, M. A. H. 
The Dreamer * 

Dodge, Mrs- Mary Mapes. 

The two mysteries * 782 

Dodge, Mary- B. 
Bitter Sweet 493 

Dodge, Mary E. 
Easter Offerings 195 

Dolliver, Clara G. 
Ten Little Toes 

Dorr, Mrs. Julia C. R. 

Day-break 190 

Not mine 370 

Peace 234 

Somewhere . 581 

The Painter's Prayer ; 833 

"Dot." 
Those little shoes 

Doudney, Sarah 

At Rest 173 

My Confidence 490 

Douglass, Marianne 

The Church and her foe. . 113 

Dougherty, Mrs. Dr. 
The Church at Cornith 368 

Dowd, Emma C, 

Day and Night 363 

Downing, Mrs. Emma F. 

Invocation 403 

Living waters 402 

Drake, Mrs. Maria Upham 

Wife of Prof. J. M. E. Drake, Mass. 

Misunderstood 875 

The women of the South 624 

Dreeme, Cecil 

Be with my mouth 405 

Tell me the secret 103 

Driscoll, Miss Fanny 
(See White.) 

Dryden, Mrs. M. A. 
Lovest thou me more than these? 216 

Dubois, Mrs. H. A. 
The drunkard's prayer 534 

Duncan, Mary Lundee 

Early dreams 171 

Imaginations * 171 

Jesus, Gentle Shepherd * 700 

The Redeemed in Heaven 170 

Dunham, Lydia M. 

"To-day's Bugle Call." 483 

Dunn, J uli a Mills 

Be thou with me 465 

The Woman of Canaan 882 

Dye, Eva L. Emery 
The Sixty Thousand 453 

Eager. Cora M. 
The Ruined Merchant 732 

Eastman, Sophie E. 

April 15, 1865 761 

Eddy, Alice Maude 

A t Evening 846 

The Baby's Prayer 701 

Edgett, Mrs. H. Roscoe 

Cup of Peril 599 

The power of His presence 368 



Edmonds, Mrs. Amanda A. 

Departure 161 

When is the time to die? * 779 

Elgan, Nettie A. 

Jesus is King 337 

Ellet, Mrs. Elizabeth F. 

Abide with us * 97 

Elliott, Mrs. Charlotte 

Clinging to Christ 205 

Come to Me, No. 1 206 

Come to Me, No. 2 24? 

Invitation 10& 

It is 1 173 

Just as I am * 138 

Let me be with thee 128 

O holy Saviour! Friend Unseen . 205 
O Thou the contrite sinner's 

Friend 12S 

The Hour of Prayer 125 

The young believer's prayer 135 

The throne of Grace 6S 

Thy will be done 116 

Wert thou thoughtless led away? 240 

Elliot, Emily S. 

Room for thee 181 

Elliot, Mrs. Julia Anne 
Bright sacred morn * 38 

"Elsie." 

(See Mrs. E. C. Green.) 

Ellsworth, Bertha H. 
Work 442 

Ellsworth, Mrs. E. C. 

The golden scepter 512 

There'll be joy by and by 389 

(Used by per.) 

Embury, Mrs. Emma C. 

The Night cometh * 377 

Emery, Eva L. 

(See "Dye.") 

Ervin, Anna 
For what do I live? 653 

Eytinge, Margaret 

TheDayofdays 794 

Evans, Mrs. Rev. D. W. 

(nee Eliza Spare, died about 1883.) 
Thy Kingdom Come 436 

Eve, Miss Maria L. 

Conquered at last * 763 

In the Vestibule 210 

Mexico 367 

Naught overhead 210 

The Golden City 155 

The Foolish Virgins 252 

In Memoriam 785 

Everett, Abby Newhall 

All I leave, to follow Thee 202 

Saviour Divine 52] 

Everett, M. E. H. 
The Two Martyrs 555 

Eytinge, Margaret 

What she is now 624 

F. S. E. 

Pray for us 277 

Fancher, Fannie Lindsley 
Submission * 133 

Farningham, Marianne 
( See Hearn. ) 

Faucett, Mrs. W. 

The gift of song 824 

The vanished stars 827 

Fearing, Lilian Blanch 
To a star 206 

Ferris, Mrs. L. D. W. 
Calling! Calling! do we hear?... 514 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 









Devotion to temperance work. . . 4S1 1 
Divine Love, as Peace and Wealth 

and Rest 270 

God*s Presence 401 

Invocation 260 

Prayer for the Holy Spirit's 

presence 451 

Temperance Prayer and Hymn. . 490 

Field, Mrs. J. C. 
The touch of a Life 844 

Field, Mrs. Mary H. 

Christus Cousolator * 363 

Motherhood - - 673 

Fitch, Miss Martha M. 

Come to Christ 505 

Soul Longing 114 

Flemming, Miss Lucy Randolph 

As thy days ... 875 

We seek a city 145 

Fletcher, Mrs. L. B. 
Home Mission Poem 

Fletcher, Miss 
Charity 

Flowerdew, Mrs. Alice 
Fountain of Mercy * 

Follen, Mrs. Eliza L. 

To whom shall we go? * 

How sweet to be allowed to pray 

Folsom, Miss Annis R. 
Peace 

Foote, Hattie M. 
The Beautiful Land 

Ford, Mary A. 
A hundred years from now 

Forrester, Fanny 
(See Judson. ) 

Fox, Mrs. E. F. 
Saviour, I come to Thee 

Fox, Miss Hattie A. 
Now I lay me down to sleep 

Frazier, L. Virginia 
1861—1865 

Frazier, Mrs. M. M- 

Dedication Hymn 

Invocation 

French. Mrs. L. Virginia 
(Mrs. Smith.) 
The Palmetto and the Pine. * . . 

Frye, Miss E. F. 
The great grandmother's burial. 

Fry, Caroline (Mrs. Wilson.; 
For what shall I praise Thee? . . . 
Grace of God * 

Fuller, Miss Angelina 

A plea 

Ask me not to drink 

A song of exultation 340 

A Soliloquy 879 

A strange Half Century * 878 

Help the drunkard to reform 604 

Nothing is lost 414 

Our Friend 394 

Parents' treasures 708 

Reflections after reading the 41st 

Psalm 123 

Shall we? 265 

Suggestions 708 

The blind deaf mute 879 

The One Name 183 

The pleasant glass 648 

The value of a soul 835 

The voyage of life '. 577 

The whiskey jug's revelation.... 648 
To a Hebrew deaf mute 



;,<; 



23i i 



77S 



7G5 



131 



721 



i 



To Mary on her wedding day 746 

When I shall be satisfied 390 

Woman's Mission, &c 738 

Furber, Aurilla (Bornl847. ) 

Forward March ! 4S8 

He cometh 266 

Keep me secure 547 

Need 468 

Roll on, Temperance Tide 570 

Taking the blue ribbon 501 

Ye are my witnesses 383 

Gardner, Miss Ella J. 
The Open Door 554 

Gale, Martha Tyler 
Prayer for workers 454 

Gaskell. Mrs. F. C. 

Encouragement to workers 321 

Gates, Mrs. Ellen H. 

Beautiful hands 723 

Home of the soul 143 

If we knew 103 

I will sing for Jesus 228 

The last meeting 789 

The prodigal child 110 

Your mission 399 

Gaylord, Orrie M. 

Home in Heaven 347 

Heavenly foundations 415 

Gerds, Margaret B. 
The Song Message 537 

Gilbert, Isadore C. 
(See Jefferys. ) 

Gilbert, Mrs. Ann Taylor 

God Omnipresent * 52 

Guidance through life 134 

Gill, Julia 
I want to be an angel 700 

GlLMAN, MaRYE. 

The Christian Faith 216 

Gittings, Ella Beeciier 

A Prayer for Christinas Eve 587 

Delaved 872 

The Unrevealed 460 

Glenn, Grace 
Jesus is calling for thee 632 

Glenn, Kate 

Go, bring the wanderers in 453 

The children's day 416 

Glyndon, Howard 

(See Mrs. Searing.) 

Goff. Mrs. H. N. K. i 
To the rescue 612 

Goodat.e, Dora Read 
A working woman 800 

Goodwin, Miss Myra A. 
My place 402 

Goodwin, Mrs. M. M. B. 
The stranger's grave 172 

Goodwin, Mrs. Lavinia S. 

The mortal life 767 

I have kept the faith 461 

Gordon, Miss Anna A. 

After dark, the stars * 563 

Cold Water Army Pledge 645 

Goldenrod 580 

Gordon, Mrs. Dr. S. Anna 

God helping me 500 

He leadeth us, ever 203 

Marching orders 647 

My Word and Honor 501 

Over the silent river * 152 

What are the loves of the Angels? 

Goreh, Miss Ellen Lakeshimi 
My Refuge 



Who will go for us? 278 

Gould, Miss Hannah Flagg 
He holdeth the waters in His 

hand 72 

Hymn of the reapers 57 

Immortality and light 192 

Mary at the Sepulchre 191 

Pilgrim's Way Song 145 

The missionaries' departure 381 

Grant, Mrs. Anne 
Hymn for the sons of the Clergy. 739 

Graves, Mrs. Adelia C. 

He giveth His beloved sleep 631 

John has lost it 568 

Prayer for the New Year. . . / 291 

Thanksgiving Song 53 

The Annunciation * 73 

Why stand ye here idle? 491 

Gray, Louisa 
Looking back 784 

Gray, Mrs. John 
Two hundred years ago 832 

Green, Mrs. Elizabeth C. 

For the shut-in ones 582 

If 461 

It came to pass 460 

Sought out 553 

Standing by the cross of Jesus. . . 461 
The Shadow of the Almighty. ... 546 

Greenwell, Dora 

My Saviour 187 

Repentance 606 

Sweets of woman's life 677 

Gregg, Lucy B. 

Our Gospel 319 

Prayer for conversion of friends . 399 

Griffith, Mrs. Mary L. 
Desert 568 

Griffith, Mrs. Alice McElroy 
(Seepage 812.) 
Jesus, Lord of Light and Life. . . 259 
Spirit Questionings * 789 

Griswold, Hattie Tyng 

Common place 430 

Jesus, Thou divine compassion. . 12S 

On the Heights 852 

The Heritage 739 

The Sower 439 

Thrall 598 

Griswold, Mary E. 
The Master calleth for thee 458 

Griswold, Mrs. S. T. 

(Mrs. W. R.) ("Paulina.") 

Faint yet pursuing 226 

The Maiden's Offering 345 

The morning star 231 

We're going home 322 & 407 

Will you go with me, mother?. . . 93 

Guernsey, Alice M. 

Broidery Work 426 

Jubilate 572 

Question and answer 420 

A song of trust 882 

Gunn, Katie 
The Unchained Monster 587 

Guyon, Madame Jeanne 

Marie Bovier De La Mothe. 

A Prisoner's Song 229 

Contentment No. 1 (as originally 

written) * 228 

Contentment No. 2 (abridged) . . . 229 
Resignation 229 

Haeselbarth, Mary K. 
| The legend of the aspen 422 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



"Hagae." 
My Saviour and 1 783 

Hale, Mrs. Saeah Josepha 

Child's Morning Prayer 701 

Iron* 352 

Is China our Neighbor? 320 

The Light of Home 734 

The Watcher 711 

Hall, Anna W. 
Prayer for Submission 131 

Hall, Mrs. ElvinaM. 

All to Christ I owe 537 

Hammond, Alice Cora 

In memoriam 640 

Hamilton, Mrs. Kate W. 

Watching for the morning 392 

Hanaford, Rev. Phebe A. 

Cast thy bread upon the waters . . 264 

Easter Hymn * 195 

Shall we who trust 86 

The truth makes free 313 

Hankey, Miss Catherine 

The story of the Cross 509 

I love to tell the story 398 

White as snow 523 

Hakbert, Elizabeth Boynton 

A New America 482 

Injustice 801 

Hardy, Mrs. Mary Eable 
Missionary Hymn 277 

Harland, Marian 

(See Mrs. Mary V. Terhune.) 

Harper, Mrs. Frances E. W. 

Nothing and Something * 651 

Save the boys 592 

Harrington, Kate 

Iowa to Illinois, Greeting 561 

Prohibition ! 609 

Harris, Mrs. C. M. 

The living bread * / 42S 

Harrison, Jennie 

Life's changes 821 

Hartough, Mrs. S. M. 

Lines 466 

Hartsough, Mrs. I. M. 

A sound of battle in the land 453 

Oh, to be ready 136 

The Lord's Prayer 492 

The Demon Alcohol * 595 

Havergal, Cecilia 

A Christmas Hymn 80 

A little while Ill 

Harvest Hymn 55 

Praise Note for 1881 300 

Self* 185 

Havergal, Miss Maria V. G. 
At eveningtime it shall be light * 71 

Hush me! 784 

Thy faithfulness 228 

To the memory of Birdie 716 

Havergal, Miss Frances Ridley 

Accepted 537 

A New Year's promise 290 

Another year is dawning 290 

Ascension Hymn 261 

A Worker's Prayer * 280 

Bringing all to Jesus 525 

Consecration 312 

Consecration 280 

From Glory to Glory 312 

Gratitude 312 

Have you not a word for Jesus? . 268 

He knows 503 

I know I love thee 288 



In the way He shall choose 466 

Is it for me, dear Saviour 551 

Jesus, I will trust Thee 527 

Need of Jesus 547 

Nothing to pay 506 

Not your own 114 

Now 507 

On the Lord's side 649 

Precious blood 179 

Rejoice with Jesus Christ to-day. 33S 

Sans Christ 181 

Set apart 115 

Seulement pour Toi 127 

Stillness 858 

Tell it out! 310 

Tiny Tokens 856 

The secret, of a happy day 299 

Thou art coming 251 

To Thee 223 

True hearted, whole hearted 286 

True, service 294 

Under His Shadow * 98 

Venez 127 

Watch and Pray 482 

What hast Thou done for me?. . . 505 
Who will take care of me? 681 

Hawks, Mrs. Annie Sherwood 
I am the Lord's and He is mine. 295 

I need Thee every hour 404 

Wholly Thine 294 

Hollet, Marietta 
The Unseen City 149 

Hayeraft, Margaret 
Be patient 559 

Hazard, Caroline 
Fallow ground 862 

Hearn, Mrs. Marianne Faen- 
ingham 

A boy's hymn 655 

A summons to service 426 

He hath borne our griefs 858 

Lost names 345 

Nearer to Thee 293 

The last hymn 862 

The morning psalm 618 

Thou hast made Summer 36 

Waiting and watching for me . . . 151 

Heath, Addie E. 
Dedicated to 672 

Heath, Mrs. Clara B. 

Christ the Helper 212 

God is Love. (By per) 32 

Love Divine 120 

Hemans,Mrs. Felecia Dorothea 

A Dirge 631 

Evening Prayer to the Virgin ... 68 
Father, who in the olive shade . . 637 
Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers. . 750 

Lowly and solemn be 173 

Memoria 637 

Night hymn at sea 72 

O Thou before whose radiant 

shrine 131 

Song of Emigration 751 

The hour of prayer * 130 

The messenger bird 165 

Heney, Miss Maey 
Miriam * 826 

Henry, Mrs. S. M. I. 
Be still and know that I am God. 101 

Christ's cup 465 

Dedication Hymn * 473 

Father, we come to Thee 243 

Father, whose love divine 293 



Hymn for a flag raising 758 

Look to the Cross 276 

My shells 717 

Only in part 620 

Rise! Temple, Rise! 474 

The coming of the Sabbath 37 

The Day of Emancipation 759 

The Harp of the Sea 763 

The Temperance Doxology 474 

Worship, or God in nature 801 

Herbeet, Annie 

We shall know * 105 

When they go silently 170 

Hernaman, Olaudia'F. 

Christmas Hymn 81 

Hewitt, Mary Stratton 
Inconsistency 835 

"H. H." (See Jackson) 

Hickox, Eliza M. 
What if ? 580 

Hinsdale, Mrs. G. W. 

An open door 175 

Complete in Him 183 

Hitchcock, Mrs. J. 
Oppressed by sin 522 

Hobart, Mrs. Saeah D. 

Alone 833 

Knighted 746 

Hodge, Mrs. M. E. 
Home protection hymn 481 

Hogaeth, Mrs. 

Give them now 821 

Never grow old 783 

HOLBEOOK, FLOEENCE M. 

Abraham Lincoln 760 

"Holm Saxe." 

Draxy's Hymn 882 

The Love of God 678 

HOLDEN, MAEIETTA 

Trusting 471 

Holmes, Gracie 
In Memoriam * 709 

Holyoke, Maria B. 

The Singer's Apology 853 

Hooker, Hon. J. 
The Women Founders of New 
England * 750 

Horr, Grace H. 
Where are we drifting? 512 

Hopkins, F. E. (For little Goldie.) 
A smile from Heaven * 709 

Hopkins, Louisa Parsons 

Consolation 713 

Easter Lilies 190 

Elohim * 27 

Faith 672 

Hymn of motherhood 672 

My nursling 673 

Nasturtiums 772 

The Hail Mary 672 

The lullaby. . 695 

The tender love of God 110 

Witness of the Spirit 296 

Woman's Work 829 

Hotchkiss, Miss Ella A. 
(Hazel Wylde.) 

Charity 218 

Doxology 279 

Easter Day 194 

God's Promises 531 

His Name be praised * 37 

Pearls and Diamonds 218 

Supplication 130 

The Saviour's Cross 185 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Housh, Mes. Esther T. 

Comradeship 627 

Sunset 883 

The Alpine Flower. 823 

The angel whisper 675 

The Banner and the Cross 626 

Will God know me when 683 

Woman' s Golden Hour 628 

Howard, Mrs. Anna Holyoke 

Alone 247 

A new day 274 

By and by 320 

Christ stilling the tempest 211 

Create in me a clean heart, O. . .. 305 

Dear Saviour, help us 134 

I sleep, but my heart waketh 217 

It is I, be not afraid 66 

Lo ! I am with you al way 549 

Ministering Spirits 395 

Not alone 612 

No more pain 637 

Rejoice! rejoice, believer! 222 

Teach me Thy way 86 

The sure Refuge * 548 

The way of the Cross 395 

Trust and rest 245 

Trust and wait 463 

Wait on the Lord 451 

Howard, Caroline A. 
Vale! 162 

Howard, Hattie. 
Day of Rest 39 

Howe, Mrs. Caroline Dana. 
Author of "Ashes for Flame." 

Angels broke the seal 403 

Hymn of rejoicing 530 

In the day of trouble * 547 

The one Life * 847 

Howe, Julia Ward 
Battle Hymn of the Republic *. . 758 

Our Country 755 

Our Orders 755 

The mystery of life 103 

Howitt, Mary 

Christmas Carol 459 

Rejoicing in Heaven 175 

Hubbell, Miss Mary 
Death * 175 

Hull, Amelia M. 
There is life for a look 180 

Hundley, Mrs. E. D. 
The sword of the Lord and of 

Gideon 487 

Hungary, Mary (Queen of.) 

A prayer 213 

Hudson, Mrs. 

See Clemmer, Mary. 

Hunt, Helen 

"H. H." See "Jackson." 

Hunt, Mrs. Anna Sargent 
Doubling the mission dollar 346 

Hunter, Elinor A. 

Christ's patience 575 

My lesson 779 

Hunting, Maria 
The fountain of life 510 

Huntington, Lady Selina 

The last beam* 72 

When Thou, my righteous Judge 254 

Hyde, Mrs. Ann Bradley 

Gospel invitation 511 

Love Divine 113 

They are thine 87 

Holliday, Miss G. Y. 



(Missionary to Persia.) 

As I have loved you * 374 

Oh, take me nearer to Him 369 

H , Margaret 

Night bringeth counsel 613 

Ingelow, Miss Jean 

Comfort in the night * 874 

Seven times six * 719 

Seven times seven 720 

Jackson. Mrs. Helen Hunt 

A blind spinner 809 

Falter who may 612 

My legacy 808 

Not as I will 466 

Onlyabit of lace 801 

The victor of patience * 809 

The penny ye meant to gi'e 334 

James. Maria 
Good Friday * 188 

James, Mrs. Mary D. 

Consecration 470 

Count the mercies 232 

My all for Jesus 292 

Jeffery, Mrs. Isadore Gilbert 

Behold he prayeth 814 

Blight and bloom 576 

Dei Gratia 196 

God's discipline 238 

Harvest Song 58 

Hidden paths 855 

In peace 767 

Set apart 824 

Show me the Father 513 

Siste Viator 67 

Sympathy 217 

The Old and the New 802 

Thy will be done* 133 

Jennings, Alice C. 

Counsel 614 

Spilt water * 605 

The bitter waters sweetened 577 

The first inspiration of Columbus 570 
Twelve years of silence 858 

Jewett, Mrs. C. 
An old picture 730 

Jones, Maria W. 

A woman's hand 623 

For others' sake 625 

Jones, Mrs. Harriet 
It is I ; be not afraid 241 

Johnson, Mrs. Elizabeth 
The Rock that is higher 549 

Johnson, Hannah More 

Other sheep I have 350 

The disciple's privilege 344 

Comfort 871 

Johnson, Mrs. James Gibson 
Wife of Congregational minister, 

New London, Conn. 
Come 526 

Johnson, Mrs. Kate H. 

(Mrs. Dr. Herrick J.) 

Faultless 505 

In the night 164 

In the name of God we will setup 

our banners 314 

In vision 485 

Life — a problem 101 

Our Bethlehem 434 

The bride's outfit 355 

The whole wide world for Jesus. 279 

The heavenly secret 362 

Thine eyes shall see the King in 

His beauty 434 



Two cities * , • 148 

The voice in the twilight 736 

Johnston, Miss Julia H. 
(Juniata.) 

A marginal reading 439 

Little things 412 

He shall not fail, nor be discour- 
aged 357 

No interest in the mission cause. . 329 
Plea for the children 330 

Judson, Mrs. Emily Chubbuck 
(Fanny Forrester.) 

Immanuel's Praise 399 

My bird 675 

My mother * '. 384 

Judson, Sarah Boardman 
We part on this green islet * 384 

Keene, Mrs. Luther 
A lesson 437 

Kellogg, Mrs. Electa S. 
Black Hawk's first and last defeat 811 

I would not die early 328 

The moaning harp * 790 

Naomi 857 

What is true patriotism? 756 

Kemble, Frances Anne 
Good heart 808 

Kennedy, Mrs. M. G. 
Idols 330 

Kepley, Ada H. 

"Moege Ihr die Erde Leicht Sein" 784 

Ode for the Fourth of July * 657 

The Golden Wedding 728 

Kermode, Tamer Anne 
As thy day 462 

Kesler, Katie L. 
Go and tell Jesus . . 243 

Kidder, Mrs. M. A. (Born 1820.) 

Christmas Hallelujah 320 

Did you think to pray? * 546 

Forward 456 

Jesus' Jewels 408 

Only now and then 655 

Saviour of men 129 

The Christian's dear Home 394 

The Pose of Sharon 411 

We shall sleep; but not forever. . 633 

Kimball, Miss Harriet McEwen 
(Born 1S34, New Hampshire.) 

Easter 197 

My Faith 296 

Kinney, Miss Elizabeth C. 

Cry of the Church 128 

Desires 523 

First Steps 682 

Longings 142 

Night's canopy over Judea 779 

None but Christ 121 

Kinsella, Nannie 
The to-come of the world 767 

"Kirk, Eleanor." 

(Mrs. E. M. Ames.) 

His Jewels 239 

Dead flowers 819 

KlRKPATRICK, KATHERINE MAY 

How shall I bear my pain? 717 

The cloud 789 

Knapp, Mrs. Joseph 
Up for Jesus, stand 489 

Knowles, Mrs. D. E. 

Oh, send the Bible 337 

Only ask aright 550 

Knowles, Mrs. J. H. 
He has come 535 



INDEX OF A UTHORS. 



Krout, Mary H. 

The Lark; 869 

Lampton, Catherine B. 
His grief 525 

Landon, Mrs. D. 

Am I mv brother's keeper? 603 

With healing in His wings 301 

Landon, Letitia Elizabeth 
(Mrs. Madeau. ) 
( Born in Chelsea, Eng. 1802; 
died, 1S38.) 
Benares * 804 

Landon, Mrs. Jddge. 
A song of hope 803 

Larcom, Miss Lucy 

Children's Easter 199 

My cup runneth over 544 

Sketch of lif?., with selections *'. . 813 
From the mountain top 813 

Larkin, Elizabeth T. 

The march of the Sixty Thousand 589 

Lathburt, Miss Mary A. 

Aspiration 779 

Arise and shine 316 

Used by per. Messrs. Church 
& Co., Cin. 

By Galilee 281 

(By per. Dr. J. H. Vincent.) 

Day is dying 73 

(By permission.) 

In shadow 247 

Open the gates ; 667 

Eesurrection . 187 

The living word * 93 

The prodigal 513 

Waiting 139 

With hooks 104 

Lathrop, Rev. Mary T. 
James A. Garfield 762 

Latimer. L. M. 

Crown Him Lord of all * 382 

Best 232 

Laws, Mrs. Cornie W. 
Six little feet on the fender 730 

Lawson, Elizabeth A. 

Our beacon hymn 478 

Our banner hymn 456 

Lazarus, Emma 
The new Colossus 625 

Leavitt, Mrs. Mary A. 

Crusade rallying song 487 

Echoes from Mt. Olivet 370 

Elisha at Dothan * US 

Giving and growing 425 

October 57 

Eefuge 206 

Sad, benighted souls 379 

Ten years ago 643 

Work and workers 431 

Le Baron, Mrs. Marie 

Faith needs no chart 445 

A-Christmas song 586 

Lee, Orena 
O Thou who hearest 120 

Leeson, Miss Jane E. 

Gracious Saviour 89 

The tender Shepherd 700 

Leigh, Josie 
The Church 444 

Leslie, Mary 
Gathering home* 638 

Lewis, Mrs. H. J. 

A benediction . . 281 



Lewis, Mrs. V. K. 

Are the children safe? 711 

Lindsay, Miss M. 

See Mrs. J. W. Bliss. 
Lindsay, Mrs. L. A. 

The beautiful laud* 158 

I will meet thee 161 

Libby, Annie M. 

Her gifts 627 

Lippincott, Sarah J. 

(Grace Greenwood.) 

The army of reform . . 751 

The story of some bells * 859 

Litchfield, Grace Denio 

Sympathy 683 

Loomis, Mrs. E. S. Eaton 

Via Crucis 538 

Loud. Mrs. Marguerite St. Leon. 

Jesus wept * 171 

Ludlum, Miss J. K. 

Only a bird's nest 605 

Luke, Mrs. Jemima Thompson 

The sweet story of old 91 

Lynch, Miss Anne Charlotte 

The wounded vulture * 562 

Wasted fountains 607 

Lyons, Edith Eddy 

As little children 686 

L . J. 

Work in the Zenana 275 

Maternal Meetings. 

Within these walls 473 

Lord, behold us ! 473 

M , B. 

Charge and encourage them 366 

Over against the treasury 376 

"Mabel." (Sedgewick. Kas. ) 

1 bless Thee, Master! 58 

With one accord 443 

Mace, Mrs. Frances Laughton 

A vigil 781 

Behold ! I am alive f orevermore . 329 

Only waiting * 139 

Wait, children, wait 389 

Mackay, Mrs. Margaret 

Asleep in Jesus 170 

Mackenzie, Helen Mar. 

Home protection 477 

To Mrs. Lucy Webb Hayes 625 

Macritchie. Margaret Scott 

The tapestry workers 357 

Maitland, Miss F. F. 
Oft in sorrow, oft in woe. 400 

Maitland, Mrs. M. A. 

Wait till I get rich 687 

Manson, Annie D. 
The cup of the Lord 669 

Marcy, Mrs. E. E. 

De profundis 238 

Harvest home 54 

Self 616 

Temperance hymn 514 

Mareau, Emma E. 

High upon the cross 278 

Marian. 
The dark shall be made light 777 



Marshall, Maria A. 

Work, not rest 431 

Mar, Helen 

See "Mackenzie." 
Mason, Della M. 

First and last 589 



Mason, Marie 

Merry Christmas bells 77 

Ring, merry, merry bells 74 

Mason, Miss Mary J. 
I give myself to Thee 2S7 

Masters, Mary 

Religion 230 

Matheson, A. 
A song for women 804 

Matthews, Mrs. Elizabeth A. 
Palmer 

All along life's journey 711 

Awakening 862 

Comfort at baby's grave 718 

Consecrated money * 366 

In His keeping 720 

Opening hymn 451 

The ghost of Christmas past 703 

"Maud." 

See Anna Share. 

Maude, Mrs. Mary F. 

Thine forever 85 

Maxson, Mrs. E. 

Christian joys 400 

May, Delia 
Go work in my Vineyard 401 

May, Julia H. 
Changed 781 

"Mayflower." 
Fleeting moments 437 

Mayo, Sarah C. Edgarton 
Be firm 492 

Mayo, Mrs. E. A. 
Memories : the first fire 786 

Mayo, Miss Edith A. 
The life of Christ 358 

Mayo, Mrs. Walter L. 

The day breaketh 353 

The resurrection flower 356 

McAndrew, Mrs. Barbara Miller 

Coming 255 

The Master is so fair 194 

McAfferty, Ella 
A song of thanksgiving. (By per.) 660 

Faithful, O Lord 291 

Go speak in tongues of flame 267 

O Lord, how bounteous 277 

Waiting at the Lord's command. 289 

McAuley, Belle G. 

Bear thy cross cheerfully 465 

Trusting, my cross I bear 469 

McCartee, Mrs. Jessie T. 

How beautiful is sleep . . 744 

The stream in the desert 114 

The heavenly song * 95 

McClure, Mrs. M."B. 

The rainbow 666 

McIntosh, Carrie 

Earth and heaven 503 

McKeever, Abbie C. 

Free grace 273 

McLanathan, Mary L. 
Good Friday 192 

McLeod, Mrs. Georgia Hulse 

Among shadows * 599 

A palm branch 585 

Are the boys safe to-night? 589 

Do something 588 

Empty cradles 706 

Our liege lady 622 

Temperance application of "The 

Blue and the Gray." 565 

From "Southern Gleanings" 345 

Wrecked 45 K 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



McNair, Mrs. W. W. 
Home mission hymn 407 

McNeill, Kate 

Antipas 101 

McVean, Mrs. L. G. 

Easter concert exercise 32S 

Oh ! that the toilers might hear . 331 
The rumseller's remorse 642 

Meigs, Mrs. M. N. 
There's a wonderful tree 412 

Mercur, Mrs. Annie H. 

Christmas carol No. 1 * 7S 

Christmas carol No. 2 78 

Old, ever new sweet story 75 

Perfect trust 530 

The mission of the Magi 80 

Meredith, Julia 

Abide with me 213 

At evening time 572 

Merrick, Mrs. Caroline E. 

God knoweth best 400 

Meriwether, Mrs. Lide 
She sails by the stars 607 

Meters, Mrs. 

See Lucy J. Rider, in music 
index. 

Miles, Mrs. Sarah E. Appleton 

Looking unto Jesus *. - 119 

The hour of darkness. 248 

Thou, God, seest me 53 

Millard, Lydia M. 

A grape 653 

(A riddle from the Swedish.) 

Miller, Mrs. Emily Huntington 

At the King's gate 367 

Because He loved me so 87 

Land of the blessed. 159 

My sood for nothing 697 

Our trust 491 

The baby's christening 694 

The corner-stone 44 

The earthly and heavenly temple * 34 

Miller, Mrs. W. L. 
Christmas morn 77 

Milligan, Miss Alice W. 
A pen for the Master's use 373 

Mills, Abbie 

Are you ready? 154 

Mills," Mrs. Elizabeth 

We'll work till Jesus comes 406 

What must it be to be there?. ... 157 

Mills, Mrs. L. S. 
Cast anchor and wait for the day. 463 

Mitchell. Alice S. 
Tread softly 76S 

Mitchell, Lulu W. 

Christmas 587 

Mitchell, Mrs. Agnes E. 

Bethany 65 

Mitford, Miss Mary Russell 
Rienzi's Address to the Romans. 760 

Monticello, Belle 
Onward 545 

Moore, Augusta 
Invocation 222 

Moore, Ella Maud 
Rock of Ages 780 

Moore, Rachel E. 
Evening prayer 67 

More, Hannah 

And what is death? * 776 

The love of God 400 

Mosher, Minnie 
He careth for you 821 



Moulton, Annie K. 
Faithfully endure 407 

Moulton, Louise Chandler 

The strength of the hills 876 

We lay us down to sleep * 876 

Mow att, Anna Cora 
Mary's charm 880 

Mulock, Dinah Maria 
(Mrs. Craik. ) 

A hero's death 787 

Douglass 793 

Now and afterwards 633 

Philip, my king * 676 

(Written 1851, for the christening 
of Philip Bourke Marston, London. ) 

The river shore 154 

The sower 579 

The unknown country 152 

Mumford, Miss Angelina S. 

Cheerful content * 810 

Murch, Mrs. J. V. 

Christ loveth them that fall 674 

Murry. Charlotte 

Workers together 431 

Murray, Ellen 

Ccelo et Terra 420 

Gordon 759 

Pray for one another 428 

Rise and build 474 

Talitha Cumi 43S 

The little ones 414 

"Myra." 

Bridge building 348 

N , MissL. V. 

River of peace 235 

Nairne, Lady Caroline 

Born 1776, in Perth, Scotland. 
Died 1S45. 

The land o' the Leal 778 

Would ye be young again? * 855 

Nason, Emma H. 

Off for Boy-land 698 

Nassau, Miss Isabella 

A plea for Africa 376 

Ordered in all things 554 

Nate, Mrs. Mary L. 

Temperance rally 478 

Newbury, Fanny E. 

An Easter song 92 

Easter morning 92, 199 

Newcombe, Lydia 

Labor and trust 388 

Newell, Mrs. L. L. 

I have redeemed thee; thou art 

mine 274 

She hath wrought a good work . . 288 

Jesus said "Ye are the light of 

the world." 340 

Nicholson, Mrs. E. J. 
("Pearl Rivers.") 

The good Samaritan 556 

North, Cordelia B. 

Alaska 428 

Norton, Emma R. 

Liberty 650 

Norton, Hon. Mrs. Caroline E. S. 

God's Angels 851 

To the Duchess of Sutherland * . 856 
Nunn, Miss Marianne 

Oh! how he loves! 120 

Oakey, Miss Emily S. 

Sowing the seed. (1850) 512 



Oden, Kate R. 

Faith in Jesus 581 

Fight on, brave heart 605 

Follow thou me 405 

Forgiveness 273 

Ogsbury, Mrs. J. A. 

Fight for prohibition 481 

God bless our temperance band. . 663 

Oliver, Miss Ellen 

A message 107 

Let me go * 141 

Let him alone 511 

Prayer of the wanderer * 124 

Tell of Jesus 318 

Tired 525 

True service ' 540 

Oliver, Rev. Anna 

The cross * 84 

Trust 213 

Opie, Mrs. Amelia 

All Thy works praise Thee 29 

On the death of a mother 174 

On the sea shore * 846 

Orendorf, Mrs. Emma E. 

A foe in the land 497 

Bring flowers * 775 

Children's decoration hymn 661 

Cold water army song 661 

Mustering the boys 644 

W. C. T. U 630 

Osgood, Mrs. Frances Sargent 

Slander* S04 

Owens, Miss Priscilla J. 

Busy gleaners 411 

Gems for His crown 410 

Heralds of Zion 381 

Jesus first 318 

Jesus saves 268 

Sing of His love 337 

'Tis harvest time 271 

Many of the hymns of Miss Owens belong to 
J. J Hood & Co , and other publishers, and cannot 
be used without ber permission, or theirs. 

P , E. C. 

From our sisters comes the wail. 259 

Page, Mrs. M. O. 

Faith 392 

Go bring the Gospel of His Son. . 475 

I am but a little lamb 417 

Is it far, do you think, to the 

Saviour? 516 

I've a joy in my heart 536 

I've no abiding place 307 

Jesus, take me in 519 

The banner of the ( Jross 314 

The voice of Jesus calling 504 

Tried and proved 397 

What is my idol? 517 

Palmer, Elizabeth A. 
See "Matthews." 

Palmer, Mrs. Phoebe 

Beautiful hour 541 

Blessed Bible 495 

Jesus comes 251 

Oh ! sing to the Lord 262 

The cleansing wave 519 

The revelation * 494 

Welcome to glory * 306 

Parker, Mrs. C. A. 

Home missionary hyinn 430 

Parker, Sophia 

Be near me 242 

Parkhill, Neva A. 

*Father, take my hand 503 

*Lord, we would draw near 460 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



*Sof tly the daylight fades 164 

*Used by permission. 

Pabnell, Fanny (Died 1884.) 

Peter's dream 877 

"Paulina." 

See Mrs. S. T. Griswold. 
(Her hymns are used by per.) 

Pearce, Mattie E. 

Consecration 618 

Peck, Ellen O. 
Ring Freedom^ bells ! 765 

"Percy, Florence" 
(Mrs. Allan.) 

After many days 462 

Little feet 684 

Lost treasures 57S 

Rock me to sleep, mother * 726 

Peirson, Eliza O. 
Light on the hills 572 

Pierson, Mrs. Lydia Jane 

Sing on 848 

The Bride of Heaven 722 

Pennefeatiier, Mrs. Catherine 

Not now, my child 141 

Used by permission. 

Perkins, Aura 
In convention 555 

Perkins, Mrs. Sarah M. 

Our Strength and Guide 31 

Perry, Mrs. Carlotta 

Led by the star 423 

No death 779 

Our Easter 578 

The test 604 

The unbidden guest 839 

The work of our hands 443 

Perry, Mrs. Susan T. 

Our mother's sampler 729 

Perry, Nora (Born in Providence, 
R. I., resides in Boston.) 
Wendell Phillips 873 

Peters, Mrs. Mary Bowley 

Wife of Rev. John Me William 

All will be well 211, 532 

Blessed Lord, our souls are long- 
ing 253 

Phelps, Elizabeth Stuabt 

Lava 802 

On the bridge of sighs 796 

The difference * 471 

Phelps, Mrs. L. H. 

A prayer 138 

Phelps, Mrs. Mary Ashmun 
Lines to a young lady on her 

twenty-first birthday 745 

Phillips, Miss Harriet C^ecilia 
(Born 1806, resides in 
Danbury, Conn.) 

Grateful praise 93 

Piatt, Mrs. S. M. B. 

Hail to the son of David 401 

The gift of tears 786 

PlKRCY, JKNET 

Always do right 667 

Pigott, Jean Sophia 

A royal service 583 

Take thine own way 115 

Pitt, Emma (Publisher of 

"Gospel Light," Baltimore.) 
And the light shineth in darkness 387 

Hear our prayer 393 

I can always trust in Jesus 204 

I have friends across the river . . 146 



I heard a mother singing 694 

I'll work for Jesus..' 496 

Sound the praise of Jesus 258 

The tender Shepherd 82 

The unseen hand 201 

Emma Pitt's hymns and music are copyrighted, 
and cannot be used without permission. 

Pollard, Josephine 

Outside the gate 182 

The price of a drink 652 

We'll help the cause along 490 

What have I done? 467 

Pollard, Mrs. Myra 
A Turkish tradition 607 

Pool, Bertha Scranton 
An Easter liiy 199 

Poole, Mrs. Hester M. 

The earth 412 

The temple * 233 

Pope, Mrs. Frances E. 

The Christian's hymn 226 

Post, Mrs. Carrie Lathrop 

God's promises 400 

Good-bye offerings to Missionaries 3S2S 

Guardian angels 170 

Jehovah's dwelling place 28 

May day, 1884 S51 

Prayer for forgiveness and ac- 
ceptance 126 

Sing with glee 321 

Thanksgiving 55 

The Kins in His beauty 159 

The Lord's supper 96 

The rock 863 

The Storm King's lesson 853 

They call me 143 

Power, Harriet 
I will give you rest 465 

POWERSCOURT, LADY 

Affliction 244 

Pratt, Sarah Wilder 

Victor Hugo ' 849 

Watching love 84 

Prentiss,- Mrs. Elizabeth P. 

Closer to me 110 

More love to Thee, O Christ * . . 298 

My gift 70S 

Oh, come to Christ 110 

The mystery of life in Christ *. . 103 
The time is short 619 

Prescott, Mary A. 

What do we bring? 421 

Preston, Mrs. Annie A. 
The widow's dove 464 

Preston, Mrs. Margaret J. 

A bird's ministry 336 

Broidery work ■ 344 

Counting the pennies 332 

Far or near 345 

For love's sake 372 

In the shadow 3S7 

Open immediately 71 

Sanctum Sanctorum 183 

Save the other man 816 

Simon's question 441 

Talitha Cumi 363 



The everlasting yea 

The first Thanksgiving day. 

The four rupees 

The leopard cubs 

The wick of straw 

Ultima Thule * 

Until the end 

What claim have I? 



Willie Wee's grace 

World sickness 

Price, Mrs. Anna L. 

My mistakes , 

Price, Mrs. Laura 

Lord, I believe; help Thou mine 

unbelief 

Priest, Miss Nancie Amelia 
(Mrs. Wakefield, born in 
Royalston, Yt., 1836.) 

Beyond these chilling winds 

Over the river * 

Shall we know each other there?. 
Prince, Sarah O. 

Mother, home and heaven 

Procter, Miss Adelaide Anne 

A lost chord 

I A first sorrow 

Cleansing fires 

Evening hymn 

Judgment 

Maximus 

Old folks 

Our dead 

Per Pacem ad Lucein 

Sowing and reaping 

The sure return 

Will he come? 

Proctor, Edna D. 

I cannot lose 

Puffer, Mrs. Emma L. A. 

One Seed 

Putnam, Mrs. C. H. 

Sound the loud anthem 

Pyper, Mary 

Let me go 

Quinton, Mrs. Amelia Swanson 

A spring song 

I must pray 

R , Mrs. A. E. N. 

Only a girl 

Radcliffe, Annie M. D. 

Deai- ones, angel-crowned 

Radcliffe, Mrs. L. L. 

There is light beyond the hills . . 
Rand, Miss Marion H. 

Sympathy * 

Rains, Helen A. 

The summer night 

Ray, Cordelia 

Lincoln the emancipator 

Rayne, Mrs. M. L. 

Brave Kate Shelley * 

Reasoner, Catherine M. 

Waiting 

Reed, Mrs. C E. 

A Knell 

Reese, Mary B. 

On the shoals 

Requa, Mrs. Harriet Warner 

From a poem on Gordon 

In His footsteps 

Reynolds, Charlotte 

Night-fall 

Rice, Mrs. Caroline L. 

Sunday-school anniversary 

Rice, Mrs. Helen G. 

Thy Kingdom Come 

Rice, Nellie G. 

Thy will be done 

Wishing and praying * 

Rich, Helen 

The robin's funeral 



554 
674 



523 



150 
148 
173 



240 

249 

66 

831 

845 
746 
163 
128 

492 
163 

8S1 

614 

276 

632 

S72 



678 
162 
156 
849 
S51 
761 
S25 
140 
652 
25S 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Richards, Laura E. 
My tree 705 

Richardson, Charlotte 
Comfort in the promises 118 

Richmond, Mrs. E. Y. 
The edicts of the century 797 

Richard, Mrs. E. A. 
Thoughts on baby's hand 687 

Rider, Lucy J. (Mrs. Myers.) 
(Celebrated infant-class 
teacher in Chicago. ) 

Beautiful morning 193 

I was lost, a little lamb 668 

Lord's day song 39 

Singing as we journey . 665 

RlTTENHOUSE, LAURA J. 

One more ■ 5S8 

"Rivers, Pearl," 

(See Mrs. Nicholson.) 

Roberts, Mary P. 
At last 430 

Robinson, Harriet H. 
Myriad voices 483 

Rose, Belle 

When my ship comes in 811 

Rosencrans, Sarah A. 

The passing years 744 

Rosseau, Marie 

The sparrows 421 

Rounds, Mits. Louise S. 

(State evangelist, 111., W. C. T. U.) 
From His heart 713 

Rowe, Elizabeth 
To Thee, O God, my prayer as- 
cends 115 

Rowland, Mary H. 

The Christmas tree 706 

Afterward 209 

Rox, Margaret 
The rift 819 

Rouch, Mrs. Martha 
In memoriam 728 

Runnels, Fanny Huntington 

A sunset thought 873 

At Elberon 761 

To a friend on his marriage morn. 747 

Russing, M. Louise 

His promises 224 

Ruth, Anna L. 

Little Steenie 685 

Sadd, Mrs. J. M. 
The wind-swept harp 863 

Sapford, Mrs. Frances A. 
He giveth His beloved sleep 161 

Sanborn, Flora A. 
Following the cloud 562 

Sanford, Laura 
Guide us to-day 456 

Sangster, Mrs. Margaret E. 

Are the children home? * 732 

Coming nearer .'. 156 

Dear little heads in the pew 92 

Easter 195 

Moth-eaten 442 

Palient with the living 567 

The Crown of Glory 540 

The river 617 

Wayfarers ... 747 

Wild weather outside 737 

Within the veil 146 

Sawyer, Harriet A. 
King Alcohol's soliloquy 592 

Saxon, Elizabeth L. 
The yet to be 627 



Saxon, Isabella A. 
Martyrdom 619 

Scammell, Miss A. G. 

Our failures; His successes 613 

The lightened burden 232 

SCHWARZBURG, AMELIA JULIANA 

(Countess of) 
Hope in death . 208 

Scott, Elizabeth 

Consecration 300 

God of my life 31 

Thy penetrating eye 52 

Unsearchableness 101 

Scott, Mrs. Clara H. 

Oh ! when shall I be free? 386 

Sweet words of Jesus 88 

Scott, Mrs. Julia A. 

My child * 716 

Searing, Mrs. Laura Redden 
("Howard Glyndon.") 

At eventide 543 

The two ( Crosses * 824 

Sells, Mrs. Miles 
A pastor's work 45 

Serviss, Mrs. C. 
Poem for Mission reading. ...... 335 

Servoss, Miss M. E. 

All the way home 221 

Children of light 273 

Daughters of Columbia. 48S 

Dearer than Heaven 253 

For liberty 755 

He careth 215 

Helping by prayer 410 

He will hide me * 215 

How long 573 

In the valley of peace 772 

Land of Liberty 490 

Patiently enduring 248 

Promised land of Glory 157 

Redemption morning 264 

Salvation morning 265 

Shall rum or righteousness rule?. 478 

Shepherd dear 417 

Singing on the way 222 

Sweet rest 235 

Swell the battle-cry 484 

Temperance bells 495 

Temperance light 451 

The Christ child 422 

The gladsome tidings 267 

The inverted glass 500 

The Lord will appear 253 

The new song 38 

The portals of light 192 

The star of hope 491 

The ship Intemperance 493 

The Word Divine 512 

Tremble, King Alcohol f 647 

Waiting for the King 28S 

Waiting for Jesus 410 

What cheer? 393 

What she could 477 

Women of our country * 450 

Why should we be discouraged? . 268 

Severine, Margaret 
Mentone 364 

Sewall, Harriet W. 

Why thus longing? 576 

Shacklock, Mrs. C. L. 

At the threshold 505 

Lift me higher * 226 

Share, Anna (Died 1883.) 

Sweet Sabbath day of peace 38 

t Unto the 3hining kills, 147. 



Sharpe, Mrs. M. E. 
My sheep hear my voice 84 

Shaw, Mrs. Ellen P. 
[n€e Havergal. ) 

I love my Master 289 

Thoughts the night before going 

home after a long absence. . . S32 

Shaw, Miss Frances A. 

Heroes 619 

The bridal gifts S27 

Shekleton, Mary 
It passeth knowledge 101 

Shepherd, Anne Houlditch 
Around the throne of God in 

heaven 90 

Shepherd, Hattie 
Hear the vow we make. .. .' 533 

Sherman, Eliza M. 

(Broad head, Wis.) 

Art thou waiting? 273 

Joyfully with glad hosannas 470 

Joyfully ring out the tidings 99 

The cry of 1 he penitent 523 

The love of Jesus 2!!7 

There's a city bright and golden. 638 

Sherman, Miss Selina 
The Missionary 3S2 

Sherwood, Kate Brownlee 

Andersonville on Memorial Day. 773 

God keep us all from envy 850 

Priscilla, Aquilla, and Paul 300 

Shields, Miss Sarah P. 

God's building 385 

Shipley, Mrs. S. R. 

The royal bridegroom 177 

Shipton, Anna 

Call them in 397 

The last journey 746 

The vigil * 741 

Shoup, Mrs. 
God's roses 354 

I. The famine ... 354 

II. The miracle 354 

III. God's roses 355 

Sigourney, Mrs. Lydia Huntley 

Active effort 403 

Blest Comforter Divine 122 

(Abridged. Written 1834.) 

Communion , . . 94 

Go to thy rest 162 

Onward, onward, men of heaven! 381 

Parting song 50 

The first missionary 349 

The little hand 675 

The prodigal's return 524 

Transformation 786 

True prayer * 30 

Trust in God 205 

When adverse winds and waves 

arise 3S9 

Sill, Kate Y. 
Regret 556 

Simpson, Mrs. Jane Cross Bell 

Crossing the sea 381 

To a young friend 577 

Simpson, Mrs. Bishop 
Passing away 776 

Skinner, Mrs. Edward L. 

God's light and shadows 799 

Slade, Miss Mariana B. 

Gathering home 170 

Slade, Mrs. M. B. C. (See page 709. ) 

A birthday tribute 697 

His banner over me was love .... 419 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Looking for the kingdom 462 

Memorial offerings 418 

Our teacher gone home 161 

Penitence 523 

The summerland of bliss 632 

The trees of the Bible 343 

Welcome to a pastor 45 

What will you give? 335 

Where shall the children find 

Jesus? 415 

Sleight, Mary B. 

Eight o'clock 702 

Recitation for children's day 418 

Take my hand . . 683 

The slighter! guest 869 

Unhindered 835 

Slink, Sarah 

God with us 262 

Immanuel 32 

Sloane, Miss E. McG. 

The trreat conflict 48.3 

Our battle cry 486 

Smith, Mrs. Albert 

See May Riley Smith. 

Smith, Miss Annie Lenthal 
A man of sorrows ard acquainted 

with grief 231 

At evening time it shall be light. 160 

Daybreak' 8S0 

For Jesus' sake 231 

I would draw nigh 35 

Jubilee Poem 429 

Light! Love! Life! 159 

Many things are growing clear. . . 104 

Won Oranis Moriar. . 761 

Silence 210 

Temperance sonnet 599 

The children's song 43 

The peace of the mountains 876 

Two hundred years * 43 

Smith, Mrs. Caroline L. 

My home ■ 744 

Tarry with me 584 

Smith, Miss Charlotte Augusta 
Tyre 361 

Smith, Mrs. Clara 

The temperance wave 480 

Smith, Mrs. Elizabeth Oakes 

At the Cross 240 

Charity in despair of justice* 880 

Unprofitable servants 317 

Smith, Emeline Sherman 
Could we but know 575 

Smith, Mrs. George Clinton 
(n€e Eva F. Munson.) 

Autumn festival hymn 57 

Children's home protection song. 664 

Consecration hymn 469 

Consecration 282 

From Persia's plains 301 

Home protection i3 the watchword 479 

In Memoriam 785 

I will not leave you comfortless. . 633 
Join the Home Protection Army. 608 

Lullaby 690 

Oh, come and sign the pledge to- 
night 498 

Onward, Christian soldiers 214 

Persia 370 

The last command 340 

Smith, Mrs. G. Nelson 

Binding sheaves 429 



Smith, Miss Irene H. 

One of the most active temper- 
ance workers of to-day, 1888, 
Quincy, 111. 

Golden stairs 

Smith, Isadore C. 

My cross 

Smith, Lanta Wilson 
(Parker, Dak.) 

Message of Salvation 

Service 

Trust 

Smith, Miss Lizzie Campbell 

Easter hymn 

Good cheer for Christmas 

Smith, Louise R. 

Ned's suggestion 

Smith, Mrs. M. J. 

Cling to the Bible 

The beautiful city 

The treasures of earth 

We'll go home, by and by 

Will there be a robe for ine? 

Smith, Mrs. Mattie Pearson 

A child's psalm 

Always ready 

Captain "No" 

Entire consecration 

Go forth to battle 

Invocation 

Is rum to be king? 

Little children, pray 

Pray without ceasing 

When we are old enough to vote 
(By permission D. C. Cook.) 

Why?* 

Smith, Mrs. May Riley 

Compensation 

His name shall be in their fore- 
heads 

If we knew 

In prison 

Tired mothers * 

To my mother 

Smith, Mrs. Sarah Louisa P. 

I would never kneel 

The fall of Warsaw * 

Snell, Eliza. Carroll 

A tale of long ago 

Snell, Mrs. Jennie F. 

Sweet incense of prayer* 

The Christian armor 

The beautiful gate 

Who shall roll the stone away? . . 

Snodgrass, Margaret W. (Mrs. 

Rev. Frazier. Lake Forest, 111. 

Cheery be 

Faithful in little things 

Jesus Christ shall come again . . . 

Under the shadow of Thy wings * 
Snow, Sophia R. 

Annie's and Willie's prayer 

Southey, Mrs. Caroline B. 

Calvary * 

Life and death 

Mariner's hymn 

Sanctified afflici ions 

The infant's removal 

Spalding, Susan Marr 

Dear hands 

Spaulding, Mrs. Anna Marie 

He's coming 

Prayer * 

The rings of hair 



Spear, Jennie 
The scholar and the echo 666 

Spear, Urina B. 
Hands 849 

Spencer, Mrs. S. W. 
De/ir little hands 707 

"Speranza." 

See Mrs. E. R. Wilde. 

Spofford, Harriet Prescott. 

At Christmas tide * 794 

What is that last dread breath, to 

die?* 161 

Springer, Mrs. Rebecca Rutter 
Waiting 3S5 

Sproat, Miss Eliza L. 

The mother and child * 743 

The prisoner's child 5S2 

Spurgeon, Maude 
The sweetest song 109 

Spurlock, Phoebe 

Oh! see them now marching! .... 409 

Stansbury, Mary A. P. 

Altar lilies * 798 

Aspiration 1 33 

David Holloway , 586 

How he saved St. Michael's 870 

Signals 559 

Starkweather, Amelia M. 

Our nation : 564 

Starrett, Helen E. 

Silver wedding of Rev. and Mrs. 

F. B. Doe 727 

The hyacinth 837 

Starrett, Susan C. 
Three times the same words 539 

Steele. Miss Anne 

Adoption 132 

Awake, awake the sacred song *. 27 

Christ, all in all 116 

Christian warfare 530 

Christ's Intercession 189 

Come, thou desire of all Thy 

saints 99 

Come, weary souls 1 09-C02 

Comfort in bereavement 630 

Constancy of Christ 123 

Coronation 28 

Divine compassion 225 

Eternity 134 

Gratitude 31 

Heavenly aspirations 1 14 

Heaven on earth 29 

His witnesses 35 

" Humble devotion * 298 

Immortal mind Ill 

Invitation 108 

More like Jesus 2^1 

Penitence 1 13 

Prayer for forgiveness 524 

Prayer for purity 524 

Preparation for heaven 219 

Providence 104 

Refuge 123 

Renouncing the world 116 

Resignation 116 

Safe in Thy care 72 

Spring 33 

The mercy-seat 131 

The name 121 

The sacred Word 33 

The wounds of sin 178 

Where Jesus reigns 33 

Steele, Mrs. Harriet B. 

Children's hymn 91 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



His love 33 

Stockton, Mrs. M. 

Wondrous love ISO 

Stone, Miss M. K. A. 

A good-night prayer 700 

A lullaby 695 

Storks, Miss Ellen M. 
(DiedlS85.) 

God helping me 500 

Head of I he church * 95 

The heart upon the throne 567 

Stowe, Mrs. Harriet Beecher 

Abide in ine and I in you * 117 

Knocking, knocking, who is there? 107 

Mary at the cross 673 

Psalm cxxxix 53 

Only a year 721 

Stoddard, Edith J. 

Question and answer 5S0 

Stkaub, Maria (Chicago, 111.) 

Do His will '. 548 

Christ healeth me 510 

Our country 756 

Street, Mrs. J. 

Oh! speak to me, dear Jesus 534 

Strong, Miss 

Independence ode 754 

Stuart, Fannie 

Eeconciliation 242 

Stuart, Mary (Queen of Scots. ) 
A prayer * 817 

St. George, Cassie 
Wrecks 593 

Stuxtz, Mrs. L. E. R. 
Rejoice, ye saints 211 

Sweet, Miss Ada C. 
The garden * 727 

Taft, Maria L. 
Praise to Him who huilt the hills. 66S 

Tatum, Elizabeth L. 

The boy who saved his country. . 656 

Taylor, Miss E. 

Come to the house of prayer 174 

Taylor. Mrs. Frank 

Trust 206 

Taylor, Miss Georgiana M. 

A daily desire * 90 

A heart melody 207 

Closer to Thee 2112 

Communion 1 00 

For Jesus' sake * 297 

Oh! to be nothing! 279 

Onward 390 

Ready 251 

Ruth, or the satisfied soul 444 

Speak, Lord, for Thy servant. . . 301 

The path of Faith 202 

The messenger 443 

Wilderness rest 230 

Taylor, Miss Ida Scott 

Christmas bells 81 

Christmas sounds 80 

Crossing the river Time 631 

Easter-tide 1S8 

Forsake me not 246 

Our heritage * 806 

Take my hand 134 

The burden of the bells 79 

The Gospel light 259 

The river of song 160 

Taylor, Miss Jane ( See page 134. ) 

Far from mortal cares 226 

Practical devotion 401 

The hay -fields 56 



Tay*lor, Mrs. L. S. 
Easter 196 

Teare, Miss Clara 
Satisfied 537 

Teresa. Santa 
For a bible or album 82S 

Terhune, Mrs. Mary Virginia 

Hawes. ( "Marion Harland. " ) 
A sunset prophecy 852 

Thaliieimer, Miss M. Elsie 

My Shepherd 86 

| Thaxter, Mrs. Celia 

The sunrise never failed us yet. . . 617 

Thayer, Miss Julia A. 

My peace 230 

Our ways S19 

The many mansions 153 

The mountain apart * 818 

Veiled 854 

Thompson, Mrs. Bishop 

(Annie Howe Thompson.) 

Grow not weary 277 

The Master hath need of the 

reapers 411 

Thompson, Julia C. 
Waiting, and to be satisfied ... ■ 140 

Thompson, Miss Ruth C. 
The fall and the rescue 556 

Thorne, Esther 

An answered prayer 832 

Israel's gift and ours 30 

With the Master 438 

What the music said S44 

Thorne, MetaE. B. 

A father's storv 0*3 

Our W. C. T. U. working song . . 431 

The children's rallying song 645 

Two lives 561 

Thornton, Fairlie 
Will 3 t ou decide for Jesus? 522 

Thorpe, Miss Rose Hartwick 

(Author of "Curfew must not 
ring to-night.' 7 ) 

In answer 653 

The angels' song 154 

Thorpe, Mrs. L. B. 
Footprints of Jesus 501 

Tiirupp, Dorothy 
Saviour like a shepherd 37 

Thurston, Mrs. Laura M. 

Parting hymn * 333 

Tilden, Louise W. 

Behold the nations kneeling 253 

Christmas belis 81 

Tilton, Mrs. Lydia H. 

Home 624 

"Le Menu" 611 

TlTTERINGTON, MRS. S. BRONSON 

At nightfall 67 

Hymn for missionary workers . . . 263 

Toke, Mrs. Emma 
Thou art gone up on high * 254 

Towne, Belle Kellogg 

(Mrs. T. Martin Towne.) 

The pendulum of time 595 

Thou art my Helper * 820 

To the Cold Water Army 646 

Wait, little mother 731 

We'll work while 'tis day 470 

Townley, Mary 
Seeking for rest 525 

Townsley*. Frances E. 
Seen of God 553 



Travers, Ella 
Mottoes for the New Year 424 

Truesdell, Ella A. 

For thee the pledge I take * 501 

Soon the cause of right will tri- 
umph 480 

Tucker, Mary F. 

Invocation 240 

The Old Story 845 

Thou 123 

Turner, Mrs. Annie 
It might have been 604 

Upham, Louise S. 

Stepping in father's track 571 

Utter, Rebecca Palfrey 
The king's daughter .< 367 

Van Alstyne, Mrs. 

(Fannie J. Crosby.) 

All of Mrs. Van Aistyne's hymns are copyrighted, 
and cannot be used without her consent, or that of 
Messrs. Biglow & Main, Mrs. J. F. Knapp, Mr. Van 
Alstyne, Philip Phillips, or some other publisher. 

If any one has not had proper credit in this vol- 
ume it has not been through intention on the part 
of any one. 

All the way my Saviour leads me. 219 

Angels are waiting 337 

Blessed assurance 542 

Blessed are they that believe 510 

Bless this hour of prayer 4j2 

Christian reunion 313 

Church rallying song 317 

Cold water army marching song. 646 

Crown of life 221 

Do not pass me by 524 

Draw me nearer 303 

Faith in Christ 296 

Faith and grace 296 

Gir.l on the armor 4S8 

Go bear the joyful tidings 1:63 

. God ever near 699 

God of mercy 539 

I'm walking in the shadow 244 

Jesus my all 113 

Joy among the angels 668 

Joy! Joy! Joy! 222 

Keep me Thine 302 

Let me lean on Thee... 132 

Let us bravely stand 452 

Lost, but found 538 

Love not the world 116 

More like Jesus * 100 

Near the cross 304 

No book like the Bible 205 

O Christian, awake ! 539 

One in Christ 318 

Our mission field at home 406 

Our temperance home 474 

Persistent prayer 295 

Safe in the arms of Jesus 220 

Saved by the blood 1S7 

Shout aloud, all ye lands! 317 

The better land 152 

The Lord is King 315 

The polar star 242 

The mourning wanderer 514 

The world is my parish 272 

This year for Jesus 469 

Thy name alone can save 180 

Three steps of intemperance 591 

Toil on 406 

To the work 398 

Unfurl the banner 293 

Watchman on the walls of Zion. . 259 

Welcome 662 

What wilt Thou have us to do?. . 293 



INDEX OF A VTHORS. 



Will Jesus find us watching? 252 

Virginia, A Lady of 
Pray for the reapers 405 

Vogei., Jetty (An English poet.) 
At the portal 795 

Voke, Mrs. 

Behold the expected time 272 

Conversion of the world 264 

Hasten, O Lord 260 

Preach the Gospel 3S1 

Soon may the last glad song arise 204 

Von Geumwalt, Lady 
Jesus, on whom my soul relies * . 122 

W , Lulu M. 

Answered 830 

Wakefield, Mrs. A. W. P. 
See "Priest." 

Waldo, Elmira R. Ballou 
The social cup of friendship 573 

Walker, Annie L. 
Work, for the night is coming *. . 410 

Walker, Mary Jane 

Jesus, I will trust Thee 527 

Walker, Anna D. 
Vanity of vanities 145 

Ward, Hetta Lord Hayes 

In all things praise 36 

Ward, Lucy L. (Mrs. H. P. Beach.) 

Coronat 869 

For God took her * 394 

Ward, Susan Hayes 

Faith 295 

Paraphrase on Isa. VI. 1-8, and 

Rev. IV 356 

The Mount of the Sermon * 46 

Whither goest thou? 67 

Ward, Mary E. 

The signal lights 477 

Ware, Miss H. S. 
Anniversary of an ordination. ... 46 

An ordination hymn 46 

Our welcome 41 

Vacation hymn 45 

Waring, AnnaLetitia 

Consecration and resignation. ... 295 
Dear Saviour of a dying world . . 269 

Have faith in God 468 

Mercy before sacrifice 509 

My times are in Thy hand * 117 

New Year hymn 2t>9 

Perfect peace 220 

Warner, Miss Anna Bartlett 
(Author of "The Wide, Wide 
World.'') 

Jesus loves me 91 

One more day 26S 

The Crossbearer 543 

Warren, Miss Maggie 
Baby's sweet sleep 694 

Washington, Mrs. Lucy H. 

A strike against alcohol 611 

Awakened 643 

Crusade song 4S9 

Half a century * 41 

Judson's grave 384 

Our martyred President 761 

Prohibition 4S2 

The nation's foe 489 

The Union signal 642 

Waterman, Catherine Harbison 
(Mrs. Esling, born 1820.) 
Come unto me when shadows 

darkly gather 106 

(Written in 1839.) 



"Waters, Minnie." 

(Mrs. M. A. Kidder.) 
O, say, shall we meet you all 

there? 539 

Over the river I'm going 176 

Webster, Mrs. Mary C. 

(n€e Grannis. ) (Now Mrs. Rev. 
James Billings.) 

All hail, thou arisen! 189 

A prayer 548 

A return from sea 233 

Centennial hymn 316 

Charity 217 

Entered into rest '. . 162 

Intemperance 477 

Into the dark 163 

Song of the converted blue rib- 
bon army 544 

Sowing and reaping 267 

The inebriate 497 

Wedgewood, Charlotte 
Old 873 

Weinland, Mrs. M. M. 
Sing, children, sing 418 

Weiss, Mrs. 
Ever near me 242 

Welby, Mrs. Amelia B. 

The American sword * 753 

The presence of God 868 

Wellington, Alice 
My welcome beyond 175 

Wells, Grace S. 
Could we know aiS 806 

West, Maria A. 

A missionary hymn 323 

The little builders 326 

Wheeler, Ella (Mrs. R. M. Wil- 
cox, born Windsor, Wis.) 

A face at the window 721 

A picture 863 

Art and heart 830 

Artist and man 8S1 

Come near 389 

Faith 205 

Gethsemane 853 

God's work 616 

I bide my time 246 

In the long run 578 

Let me lean hard 243 

Noblesse oblige 838 

Plea to science 839 

Resolves 663 

Rest 874 

Show me the way 513 

Speak for me, friend * 837 

The brewer's dog 658 

The engine 823 

The Union army (1885) 775 

What have we done? S14 

Wheeler, Mary Sparks 

Charge of the rum brigade 591 

White, Mrs. F. A. F. Wood 

At the door of my tent 140 

I trust in Thee 527 

Only one crossing 15S 

Receive me to Glory 543 

The beautiful land 158 

The Lord is King 366 

The open gate * 179 

We're going home 234 

Most of Mrs. Wh ite's hymns are copyrighted, and 
cannot be used without permission from her pub- 
lishers. 

White, Mrs. Fanny Driscoll 
In patience 875 



La Voyageuse * 7S0 

White, Mrs, G. W. 
Sowing seed (351 

White, K. R. 
Oft in sorrow 400 

White, Mrs. Sallie J. 

In twilight 684 

Little Margery 702 

Whiting, Lilian 
Birthday impromptu 804 

Whitlock, Sylyia A. 
A sin-sick soul 389 

Whitman, Mrs. J. T. 
Good night, little Nell ! 692 

Whitney, Mrs. A. D. T. 

The heart of the year * 799 

I will abide in Thine house 52 

Wait for the wings 683 

Wilcox, Mrs. Ella Wheeler 
See Ella Wheeler. 

Wilde, Mrs. E. R. ("Speranza.") 
Man's mission * G15 

Willard, Mrs. Emma 
Rocked in the cradle of the deep. 72 

Willard, Miss Frances E. 

1884* 621 

Grant is dead 76$ 

Willard, Julia S. 

How the work goes forward 630 

Throes and throws 585 

Willard, Mrs. Mary B. 

An arrow in His hand * 466 

The whirlwind of the Lord 484 

My Christmas kingdom 459 

Willard, Mary T. 
Alone in the house 464 

Williams, Mrs. Alice W. 
Sent from God * 881 

Williams, Mrs. Emily Putnam 

Beyond the rain 718 

Christmas eve 73 

Come, Lord Jesus 254 

Do this in remembrance of me . . 94 

Faith 201 

For we are laborers together with 

God 445 

Golden hours 455 

He careth for you 225 

How long? . . .' 487 

Jesus is glorified 219 

Lowly labor 455 

Mary's offering 287 

Motherhood * 676 

Oh ! haste the day . 456-480 

Prayer for grace and mercy 132 

Resignation 248 

Sabbath home . 495 

Signs of the times 453 

Simeon and the child of Jesus. . . 377 
Soliloquy of a drunkard's mother 598 

Stretch forth thy hand 321 

The dark valley 248 

The drunkard's wife and daughter 660 

Then 37s 

Weep not for me 100 

Whom not having seen, ye yet 

love 201 

Waiting 140 

Youthful love 87 

Williams, Miss Helen R. 

Providence 204 

Williams, Marie B. 

See 'Kate Cameron." 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Williamson, Mrs. E. E. 
An Easter offering 190 

Willis, Miss Ellen H. 
I left it all with Jesus 201 

Willis, Rkbekah 
The voice of the money 333 

YVillson, Mrs. M. E. 
Glad Tidings * 508 

AVilmans. Helen 
I will arise and stand 514 

Wilson, Mrs. D. 
Dedication to the Lord 468 

Wilson, Mrs. E. 
His mother's songs 756 

Wilson, Mrs. E. A. 

Face to face 563 

Rescue the perishing 281 

Thorns * 179 

Wilson, Edith R. 

Lamb of God 522 

The second temple 274 

Wilson, Mrs. Miriam H. 
To the memory of Mrs. Dr. Bergen 639 

Wilton, Annie 
Christian humility 86 

Wink worth. Miss Catherine 

Bounteous care 272 

Death of a little child 172 

Fear not. little flock 404 

God, our Father 204 

God liveth ever 189 

Hallelujah 271 

I will not let Thee go 208 

Jesus is my friend 122 

(Abridged; written 1853.) 

Lord everlasting! 66 

The Apostle's Creed 45 

Time, thou speedest on 254 

Winn, Corrilla W. 
Life's dream * 812 



Winslow, Celeste M. A. 

Midday 35 

ThoughHe be not far . . . 51 

Winslow, Helen M. 
The messenger 831 

Winslow, Mrs. 
Consecration 114 

Winslow, Mrs. 

Invocation 313 

Acquaint thyself with Him 511 

Winslow, Miss Margaret E. 

A more excellent sacrifice 55 

A centennial ode 427 

A year with Jesus 782 

Bed time 688 

Builders 447 

Christmas roses 703 

Fallen at noon-tide 639 

In the morning 621 

Jesu Intercessor 94 

Our calling 803 

Thanksgiving 54 

The plague of his own heart 98 

The treasures of darkness 353 

The women angels 641 

Two temples * 29 

Then shall ye know 674 

Waiting for thy coming 252 

Windows open toward Jerusalem 153 
Yielded to God 526 

WlNTERMUTE, MRS. MARTHA 

Come unto Me and rest 503 

For Decoration Day 659 

The blessed year 485 

Whitcher. Mrs. Frances Miriam 

Affliction * .' . 186 

Author of beauty 224 

Faith and trust 186 

Submission * 186 

The cross * 1S6 



The litany * igQ 

Wittenmeyer, Annie 

I will not question His intent ... 468 

The valley of blessing 124 

The mount of blessing * 235 

Wood, Mrs. Eunice P. 

The house of the Camellia * 734 

WOODBRIDGE, MlSS A. D. 

Life's light and shade * 835 

WOODBRIDGE, MlSS S. A. 

Christmas, 1878 795 

Whom have I in heaven but Tbee? 880 

Woodin, Mrs. Sarah M. Sykes 

Come and help us 648 

God calleth thee 108 

Prophecy fulfilled . . , . . 270 

The coming conquest 272 

The triumph of truth * 480 

The withered hand 563 

True courage 646 

Woodland, Waif 
Work 315 

Wright, Carrie 
Do the duty lying nearest . 402 

Weight, Mrs. M. H. 
Tribute of esteem 62S 

Wrightman, Mrs. Mima Lollar 
Calvary 552 

Wyeth, Mary E. C. 

Christmas carols 422 

The poet's crown 874 

Wylde, Hazel 

See Miss Ella Hotchkiss. 

Wylie, Mrs. R. M. 

Not dead, but gone before 3S7 

The picture . : 351 

Tule, Mrs. J. C. 

Our field is the world . . 260 



INDEX SPECIAL TOPICS. 



INDEX SPECIAL TOPICS. 



Anniversary 41, 43, 46, 91, 317, 324, 629, 723, 831 

Baptismal Hymns . 85, 86, 88 

Birthday 745 

Children's Day 55, 86, 91, 313, 324, 330, 416, 418 

Christening 676, 694 

Christmas 16, 73, 74, 75, 81, 340, 377, 421, 459, 586, 671, 703, 705, 795 

Comfort and Consolation 713, 718. 728 

Communion . ■ 95, 97, 100, 191, 197 

Consecration 291, 301, 304, 618 

Crusade 484, 489, 644 

Decoration Day 565, 661, 695 

Dedication 43, 473, 474 

Dialogues 347, 415, 419, 650 

Easter '189,190,193,195,199,315,328,329,342,578,798 

Flower Mission 581,582,583 

Foreign Mission Sermon 370 

Fourth of July 654, 657 

Funeral Occasions . 143, 161, 163, 170, 172, 176 

Golden Wedding - 723, 728 

Home Mission Sermon 431 

Lullaby 690, 695 

Memorial Day .........'. 768 

Memorials ' 564, 637, 638, 706, 709, 785, 827, 848, 849, 856, 873 

New Year's , 290, 291, 663 

Nursery 679, 688, 697 

Patriotic 750, 755, 758 

Prohibition 585, 607, 609 

Readings and Recitations 555, 560, 562, 564, 565, 588, 620 

Recitations for Boys . ' 331, 759, 760, 811 

Shut-in Ones 582, 583 

Silver Wedding 727 

Thanksgiving . . 54, 56, 57, 61, 752 

Woman 628, 802, 804, 829, 836, 882 



INDEX OF TUNES. 



INDEX OF TUNES. 



Baxter, Mrs. G. W. 

Come unto me * 102 

Consecration hymn 282 

My "Willie is gone; or, Was it only a dream? * 714 

Sad benighted souls 379 

Brainard, Mrs. Kate J. 

Is it for me, dear Saviour? 551 

Brown, Charlotte E. 

A hymn for the morning (by permission) 342 

Case, Mrs. C C. ("Kittle Kase.") 

I've a joy in my heart 536 

Chapman, Miss H. B. 

He caretb ; or, one of the sweet old chapters 64 

Child, Clara Jane 

What cheer? 393 

| Clement, Amelia 

What is my mission? 302 

Cook, Mrs. T. J. 

\ Merry, merry Christmas 74 

1 Singing all the way 227 

Cuthbert, Mrs. 

| Howard 263 

i Douglas, Miss Helen 

Ave Maria 864 

English, Miss Mary Frances 

Jerusalem the golden 144 

Mariner's hymn (well adapted for male voices) 571 

Peace 236 

Stepping in father's track 571 

The heavens declare 24 

The Magnificat 671 

The social cup of friendship 573 

.. Everett, Abby Newhall 

J All I leave to follow Thee 202 

Saviour divine 521 

! Fenno, Floy 

1 Star, take a kiss to little sister 696 

Fricker, Anne 

Longing for home; or, There's a sigh in the heart . . . 740 
Gabriel, Virginia 

Cleansing fires 249 

Hancock, Mrs. Gen. W. S. 

Mary's song of thanksgiving * 15 

Hall, Miss Sophia C. 

In Thee, O Lord 200 

Hartsough, Miss Alice M. 

Oh! to be ready 136 

^IHavergal, Miss Frances K. 

! Anniversary hymn 324 

Ascension hymn . 261 

A worker's prayer * 280 

Jesus, I will trust Thee 527 

Nothing to pay 506 

Now 507 



On the Lord's side 649 

Seulement pour Toi * 127 

Tell it out * 310 

True hearted, whole hearted 286 

Who will take care of me? 681 

Hubbard, Miss H. J. 

God of mercy, throned on high 665 

Holman, Mrs. Harriet 

Cover them over 770 

Howard, Mrs. Anna Holyoke 

Create in me a clean heart 305 

Ministering spirits 395 

The way of the cross 395 

Trust and rest 245 

Hutchinson, Abby 

Kind words can never die 457 

Knapp, Mrs. Joseph F. 

Beautiful hour 541 

Blessed assurance 542 

Blessed Bible 495 

Consecration 470 

God ever near , 699 

Jesus' jewels 408 

He has come 535 

The cleansing wave 519 

The Lord is King 315 

Watching for pa 680 

Welcome 662 

Welcome to glory * 306 

What have I done? 467 

Lindsay, Miss M. (Mrs. J. W. Bliss.) 

Tired i f°r alto 169 

urea, j for soprano 747 

Too late 515 

Manly, Gertrude 

Good night, little Nell 692 

Mercur, Anna H. 

Old, ever new, sweet story 75 

Metcalf, Julia Beatrice 

Love* 840 

Morton, Miss Emma L. 

Come unto me 5 IS 

Look to the cross • ■ • 276 

Shepherd dear 417 

Newman, Abbie 

Children's decoration hymn 661 

Cold water army song 661 

Philp, Elizabeth 

She's all the world to me 690 

Parkhurst, Mrs. E. A. 

Father's a drunkard, and mother is dead * 600 

Pitt, Mrs. Emma 

Father, hear our prayer 393 

I'll work for Jesus 496 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Only ask aright 550 

The tender Shepherd bz 

Potter, Mrs. Ruth 

There's music in a mother's voice 7^4 

Rickey, Miss Mate L. 

Agnes 40 



The music and words of this piece are so beautifully blended, that it did not 
seem best to separate them, although the latter are written by a gentleman, 
George Herbert. 

Come unto Me :";••• 106 

Rider, Lucy J. (Now Mrs. Meyer, the celebrated infant 



class teacher, Chicago.) 

Beautiful morning *■&* 

Deal gently with the erring 457 

I was lost, a little lamb ob8 

Lord's day song »» 

Singing as we journey "D 

Scott, Mrs. Clara H. 

All will be well 532 

Cast thy burden 6f4 

Come again with singing 557 

Come, weary souls <J°2 

Dear as thou wert 640 

Go bring the Gospel of His Son 47o 

God be merciful unto us 311 

I'm but a little lamb • 417 

Is it far, do von think, to the Saviour? 51b 

I trust in Thee «>27 

I've no abiding place 307 

Jesus my Master ^ 

Jesus, take me in 519 

Life's changes °21 

Little pilgrim 325 

Oh ! be joyful in the Lord * ' ol 

Oh ! come, let us sing 4(6 

Oh! when shall I be free? • 386 

Rejoice with Jesus Christ to-day 338 

Sweet words of Jesus 



Tarry with me 






The banner of the Cross ■ • - 2*4 

The voice of Jesus calling o04 

They that trust in the Lord 47 

Te Deum 19 



Tread softly 768 

Tried and proved 397 

What is my idol? 517 

Scott, Lady John 
Douglass 793 

Spencer, Mrs. S. N. 

Dear little hands 707 

Onward (used by permission) 545 

S , Mrs. J. S. 

The household angel 735 

Spurlock, Phcebe 

Oh ! see them now marching 409 

Smith, Mrs. Geo. Clinton (n& Eva F. Munson.) 

Children's home protection song 664 

Home protection is the watchword 47? 

How long? (From "Clear Notes.") 573 

I will not leave you comfortless 633 

Join the home protection army 608 

Lullaby • 690 

Onward ! Onward ! Christian soldiers 214 

Oh ! come and sign the pledge to-night 498 

The Lord's supper 97 

They call me 143 

Women of our country 450 

Snodgrass, Margarette (Mrs. Frazier.) 

Cheery be * 815 

Sister of Mrs. Hemans. 

Ave Sanctissima, or Evening prayer 68 

The messenger bird 165 

Straub, Maria A. 

The dark shall be made light 777 

Tiddeman, Maria 

Consecration ■ 300 

Toukgee, LizzieS. 

God with us 262 

Varney, Carrie A. 

Close by the beautiful river 792 

Whitlock, Bessie A. 

Vinton. 7s 288 

Williams, Miss Marianna 
Sabbath home 495 

Willson, Mrs. M. E. 
Glad tidings *. - 508 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



A baby at rest on mother's breast. . 677 
A "Band of Hope" teacher has told 

me 659 

A band of laborers, here we meet. . 472 

A beautiful day without . 556 

A beacon bright the Christian stands 273 
Abide with us ! the evening hour. . . 97 
Abide with me, the sunset's golden 

finger 213 

A bitter wail of anguish 450 

Above her placid brow th' 

immortelle 640 

Above, lo! cloud to cloud succeeds. . 846 

Above the songs of heaven 318 

A brighter day is drawing near. . . . 777 

Accepted, perfect and complete 537 

A child her wayward pencil drew. . 719 
A Christmas sky, a Christmas star. 459 
A cottage home with sloping lawn. 732 

Acquaint thyself with Him 511 

Across the blue waters 317 

Across the heathen darkness 259 

A cry comes over the deep 258 

A dear little girl by her mother's 

knee 711 

Adown earth's dark abyss of woe. . . 451 
A fearful night with great storm 

clouds 561 

Afflict me, Father, Let Thy heavy rod 186 

After the day is done 67 

Again I greet this day with tender 

love 650 

Again the feast is spread 94 

Again the Lord of life and light. . . 32 

A gift has come to us over seas 336 

A glorious word rings in my soul. . 209 

A glorious cross He bore 185 

A gracious quiet broods upon the 

spot 734 

A grand strike is surely pending. . .. 611 

A half a century has rolled 41 

Ah, brothers, had ye wisely taught. 801 
Ah! Heaven must be most sweet. . . 140 
Ah Il-Iorace died, just as the morning 

sky 761 

Ah! how His patience shames our 

discontent 575 

Ah, silent wheel ! the merry brook is 

dry 173 

Ah ! what shall I do with my pennies? 332 
Ah! why should this immortal mind 111 

A huge JEolian harp was still 863 

A kingly vulture sat alone 562 

Alas for the head with the crown of 

gold S45 

Alas ! what hourly dangers rise 530 

A life made beautiful by kindly 

deeds 281 

A light streams downward from the 

sky 175 

A little bird am 1 229 

A little child with garments thin. . . 554 
A little elbow leans upon your knee. 708 
A little legend, dear and gracious 

friend 859 

A little kingdom I possess 668 

A little rest, Lord, midway of life's 

hours 35 

A little star across the night 414 

A little smiling mingled oft with 

tears 101 

A little space for rest 364 

i A little talk with Jesus 125 



"A little while," dear children. . . . Ill 
All day the wind with bitter breath. 869 
All days are great Atonement days. 183 

All for Jesus, all for Jesus! 292 

All hail to Thee! All hail to Thee!. 95 

All hail. Thou Arisen ! 189 

All in league, all in league 591 

All my life long I had panted 537 

"All quiet along the Potomac," they 

say 757 

All souls' day ! where have I heard . 781 
All that it hath of splendor and of 

life 37 

All the way my Saviour leads me. . 219 
All the way home, all the way home. 221 

All truth is no less dear 802 

All weary with the cares of life .... 525 

All your moments now come 437 

Almighty Father, keep my heart 130 

Almost fifty years of darkness 878 

Alone in the house! who would 

dream it? 464 

Along the streets one day 873 

A Maying the little ones, Jessie and 

Phil 6S7 

A mighty host inspired by God 577 

Amongst the deepest shades of 

night 52 

Among so many can He care? 52 

Among the Master's callings of high 

honor 583 

A mother may forgetful be 123 

A mother prayed with her heart 

alone 743 

And canst thou, sinner, slight 113 

And is the gospel peace and love?.. 281 

And is the time approaching 319 

And Mary said 15 

And now, said the governor, gazing. 752 
And so the willing hearted, with 

store of precious gems 426 

And still do they go, at the beck of 

their foe 595 

And this is ours ! ours of the dust 

and ashes 674 

And thus our hearts appeal to them 194 

And what is death? 776 

A new day stretches before me 5S0 

Angel beautiful, yet stern. 549 

Angels clothed in shining raiment.. 403 

Angel of freedom ! 760 

Another year is dawning 290 

Another stage of life is drawing to 

its close 832 

An unchained monster roams 

to-night 587 

A picture fair and true 708 

Are we faithful to our Master? 292 

Arise, take courage! rise and build. 474 
Armed of the gods! Divinest 

conqueror !. 809 

Arise! this day shall shine 240 

Around King Arthur's table 625 

Around the throne of God in 

Heav'n 90 

Art thou sore distressed and weary. 463 
Art thou waiting on the watch- 
tower 273 

As a little child, as a little child 510 

A Saviour ! a Saviour ! proclaim the 

glad tidings 340 

As Cataline, by proud compeers 

arraigned 811 



A side light from the margin cast . . 

As bowed with sin 

As clay in the hands of the potter.. 

A ship comes over the sea of time. . 

Ask the Lord to lead and guide you. 

Asleep in Jesus, blessed sleep!. . . . 

As in lonely thought I pondered. . . 

Asleep in Jesus 

Asleep in their honored graves 

As some sweet carrillon sends forth. 

As once of old a chosen band 

A song of a boat 

A sound from the North 

A sound from the desert! t 

A spectral band, pale with the reflex 

As sunlight warms the 

A swallow poising in the candle- 
light 

As we gather around the fire-place. 

As the great ocean rising steadily. . 

As the stormy clouds do hide the 
sun 

As the. lightning's bright flash 

As tiny streamlets adding to 

At the door of my ten t I' m sitting . 

At home, abroad, by day or night . . 

A tired child, restless, as the night 
came on 

At lastthe lingering shades of night. 

At dusk of Christmas evening 

At length then the tenderest of 
mothers is gone 

At night, on Bethlehem's cloud- 
capped hill 

Author of beauty! all Thy hand 
hath made 

Ave Maria, Gratia plena 

Ave sanctissimal we lift our souls to 
thee 

Awake ! awake ! the Master now is 
calling 

Awake! awake the sacred song 

Awake, my soul, lift up thine eyes. 

Awake once more my slumb'ring 
harp 

Awake to effort while the day 

A war is raging fiercely 

A weary man with toilsome hands. 

A whisper woke the air 

A winning, waving meadow with a. 

A woman's hand, white, soft 

A wonder worker all night long. . .. 

A word to the little children 

Aye, the sea is God's, He made it. . 

A year with Jesus 

Baby and I are alone 

Baby Birdie, why, oh! why 

Baby is clad in his nightgown white. 

Baby is only one year old 

Backward, turn backward, OTime. 

Bear the cross cheerfully 

Bear ye one another's burden 

Beat soft, O happy heart 

Beautiful Morning! day of hope. 39- 

Because she takes me as her very 
own 

Because the joy has run to waste. . 

Because Thou, Lord, hast been my 
help . 

Be firm, whatever tempts thy soul. 

Before these keys, responsive to my 
moods 

Before the throne of God above — 



WOMAN- IN SACRED SONG. 



Before Thy cross, dear Lord, I fall. 240 
Behold an open door, behold a 

throne 356 

Behold a sower went forth 439 

Behold Him, Heaven sent to nations 

rude 382 

Behold, the expected time draws 

near 272 

Behold the golden city 154 

Behold the hand is withered 563 

Behold the nations kneeling 258 

Behold the Boyal Bridegroom 177 

Behold the years, the conquering 

years 46 

Behold thy birthplace, Frances 736 

Beloved, is it well? 7SS 

Beneath the Cross of Jesus 221 

Beneath the desert's rim went down 344 
Beneath the hot midsummer's sun . 756 
Be one with our Father, who loves 

you 533 

Be silent, restless heart, and feel.. 224 

Be still! just now, be still! 101 

Be Thou with me 465 

Better trust all and be deceived SOS 

Be with my mouth 405 

Beyond the rolling billows 264 

Beyond these chilling winds and 

gloomy skies 150 

Beyond this land of parting, losing, 

leaving 632 

Beyond this wilderness of sin 157 

Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine. . . 542 

Blessed be the Lord of nations 530 

Blessed Bible ! ho w I love it 495 

Blessed Lord, our souls are longing. 253 

Blest Comforter Divine ! 122 

Blest is the man whose softening 

heart 217 

Blest Lord, who hungry thousands 

fed 262 

Blest Master, how exceeding broad. 273 

Blow ye the golden trumpets 320 

Born to a destiny the most sublime. 761 
Bread! bread for all was in the 

Saviour's hands 428 

Break! O day ! in beauty break 193 

Breaks the joyful Easter dawn 199 

Break Thou the bread of life 93 

Brethren, the hour hath come 50 

Brethren, we are parting now 383 

Brick and stone and timber fair. . . 474 

Bright flowers still loyal to the 772 

Brightly the sun's last glowing 

beams 375 

Bright was the guiding star 81 

Bring flowers ; for back to 788 

Brothers, sisters, we are coming 561 

Brother ! stay thy rash design 497 

Build a little fence of trust 300 

Buried with Thee, my dying Lord. 85 
By and by, O heart, take courage!. 151 

By our word we are pledged 501 

By the close bond of womanhood. . 813 
By the law condemned to perish. . . 512 I 

Calling! Calling! Do we hear? 514 

Call him not ruined while 604 

Call tbem in ! the poor, the wretched 397 

Call upon me, saith the Lord 547 

Calm on the bosom of thy God 631 

Can China be our neighbor? 320 

Can it be that Jesus sought me?. . . 553 
Carry me out, my brethren 357 



Castle and cot in this beautiful land. 854 

Cast thy bread upon the waters 264 

Cast thy burden on the Lord 634 

Centuries old is this flower 356 

Certainly I will be with thee 290 

Changeful hath been my lot below. 208 

Charge and encourage them 

Charity is meek and tender 218 

Charity ! it faileth never 217 

Cheery be, happy be 815 

Child, amid the flowers at play. .. 130 

Children, do you see the wine? 

Children, do you the story know?. 330 

Children loud hosannas singing 91 

Children of light, like the stars. . . . 273 

Chime out, O joyful bells ! 76 

Christian, seek not yet repose 482 

Christ is risen ! lo ! the day. 195 

Christ, our Lord, to-day is risen 197 

Christ the Lord is risen again 271 

Christus! Anointed One! King at 

Thy birth 78 

Christians, seek not yet repose 4S2 

Church of God, whose conqu'ring 

banners 317 

City of God, oh ! how bright and fair. 415 

City of idol temples 804 

Cling to the Bible, tho' all else be 

taken 209 

Closer, dear Lord, to Thee 292 

Close the door carefully, muffle the 

tread 678 

Cloudless skies around it closing. . . 147 
Cloud of the Lord ! ordained of old. 275 
Come and sign the pledge, with 

singing 557 

Come and walk with me, Mary, be- 
fore the sun has set 5S9 

"Come apart," he said, "to a desert 

nook." 43S 

Come, children, happy children 418 

Come, ever-blessed spirit 119 

Come hither! hither, little one 084 

Come, Holy Spirit, source of all 262 

Come home ! come home ! 110 

Come in, O Christ, come in 97 

Come in our midst, O gracious 

Lord! 452 

Come, let us build a stately temple 

here 233 

Come join the famous army 647 

Come, let us to the Lord, our King. 495 
Come, Lord, and warm each lan- 
guid heart 29 

Come near to me, I need 389 

Come one and all, this year for Jesus 469 

Come! said Jesus' sacred voice 109 

Come, saints, let us join 316 

Come, the summer night is calling. 104 
Come, tho.u desire of all Thy saints. 99 

Come to the clear deep river 509 

Come to the fountain of mercy.... 510 

Come to the house of prayer 174 

Come unto me when shadows dark- 
ly gather 106 

"Come unto me !" who is it that calls 

me? 518 

Come, weary souls with sins dis- 
tressed 109-502 

Come with bright garlands, sweet- 
scented and rare 770 

Could we but know the secret cares. 575 
Could we know all 806 



Could ye come back to me, Douglass. 793 

Could you but see my baby ... 690 

Count the mercies ! Count the mer- 
cies 232 

Cup of Peril, I touch thee not 599 

Courage, comrades, courage 477 

Cruelly beaten with many stripes. . 556 

Dark the night and dreary 687 

Dawning at last, the morning sun. . 759 

Dawn of dawns, the Easter day 1 97 

Day is dying in the west 73 

Day of God, thou blessed day. ... . 192 
Day with its heated toil was o'er. . . 349 
Deaf, dumb and blind! It seems so 

hard 879 

Deal gently with the erring one . . . 457 
Dear as thou wert, and justly dear. 640 

Dear faded eyes ! 7S1 

Dear Father, to thy mercy-seat. . . . 131 
Dear Father, when we ask of Thee. 133 
Dear girlish head! laid down to sleep 394 
Dear gracious Lord, on whom I lean. 471 
Dear little eyes with their fringed 

lids 673 

Dear little feet so soft 674 

Dear little golden-haired Fay 697 

Dear little hands 707 

Dear little restless feet 420 

Dear refuge of my weary soul 123 

Dear Saviour, if these lambs should 

stray S7 

Dear Saviour, does Thy love? 299 

Dear Saviour of a dying world 269 

Dear sisters of the South-land 624 

Dear wee birdies in their nest 695 

Dear world, looking down from the 

highest 813 

Death will soon come. But why 

should we grieve ; 134 

Deep are the wounds which sin hath 

made 178 

Deeper grow the purpling shadows. 147 

Deep mystery of human life 675 

Did the waves, muffled, beat 761 

Disciples of Jesus, why stand ye 

here idle? 272 

Distant Eden ! dream'd-of Eden 156 

Does it grieve Thee, precious Sav- 
iour? 525 

Don't you know how much you're 

needed? 648 

Do right is our motto 667 

Do thy work speedily, child of the 

earth 315 

Down, down o'er rocky ledge 823 , 

Down in the evergreen valley 772 

Down in the shadowy land so lowly. 248 

Down to the brink of hell 652 

Do ye hear the children weeping?. . 596 

Do you see those dusky faces 275 

Draw near, ye weary, bowed and 

broken hearted 171 

Droop mournfully, O starry flag. . . 762 

Drink, drink, drink! 611 

Dying, still slowly dying 174 

Each day when the glow 732 

Each for himself with brethren, or 

alone 9S 

Eager, listening to the words 269 

Earth and all her scenes will fade. . 145 
Earth, with its dark and dreadful ills 156 

Eat, drink, and be merry, boys 593 

Enter my door, beloved Lord 222 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



Enter Thy temple, glorious King. . . 34 

Ere last year's moon had left 675 

Ere mountains reared their forms. . 36 
Ere our dear Saviour spoke the part- 
ing word 234 

Ere the glow f Autumn glory 58 

Ere you left your room this morning. 546 

Eternity is just at hand 134 

Exalt Thy calling! on its spotless. . . 576 

Exultant as a bird 351 

"Eye hath not seen the things pre- 
pared of God." 235 

Fade, fade each earthly joy 121 

Fading, slowly fading, sweet Sab- 
bath day 26 

Fading, still fading, the last beam is 

shining 72 

Faint-hearted and weak are the 

children of men 357 

Faint not, nor grow weary 401 

"Faint yet pursuing," we press our 

way 226 

Fair is our country, the home of the 

free 756 

Faithful in little things, Lord, may 

we be 292 

Faithful, O Lord! how can I prove. 291 

Faith needs no chart 445 

Fallen at noontide, Time has set . 639 

Falling half asleep, some spirit 38 

Far, far away, across a troubled sea. 672 
Far from mortal cares retreating. . . 226 

Far from our Father's home . 406 

Far from these narrow scenes of 

night 219 

Far up on the mountain 617 

Father Almighty ! from Thy 135 

Father, as the days decline 67 

"Father, forgive us," is our daily. . 126 
Father, how can I thus be bold to 

prav 131 

Father, I feel that I am Thine 399 

Father, I have heard Thee calling. . 523 

Father, I know that all my life 117 

Father, in Heaven above 190 

Father, in Heaven pity Thy child . . 137 

Father, my cup is full 241 

Father, O Father! surrounded with 

ills 123 

Father of Mercies in Thy Word 33 

Father of our feeble race 401 

Father, oh ! hear me now! 131 

Father, our offering we bring 41 

Father, to Thee alone 53 

Father, we know Thy tender hand. 530 
Father, whate'er of earthly bliss. . . 298 

Father, who in love unerring S5S 

Father, who in the olive shade 637 

Father, whose love divine 293 

Father, with our grateful praises. . 42 
Faultless in His glory's presence. . . 505 

Fear not, O little flock 404 

Fear not! one by one God's 196 

Fight for Prohibition, gird our 481 

Fight onward to the breach, brave 

heart 605 

Fight the good fight, Christian sol- 
dier? 539 

Fill up the glass! we drink to-night. 611 
Fill your lamps, O foolish virgins!.. 252 

"Five cents a glass!" Does any 652 

Flags of the nation droop low 767 

Flee as a bird to your mountain 105 

Forgive all my sins 700 



Forgive us, Lord, because we have 

forgiven 126 

For gladsome summer days 36 

For God and Home and Native Land 486 
"For God," that His all-gracious 

love 455 

For him whom the King delighteth. 369 
For Jesus' sake all sins forgiven. . . 297 
Forsake me not; though fast the 

night is falling 246 

For thee the pledge I take 501 

For thee the beacon lights of ages 

shine 599 

For the purest hope that's human.. 560 

Forth from the light 163 

Forth to thy work from morn till 

night 394 

Forward shall be our watchword . . . 456 

For what shall I praise Thee? 31 

Fountain of mercy ! God of love!. . . 56 

Freemen, awake the song 754 

Free salvation is flowing 508 

Fret not, poor heart, though sorrows 

sore 245 

Friend, wouldst thou know the value 

of a sour? 835 

From glory unto glory 312 

From heights of bliss to depths of 

woe 155 

"From His heart," so reads the mar- 
gin 713 

From his home in an Eastern Bung- 
alow 336 

From our sisters comes the wail 259 

From out the distant centuries.... 231 
From Persia's plain, from India's sea 301 

From the Arctic's wintry circle 266 

From the depths, O God of mercy!. 539 
From the fields white unto harvest. 274 

From the hallowed hush 643 

From the North and the South. 647 

From the isles of the sea cometh ti- 
dings of Thee 366 

From the parched bosom of the des- 
ert ' 114 

From these quaint old roofs and 

chimneys 421 

From the shore of the mighty Atlan- 
tic 478 

From the snowy Alpine mountain.. 266 
From the world's disturbed concern. 226 
Gathering brands from the burning. 616 
Give as the morning that flows out 

of Heaven ......' 435 

Give, Lord, Thy gracious listening 

ear 490 

Give me a heart that is pure 575 

Give me that "heart of flesh." 107 

Glad as the morning, swift as the 

light 381 

Glad bells rang in the Easter morn. 798 
Glad chimed the Christmas bells. . . 585 
Glad millions of children are gath- 
ering 409 

Gladly now we gather 31 1 

Glorious Saviour, throned above . . 288 

Go bear the joyful tidings 26S 

Go bring the Gospel of His Son 475 

God be merciful unto us and bless 

us 311 

God bless my little darling 698 

God bless our temperance band 663 

God bless thee on thy wedding day. 746 
God calling yet, shall I not hear?... 109 



God calls thee every one 108 

God helping me, I promise 500 

God helping me, I'll yield the cup. . 500 

God help me evermore to keep 645 

God is in His holy temple 28 

God is in His temple now 28 

God is in the din of battle 34 

God is not far above us 52 

God is our refuge, when a gale .... 123 

God is with me every day. 699 

God keep us all from envy . . 850 

God lets us go our way alone 239 

God liveth ever ! 189 

God loved the world of sinners lost. 180 
God made the world so beautiful. . . 89 

God of Heaven ! God of earths 138 

God of love, of truth, of justice 485 

God of mercy, bow Thine ear 459 

God of mercy, throned on high 665 

God of my life, to Thee belong 31 

God of nations 316 

God of our patriotic sires 75S 

God pity the wretched prisoners. . . 581 

God's love in all around I see - . 37 

God's "Now!" is sounding in your 

ears 507 

God took thee in His mercy 172 

God with us ! O glorious name 262 

Go feel what I have felt 595 

Go forth among the poor 473 

Go forth, go forth to battle 455 

Go forth, young soldiers of the Cross. 540 

Go in the field of labor 453 

Golden harps are sounding 261 

Golden hours so swiftly fleeing ... 455 
Good news o'er the prairie is speed- 
ing its way 325 

Good night, little Nell 692 

Go search the dusty archives of the 

ages 101 

Go search through nature 874 

Go tell the wondrous news abroad. . 267 

Go thou, had said the Master 441 

Go to thy rest, fair child 162 

Grace does not steel the faithful 

heart 218 

Grace tosses back her bonnie hair. . 699 
Gracious Saviour! gentle Shepherd. 92 
Gracious Saviour! holy Shepherd. 89-700 

Grant us Thy presence, Lord 451 

Great builder! from whose perfect 

thought 44 

Great God! to Thee my evening song 72 
Great God! Thy penetrating eye. . . 52 

Great Jehovah ! now inspire us 313 

Great waves of plenty rolling up. . . 54 

Guide us to-day, O loving care ! 456 

Hail Columbia! home of freedom. . 657 

Hail, happy day! thou day 35 

Hail, happy shades ! though clad with 130 
Hail ! thou bright and sacred morn. 38 
Hands I've clasped along life's jour- 
ney ' 849 

Hang up the vine and the holly 586 

Happy are we, God's own little flock. 327 

Hark ! hark the battle-cry 646 

Hark! hark the sweet, sweet chim- 
ing 77 

Hark ! the funeral bells 767 

Hark ! the sound of myriad voices . . 483 
Hark ! they come, hear the beating. 644 
Hasten, O Lord! that happy time. . 266 
Hasten, Lord! the glorious time. . .. 264 
Has the world grown old? 5S5 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Hast thou sought of God? 458 

Have you looked for sheep in the 

desert 405 

Have you not a word for Jesus?. . .. 263 

Health to the nations! 301 

Heart of music, canst thou be 

troubled? 153 

Heart of mine, why art thoudream- 

ing?..., 832 

Hearts of pride, unbar your portal. . 505 
Hear ye now the gladsome tidings.. 267 

He came into this world of sin S58 

He comes in blood-stained gar- 
ments 403492 

"He giveth His beloved sleep." 161 

He had borne the rod 384 

He has come, He has come 535 

He hath promised, can I trust Him? 460 

He is gone! the tomb forsaken! 191 

He is waiting for me 783 

He knew the world was all a wild. . 785 

He lay at the pool of Bethesda 1S4 

He lays on me my cross 95 

He leadeth me and so I place 83 

He 1 i ves ! the great Redeemer lives . . 1S9 

Help for the perilled millions 4S2 

Herald the tidings to every soul 273 

Here comes old father Christinas. . . 412 

Here I can firmly rest 204 

Here in Christian love we meet 31S 

Here in this silent, barren place I lie. 508 

Here is plenty of poverty 648 

Her hair is a lovely brown, that turns 6:24 
Her little prayer at night she said. . 700 

Her mission to make 733 

Here treasures we gather 146 

He sendeth sun, He sendeth shower. 204 
He was a bishop and he loved good 

wine 594 

He wasn' t two years old 698 

Hide not thy secret grief 849 

High upon the cross suspended 273 

His life had been 739 

Ho ! all aboard ! a traveller 69 3 

Ho! Christian pilgrim! ho! and tell. 220 

Ho! every one that thirsteth 402 

Hold me closer, closer, Jesus ! 1 25 

Hold my hand, O blessed Saviour. . 212 

Hold Thou my hand 137 

Holy Lamb, who Thee receive 99 

"Home at lasi" on heavenly moun- 
tains 637 

Home Protection is the watchword. 479 

Hourly my little child with 686 

How beautiful she lies, upon her 

pure 722 

How beautiful is mom when glad 

and new 875 

How beautiful is sleep 744 

How blessed is the precious gift of 

song 824 

How blest the righteous when he 

dies 164 

How blest the sacred tie that binds. 313 
How blest these olive plants that 

grow , 739 

How can I cease to pray for Thee?. 581 
How doth death speak of our be- 
loved? 391 

How fair upon the mountains 77 

How helpless guilty nature lies 524 

How long! how long shall mothers' 

hearts 573 

How long, O Lord ! how long 248 



How many glorious victories 571 

How many in our favored land 406 

How many pounds does the baby 

weigh? 679 

How mean the little griefs appear. . 186 

How much we pray for 

How oft, alas! this wretched heart.. 524 

How oft I see it in my dreams 133 

How our battle-word inspires 481 

How shall I bear my pain 717 

How sweet are those delightful 

dreams 171 

How sweet the glorious thought 445 

How sweet the melting lay 32 

How sweet to be allowed to pray. . . 93 

How sure it is that if we say 96 

How swift the noiseless years go by. 727 
Human lives are silent, teaching... 615 
"Hurrah for the Foorth av July!".. 654 

Hush me, Lord Jesus ! 784 

Hush ! softly tread, and let no word. 570 

Hush ! the baby stands alone 682 

Hurled from the centre of infinite 

cause 417 

I am a very little thing 332 

I am bound to the house of my Fa- 
ther 145 

I am but a little lamb 417 

I am far f rae my hame, an' I'm wea- 
ry after whiles 151 

I am held like a captive knight 598 

I am looking for the kingdom 462 

I am not skilled to understand 187 

I am only a little dewdrop. . 667 

I am so weak, dear Lord, I cannot 

stand 2S5 

I am so weary of conflict and sin. . . 305 

I am still without the fold 519 

I am the Lord's and He. is mine 295 

I am the rose of Sharon 419 

I ainThine, O Lord !.r 303 

I am trusting Thee, Lord Jesus!. . . 297 

I am waiting for the Master 140 

I am waiting for Thy coming 252 

I am weary of this turmoil 123 

I ask not for the streams 880 

I asked a draught 3SS 

I asked a glad and happy child 779 

I asked at Thy dear hands 430 

I asked my sweet baby 600 

I asked the sun 881 

I asked the angel, in my prayer 566 

I bide my time whenever shadows 

darken 246 

I bring my sins to Thee 525 

I bring my sins to Thee 223 

I can always trust in Jesus 204 

I cannot say, beneath the pressure. 860 
I cannot prove it, but pray tell me. 779 
I cannot think but God must know. 8S2 
I can scarcely hear, she murmured. 163 

I come to Thee, O God 114 

I come not here to talk 760 

I could not do without Thee 547 

Idly I mused beside the mountain.. 872 

I do not and I will not believe 835 

I do not ask, dear Lord 402 

I do not ask. O Lord . 128 

If by wish I could withdraw 796 

I fell asleep while learning my 331 

If ever I have had the wish to lighten 435 

If God sees best. I ask it not 850 

If I had all the flowers that bloom. 697 
If Ihad known 789 



If I may not, like the skylark 

If it be Thou, my Lord ! 

If I were told that I must die 

If life in sorrow m ust be spent 

If one talent God hath given me. . . 

If some kind power 

I found a place where violets grow.. 

Is it for me, dear Saviour? 

If the Lord were to send 

If the night be dark and drear. . . . 

If Thou wilt, my loving Saviour. . . 

If through the lone desert 

If we could always keep 

If we knew the woe and heartache. 

If we knew, when walking thought- 
less 

If we sit down at set of sun 

If when the cloudless skies 

If you cannot on the ocean 

If you have gentle words 

I gave my life for thee 

I gaze at morn where rosy light 

I go singing all the way 

I had a beautiful garment 

I had learned my geography lesson. 

I have come to you, mother 

I have done, at length, with dream- 
ing.. . . 

I have found, for world-worn spirits. 

I have friends across the river 

I have entered the valley 

I have heard of a land 

I have no frankincense, no myrrh. . 

I have no wish to drink 

I have planned much work 

I, happy little summer cloud 

I have two sunny rings of hair 

I heard a little bird 

I heard a mother singing. 

I heard a voice long years ago 

I heard far up some Heavenly height 

I heard the voice of an angel 

I hear earth's master-songs 

I hear of a river of wonderful sheen. 

I hear thee speak of the better land. 

I hear the Saviour say 

I hold him great, who for love's sake. 

I hold it the duty of one who is gifted 

I hold Thy truth, O Lord, within 

my heart 

I I, I have redeemed thee 

' I imaged a land where flowers are 
growing 

I knew Thou wert coming 

I know I love Thee better, Lord. . .. 

I know no loneliness of heart 

I know not the hour of His coming. 

I know not what will befall me!. . . 

I know thatHeav'n lies just beyond. 

I lay my tasks down one by one 

I lean against the shaking fence 

I leave my life with Thee, my Lord. 

I left it all with Jesus 

"I' 11 be a singer, " so she said.one day 

I looked on the surface of life's clear. 

I love, I love my Master 

I love it, I love it and who shall 
dare 

I love my God, but with no 

I love to hear the story 

I love to kneel in prayer 

I love to steal awhile away 

I love to tell the story 

I love to think that God appoints. . 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



I'm a little pilgrim 325 

I'm a pilgrim, I'm a stranger 140 

I'm bound to the house of my Fa- 
ther! 145 

I may hear His voice at morning. . . 251 

Immanuel! God wiLhus 78 

I mourn my vanished years 844 

"I'm so big, mamma," and the little 684 
I'm standing by your grave, mother. 729 
I'm thinking to-night of the home. . 559 

I'm wearin' awa', Jean 778 

I'm walking in the shadow 244 

In a gloomy garden lonely 96 

In a home of destitution 612 

In Britain's great museum 712 

In dreams I see my boy again 714 

I need Thee every hour 404 

In every line of breaking beauty seen 110 

In every loyal State to-day 774 

In fair Japan, a thousand flowers. . 328 
In golden youth, when seems the 

earth 853 

In hallowed tints and outlines 370 

In happier days of old, when 877 

In heavenly love abiding 220-493 

In her pretty willow cradle. ..... 695 

In Bis coming, what my part 253 

In His tender love and pity 641 

In Jerusalem, St. Simeon 377 

In lands full of darkness 327 

In morning hours 861 

In my heart there liveth 730 

In one of the homes on a little 666 

"In quietness, in confidence" 207 

Inside a window by a public 848 

In sight of port the ship 455 

In smothered tones, they said 713 

In some way or other the Lord will 

provide 208 

In that fair room her workshop 622 

In that far country of the East 623 

In the broad light of day 592 

In the days that are past 609 

In the depths of the night 322 

In the dim dawning, sow thy seed. . 579 

In Thee, O Lord, do I put my trust. 200 
In the evening of life, her sunset. . . 639 

In the highways or the hedges 408 

In the long run fame finds ».. 578 

In the morning early 89 

In the morning sow thy seed 400 

In the morn of the holy Sabbath. . . 92 

In the nurse's arms one night 6S6 

In the secret of His presence 303 

In the silent midnight watches 608 

In the sweet fear of Jesus 90 

In the tent of the Lord 364 

In the time which will come 739 

In the warm parlor, so cosy and 

bright 706 

In the way that He shall choose 466 

In the wondrous times of old 260 

In the world, O Christian 407 

In this land of boasted freedom 453 

Into the gloom of the deep, dark 

night 823 

Into pastures green Oh ! lead me... 82 
In vision the battle appears to my 

mind 485 

I once was treading, wearily, alone. 182 
I passed one golden summer-day. . . 447 
I placed my hand in the hand of God. 201 
I ponder oft the wondrous 362 



I prayed to have this love of Christ. 

I pray not now, as I have done 

I sat in the school of sorrow 

I saw the gardener bring and strew. 

I saw the young bride in her beauty. 

I shall follow the footsteps 

Is it all a dream, of a wider life 

Is it far, do you think, to the Sav- 
iour? 

Is it for me, dear Saviour? 

Is it to pass Willi depreciating 

I shall follow the footsteps that 
guide 

I sometimes feel the thread of life is. 

I sometimes wonder, that if death . . 

Is rum io be King of the Nation?. . 

I stand alone, the fierce rocks 

I stand at. His gate to-day 

I stand on the threshold 

Is there cie whois weary and lonely 
and sad? 

Is there no hope of saving 

Is this a land of liberty? 

Is thy cruse of comfort failing. . . . 

I stood beside Love's brimming sea. 

I stood outside the gate 

I strayed last eve across the lonely. 

I stretch my hands as blind men do. 

I take your gifts, glad yesterday 

It chanced upon a certain time 

It chances once to every soul 

I thank Thee, God. for all I've 

I thank Thee that I am Thy child.. 

I think God throws the lights and. . 

I think we are too ready with com- 
plaint 

I think when I read that 

I thought that praitling girls 

It is more beautiful than you can 
know 

It is nothing to me, the beauty 
said 563 

It is not mine to run with eager feet. 

It is the day of days in all the year. 

It is through a flower-strewn way. . 

It looks a goodly ship 

It lies around us like a cloud 

It may be He'll come in the morning 

It may be in the evening 

It may not harm 

It passeth knowledge 

I trust in Thee, I trust in Thee! 

I trust Thee, O Father 

It's coming, coming nearer 

It shall be light ! 

It's too late for me 

It was many and many long years 
ago 

It was only a glass of cider 

It was the hour of deepest gloom . . . 

It was wrought in silken letters 

I used to come with a burden of care. 

I've a joy in my heart 

I've found a joy in sorrow 

I've imaged a land where flowers. . . 

I've no abiding-place 

I've been to the mission-school, 
mother 

I've read its latest number through. 

I've watched fair morning-glory 
buds 

I walk along the crowded streets. . . 

I want to be an angel 

I want to work for Thee, my Lord. 



I was a corn of wheat 187 

I was a gleaner once 444 

I was lost, a little lamb 668 

I was sitting alone in the 736 

I watched the builders day by day. . 444 

I weep, but not rebellious tears 2S8 

I will not doubt, though all my 

ships at sea 205 

I will not leave you comfortless . . . 633 

I will not let Thee go ! 208 

I will rejoice wiih gladness deep... 815 

I will sing for Jesus 228 

I will sing you a song 143 

I will work with all my might 616 

I wished myself among them 141 

I wist not what to wish, yet'sure. . . 51 

I wondered, counting the years S73 

I would be human, toiling like the 

rest 823 

I would draw nigh, but tell 35 

I would never kneel at a gilded 847 

I would not be a stranger 293 

I would not die early 328 

Jerusalem, my heart's beloved . . 153 
Jerusalem the. Golden, I languish 

for one \ 852-1 -J4 

Jesus, blessed Saviour, help us 324 

Jesus, bruised and wounded ....... 96 

Jesus, by the well-side silting 510 

Jesus Christ, regard my anguish. . . 180 
Jesus, dear Saviour, come dwell in 

my breast 548 

Jesus, I glory in the truth 231 

Jesus, I know Thy love 295 

Jesus, in Thy transporting name . . 225 

Jesus is our Shepherd dear 417 

Jesus is the Gardener 094 

Jesus, I will trust Thee 527 

Jesus! Jesus! Jesus! calm my 395 

Jesus, keep me near the Cross 304 

Jesus lives! No longer now ]98 

Jesus, Lord ! I ask but this 470 

Jesus, Lord of life and light 259 

Jesus loves me, this I know 91 

Jesus, Master! whom I serve 294 

Jesus, my Eedeemer, lives 192 

Jesus, my Saviour! I know Thou. . 549 

Jesus, my sorrow lies too deep 244 

Jesus, on whom my soul relies 122 

Jesus, Saviour, at Thy bidding 84 

Jesus, Saviour, bless'd Redeemer.. 202 
Jesus, Saviour, hear my pleadings . 242 

Jesus, Saviour, pass not by 12S 

Jesus, Son of Righteousness 35 

Jesus, source of light Divine 114 

Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me . . 700 
Jesus, the friend of human-kind. . . 190 

Jesus, the ladder of my faith 296 

Jesus, thou divine compassion .... 12S 

Jesus, Thy last command 323 

Jesus, when my barque is sailing . . 546 
Join hands ! The mists are lifting. 488 

Joyfully ring out the tidings 99 

Joyfully, with glad hosannas 470 

Joy! Joy! Joy! there is joy 222 

Judge not ; the workings of his brain 831 

Jump into my arms, my 683 

Just as I am, Thine own to be 655 

Just as I am, without one plea 138 

Just as it comes from out Thy hand 248 

Just as the silvery dawning 621 

Just to let my Father do what He 

will 299 

Just where Delft-Haven's sons 43 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Kind words can never die 457 

Kneeling, white-robed, sleepy eyes. 702 
Knocking, knocking, who is there? 107 

Knowest thou the Leader of 349 

Laborers of Christ, arise ! 403 

Lady Shepherd by the sea 85 

Lamb of God with bleeding feet . . . 522 

Land of oriental splendor 370 

Last night in vivid dreams I saw. . . 834 
Lay Easter lilies on the breast of all 

thy dead 196 

Lay her down gently 592 

Launch thy barque, mariner! Chris- 
tian .... 571 

Lead Thou my heart aright 547 

Lead us, O Saviour dear ! 281 

Lean on my breast, beloved 247 

Led by a star they came 423 

Lend me a harp, celestial choir. ... 121 

Let Annie buy one ribbon less 333 

Let faith in Christ my heart inspire 296 
Let Heaven highest praises bring. . 99 
Let her not lift a feeble voice and cry 320 

Let joy-bells be ringing! 199 

Let me be with Thee 128 

Let me go, for day is dawning 141 

Let me go, the day is breaking 632 

Let me in the valley keep 84 

Let me lean hard upon the Eternal 

breast 243 

Let nothing disturb thee, nothing 

affright 828 

Let the fragments and ends of the 

earth 321 

Let the New Year bring what it will 586 
Let thy gold be cast in the furnace. 249 

Let us gather up the sunbeams 710 

Let us look through sacred story. .. 343 

Let us rally round the banner 489 

Life, believe, is not a dream 82S 

Life gives us armor for the 800 

Life hath its barren years 576 

Life has many a pleasant hour 152 

Life seemeth to me like a beautiful 

poem 806 

Life's Orient morn hath passed away 71 
Life, thou strange mysterious dream! 812 
Lifting softly white tent curtains.. 641 
Lift, lift thine eye, poor mourner. . 728 

Lift, lift ye clouds of gloom 598 

Lift me higher, blessed Saviour 226 

Lift the banner of the cross 314 

Lift up, lift up thy voice 316 

Lift up on the mountains . 314 

Light for the Gentiles ! Light 260 

Light of the world, across our paths 197 

Light! light! the heart-cry 340 

Light on" the distant hills 572 

Light up the hall, and spread the 

board 573 

Like a blind spinner in the sun 809 

Like to an upturned field 862 

Like a child that is lost 520 

Like as the armed knighte 212 

Like a cradle rocking, rocking 678 

Like Dives in the deeps of hell 592 

Like Israel of old 30 

Like Luther's bird, I sit and sing. . 229 

Like some stupendous elm tree 775 

Like to those stars that vanish 827 

Lingering on the horizon 826 

Listen, all ye Christian people 459 

Listen, listen, English sisters 278 

Listen, O listen, our Father all holy 523 | 



Listen to the echoes stealing 

Little feet can swiftly go 

Little hands on the window rest. . .. 

Little household angel 

Lo! a mighty host is rising 

Lo! I am with you when the world. 
Lonely pilgrim, art thou weary .... 

I Long is the night and we ride 

' Long 1 sat in the gloaming sighing. 
Long time in sloth, longtime in sin 
Lood at me with thy large brown 

eyes 

Look at this little heap of coin 

Look not on the wine 

Look to the cross, look to the cross. 

Lord, at Thy mercy-seat 

Lord God of Israel, hear our prayer 
Lord, help me watch with constant 

care 

Lord, how mysterious are Thy ways 
Lord, I believe Thy gracious word. 
Lord, I hear of showers of blessing. 
Lord Jesus, at whose glorious feet. 
Lord, may the spirit of this feast. .. 
Lord of harvests, Heavenly King . . 
Lord, speak to me that I may speak 
Lord, Thou hast been our dwelling 

place 

Lord, to Thee my heart ascending- 

Lord, upon mine offering look 

Lord, we come with this one plea. . 
Lord, we hear the Heavenly call . . . 
Lord, we would draw near to Thee. 
Lord, what offering shall we bring. 
Lord, when my raptured thought 

surveys — 

Lord, when we pray, "Thy King- 
dom come." 

Lo! round the throne a glorious 

band 

Lost your treasures, little maiden . . 

Lo ! the mists are fleeing 

Lo! the Saviour passeth by 

Lo! these latter days of glory 

Love divine! we see and wonder. . . 

Love, love divine, I sing 

Love's blessed evangel sang angels 

to men 

Love, that blest the bread and wine 
Lo! what a cloud of witnesses are 

ever 

Low in the darkness, bleeding and 

crushed 

Lowly and solemn be 

"Madam, we miss the train at B-." 

Make Thine abode with me 

Make thy life better than thy work 

Mamma can go down stairs 

Margery cowered and crouched in. . 

Master, the tempest is raging 

Master, where abidest Thou? 

May peace be on the waters 

May we always trust in Jesus 

Meet thee? yes. I'll meet thee 

Memorial offerings in my hand 

Merry, merry Christmas ev'ry where! 

Methinks I can my Saviour see 

Methought on Corinth's citadel. . . . 

Mighty in faith and hope 

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the 

coming 

Mine eye upon Thy faithfulness . . . 

Mine, these sweet fresh pinks 

Mingling all day with the busy throng 



More brave than they who 477 

More faith, dear Lord, more faith.. 523 

More like Jesus would I be 100 

More love to Thee, O Christ 298 

Morning by morning to his gates. .. 367 
Mother! Oh! what living fragrance. 737 
Mount, my soul, from earth and 

time 161 

Mount Olivet was crowned with... 359 
Mourn for the Chief of the Nation . 761 

My Bible, precious treasure 203 

My body, soul and spirit 470 

My daily round I tread , 296 

My days are stairs that lead 215 

My Father, if these lips defiled 513 

My early home was beautiful 599 

My Father is rich in houses and 

lands : 271 

My feet had sought the chapel door 798 
My friend one morning, knocking . 869 

My flesh is weary, but the way 543 

My gentle mother, thro' life's storms 384 

My God, is any hour so sweet 125 

My God, my Father, blissful name. 132 
My God, my Father, while I stray.. 116 
My God. Thy boundless love I praise 400 

My heart is resting, O my God 295 

My Jesus, as Thou wilt 132 

My journey is onward through dark 545 

My little maiden of four 683 

My little one-life power 67 

My Saviour feels for me 547 

My Saviour, give me words for Thee 290 

My Saviour, if to Thee 534 

My son, thou wilt dream 734 

My soul complete in Jesus stands. . 83 

My soul doth magnify the Lord 671 

My soul keeps silence unto Thee. .. 210 
My soul would tell of the Saviour. . 337 
My span of life will soon be done . . 224 
My thoughts go home to that old 

brown house 876 

My wondering eyes see a city rise. . 884 
Muse on thy Lord' s sharp pains .... 192 

Nature has wept, to-day 819 

Nay, he said, it is not done 833 



172 



Nay, not my right hand 

Nearer, my God, to Thee 

Nearer to the shores of promise. . 

'Neath a lone widow's porch 

'Neath a rose-hued wealth of eglai 

lines 

Never be afraid, O patient workers. 646 

Never farther than the cross 390 

Night on the angry billows 814 

Night's canopy over Judea 79 

Night sinks on the wave 72 

Night wraps the realm where Jesus 322 
No, ah ! no, thou art not dreaming. 643 

Noblest of women kind 622 

No book is like the Bible 205 

No interest in the mission cause 329 

No home abides me here 744 

No mortal lover is like mine 213 

None but Christ, His merit 121 

No one when a lamp has been 

lighted 223 

No peariy gate on hinge of gold 512 

No sacred altar there, : no mystic rite 100 

No seed is lost though 414 

No sound, no sound! no loudly 

chiming 879 

Not as I will," the sound grows 

sweet 466 



WDZX OF FIRST LINES. 



Not as the little wandering child . . . 243 

Not at the battle front 787 

Not duty's measured tithe alone 275 

Not far away does that bright city 

stand 149 

Not far! and yet how many times. . 51 

Not for its walls of jasper 540 

Not for myself, my God, I ask 323 

Not for some future years S75 

Not here, and yet not lost 391 

Not hid, dear Lord, I fain 466 

Nothing but leaves, the spirit grieves 491 
Nothing is our own: we hold our 

pleasures 163 

Nothing to pay. ah! nothing to pay. 506 

Not in the budding springtime 794 

Not material jewels rare 218 

Not now, ray child, a little more. . . 141 

Not only harbors filled with ships. . 574 

"Not seen!" the veil of flesh 201 

Not with a firm and measured step. 589 

"Not your own," but His ye are . . . 114 

Now God be praised that in His will 677 
Now God be with us for the night is 

closing 66 

Now hark, ye friends, to my story . 565 

Now I lay me down to sleep 721 

Now let my soul, eternal King .... 31 

Now summer finds her 881 

Now thank we all our God 272 

Now the sowing and the weeping. . 341 

O aching heart! O restless brainf. .. 243 

O, ask me not to sip the wine 655 

O bark of mine 562 

O beautiful hour of closing day. . . . 541 

O beautiful land, whose azure skies 367 

O beautiful new life ! 672 

O be joyful in the Lord 60 

O blessed feet of Jesus ! 94 

O blessed home ! thy fragrance sweet 65 

O blessed Master! "come and dine." 55 

O blessed martyr, dying for the Lord 554 

O boys, the New Year's coming 663 

O, bring me near to Thee 129 

O, changes will follow the years. . .. 821 
O Christian, awake, for the strife is 

at hand 539 

O Christian, be sober and vigilant 

too 225 

O Christmas bells! O Christmas 

bells! 81 

Christ! what burdens bowed Thy 

head. 182 

O Christ! my Master and my King. 17S 
O, come and sign the pledge to- 
night 498 

O, come, let us sing unto the Lord. 476 

O. come to Christ! a single glance.. 110 

O comrades, on each lonely grave. . 773 

O, could I feel and know again . . . 514 

O, could our thoughts and wishes fly 114 

O dear, 1's so tired and lonesome . . 658 

O Domini Deus! Speravi in Te 817 

O, don't be sorrowful , 746 

O Earth, forget thy winter 195 

O Eden land! thou land of bloom. . 160 

0*er temple and column and cornice 353 

O'er the eastern hills arise 199 

O fair were Ragnar's daughters.... 560 

O faithless soul with hand so weak. 321 

Of all the beautiful lessons 385 

Of all the maladies that fret men's 

hearts 554 

Of all the thoughts of God that are. 174 



O Father, though the anxious fear. 33 
O Father, teach me how to pray . . . 133 

O fear not thou to die! 172 

O for a sweet inspiring ray 33 

O for that faith whose voice can 

still 201 

O for the peace which floweth 137 

\ O food for man prepared ! 96 

O for the robes of whiteness 142 

Oft in sorrow, oft in woe 400-466 

O give rue a harp on the bright hills 153 

O, glorious in beauty 274 

O God! in dark and troublous times 43 

O God! into Thy temple come 41 

O God ! may I look up to Thee . . . . 135 

O God of Israel, who hast led 46 

O God, our Father and our friend. . 42 
O God, though sorrow be my fate . 213 

O God, Thy face I cannot see 239 

O God, to-day we may forget 79 

O God, to Thee we raise our eyes. . US 
O gracious Lord, how can I doubt?. 211 

O grand whii e angel ! 672 

O! grown a dim and fairy shade ... 710 
O hallowed hour, divinely sweet!.. 401 
O hallowed sign ! the holy, the avail- 
ing 492 

O, haste the day, the happy day! 456-480 

O, hear them singing, mother! 660 

O holy Saviour! Friend unseen!. . .. 205 

O, how wearily the days ! 430 

O, it is sweet to go away alone 801 

O, it was wonderful, that He 8S3 

O Jesus, for a touch divine 287 

O joyous feast-day of the soul 100 

O land of the blessed 159 

O hand of rest, for thee I sigh 406 

O Lord, behold us at Thy feet 473 

Old, ever new sweet story 75 

Old sorrows that sat at the heart's 

sealed gate 533 

O, life is strange and ful of change 103 
O life, that beats beneath mine own 672 
O, look not on the pleasant glass. . . 648 

O Lord, behold us at Thy feet 473 

O Lord, how bounteous Thy grace. 277 
O Lord, how full of sweet content. . 229 
O Lord, there sit apart in lonely 

places 587 

O Lord, Thy Heavenly grace impart 468 

O Lord, Thy work revive Ill 

O Lord, when Thou with earth-born 

feet 137 

O Lord, while we confess the worth 85 
O lose not courage, weary heart. . . . 390 
O Master and Maker, my hope is in 

Thee 817 

O mother! love the mercy-seat 472 

O mother, will you go with me?. ... 93 
O mother! with the bright young 

face 676 

On Alpine steep, should one essay . 86 
j O name of Jesus! blessed name. . . . 531 
Once as I wandered down the street 721 
Once at the pleasant twilight hour. 563 
Once, echoing down the shores of 

time 874 

Once I looked upon a picture 351 

Once more has the sea of sorrow. . . 63S 
Once more, my harp, once more. . .. 856 
Once there stood two mighty cities. 348 

One by one we cross the river . 392 

One by one life's zephyrs waft us. . 637 
One day I was in trouble 90 



One gloomy day I passed with listless 814 
On either side washed by a flood . . . 368 

One more day's work for Jesus 268 

One of the sweet old chapters 64 

One shines from out the sacred page 148 

One sweetly solemn thought 154 

One there is above all others 120 

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. 326 

One week of joy in Heaven 785 

One year ago a ringing voice 721 

Only a bit of lace 801 

Only a little penny 333 

Only a little while 157 

Only a cup of water 617 

Only a mortal's powers 285 

Only just to rest upon His b,osom . . 230 
Only one crossing: Glory to God . 158 

O, now 1 see the crimson wave 519 

Only waiting for the shadows 176 

O November, weird November! 807 

On primal rocks she wrote hername 755 

Only waiting, till the Saviour 139 

On the altar of love 533 

On the city's highest ramparts 84 

On sad Gethsemane thick shadows 

hung 191 

On the dark threshold 42 

On the plains for bloodless battle . . 484 

On the plains of fair Judea 422 

Onward ! Christian soldiers . 214 

Onward, onward! men of Heaven. . 381 
O pastor! friend! to whom we bring 45 

Open the East gate now 613 

Open the gates of the Temple ... . 329 
Open your gates, O East and West! 667 

O pilgrim, worn and weary 612 

O pledge me not in wine 594 

Oppressed with sin and woe 553 

O radiance mine, when day is o'er. 873 

Orchards bloomed gaily 853 

Ordered — oh ! just what I am want- 
ing 554 

O remember, my friend, though... 577 
O Kock Divine, in rest complete. . . 469 
O Rosamond, thou fair and good!. . 784 

O rosy cloud that float'st away! 789 

O Science, reaching backward ! 839 

O Saviour! ascended on high 194 

O seed time, promised still of God. 447 

O, send the Bible out to all 337 

O shall I wear a starless crown?. . . 411 
O, sing, ye morning stars, rejoice! . 755 
O, sometimes the shadows are deep 549 
O songs of faith that pilgrims sing. 204 
O Son of God, in glory crowned . . . 126 
O Son of God ! Redeemer Thou .... 548 
O sons of men, come and behold !. . 46 
O soul ! if one who wrought with 

such a 466 

O soul, beset by woe on woe 461 

O souls that sit in darkness 460 

O speak to me, dear Jesus 534 

O souls that struggle to express .... 875 
O suffering souls that long for ease. 637 

O sweet prophetic words 434 

O, tender and sweet was the Mas- 
ter's voice 182 

O. tenderer than a mother's love. .. 567 
O the beautiful land, O the home 

of the saints 158 

O, the Christmas bells are ringing. . 79 

O, the empty, empty cradles 706 

O, the joy that fills my heart 538 

O, the precious love of Jesus 297 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



O, the sapphire walls, how far off. . 155 
O, think of the homes made desolate 611 

O those beautiful golden stairs 215 

O that the toilers of the earth 331 

O those bright, those Heavenly 

mansions 154 

O Thou before whose radiant shrine 131 
O Thou by long experience tried. .. 
O Thou, that lovest contrite prayer. 469 
O Thou, the contrite sinner's friend 128 

O thou essential word 137 

O thou great Spirit whom we seek. 490 

O Thou most kind and merciful 240 

O Thou so wont of old to bless 472 

O Thou that lovest contrite prayer. 469 

O Thou the Everlasting One 260 

O Thou who fling'st so fair a robe. 868 
O thou who for gloom of the future 620 

O thou who hast sinned &01 

O Thou who hearest every cry 120 

O Thou who hearest when we pray. 282 
O Thou who hast spread out the skies 72 
O Thou whose bounty fills my cup. 233 
O Thou whose ever-list'ning ear. . . 44 

O Thou whose tender heart 393 

O Thou whose tender mercy hears. 113 

O tired heart! 581 

O, to be nothing 279 

O, to be ready 136 

O toilers, grow not weary 277 

O, trust His word 186 

Our blest Redeemer ere He breathed 122 

Our country, now from thee 482 

Our country 'tis for thee 483 

Our country's voice is pleading 404 

Our Father's God, on Thee we call. 42 
Our Father, God, this day we bring 44 

Our Father in Heaven 701 

Our Father to fields that are white. 57 

Our Father, we thank Thee 660 

Our Father who in Heaven art 492 

Our field is the world 260 

Our fragile hearts would break 854 

Our hearts are heavy, Lord 238 

Our little life is small indeed 844 

Our Lord hath sent a Shepherd 44 

Our steps are firm o'er rock and sand 420 

Our tears are falling 387 

Our trust is in Thy name 491 

Our world has better fields 619 

Out in the offing lay the ship 335 

Out in the gloomy night sadly I 

roam 601 

Outlined against the eastern skies . 884 

Out of a darkened room 786 

Out of the depths to Thee I cry. . .. 238 

Outwearied with the littleness 880 

Over against the treasure this day.. 376 

Out of life's tangled skein 855 

Over the river I'm going 176 

Over the river they beckon to me. . 148 

O wait, little mother, a moment 731 

O wait, impatient heart 437 

O watchman on yon mountain height 393 

O, we are all engaged in the 64S 

O weary one! why art thou sad and 

lonely? 247 

O weary world ! O weary world!. ... 142 

O, weep not for the dead 170 

O, what are light afflictions here?. . 221 
O, what is the idol that clings to my 

heart? 517 

O, when shall I sweep through the 

gates? 306 



O, when shall my weary soul find rest? 386 

O, wide sweep the waters 221 

O wind, if thou should find' a grave. 775 
O wives, who in agony measured 

the years 572 

O wonderful, thrice wonderful SO 

O wondrous mother! Since the 

dawn of time 678 

O wondrous peace, canst thou 230 

O wondrous power of wondrous 

love 451 

O word of words the sweetest 526 

O words unmarked by some 460 

O year of night and tempest 485 

O ye to whom the word of life 383 

O ye who seek the Saviour 312 

Pale in the distant view 616 

Pale, pale as any fair Annunciation 

lily 199 

Papa, I am looking up to Heaven . . 709 

Pass me not, O gentle Saviour 524 

Passing away, passing away 776 

Patiently enduring 248 

"Peace" she cried, "O wild unrest!" 1S4 

Peace, stubborn will! .. . .. 186 

Pleasant church, undo thy doors!.. 45 

"Please take my hand," she 6S3 

Poor little Jem ! and yet not poor. . 657 
Poor mourner, tempted oft and tried 631 

Praise God for His goodness 323 

Praise God from whom all blessings 474 

Praise the Lord, all ye people 315 

Praise to God, immortal praise 53 

Praise to Him who built, the hills . . 668 
Praise, to the grace which has tri- 
umphed so free 276 

Praise the Lord, all ye people 315 

"Pray for us." the words are coming 277 

Praying, always praying 546 

Pray, though the gate of mercy 295 

Pray, though the gift you ask 492 

Pray where are all the joys you've 

known 835 

Precious, precious blood of Jesus . . 179 
Preserved from peril, o'er the snrg- 

ing ocean 233 

Press close, my child, to me. 110 

Prince of peace, control my will 118-526 

Proclaim the lofty praise 399 

Pure and patient! Lord, the plea. .. 211 

Purer in heart, O God. 115 

Que ferais — je sans Toi, Sauveur. .. 1S1 

Que je sois, O cher Sauveur 127 

Rally at the clarion call 4S1 

Ready ! oh ! are you ready 251 

Ready, Saviour, I would be 141 

Read us a psalm, my little one 618 

Reaper, I asked, among the golden 

sheaves 429 

Receive me to glory 543 

Rejoice and be glad, all ye isles 266 

Rejoice, rejoice, believers 270 

Rejoice ! rejoice ! believer . 222 

Rejoice, rejoice with heart and 319 

Rejoice with Jesus Christ to-day. .. 338 
Rejoice, ye saints, in Christ the Lord 211 
Restless heart, that, worn with pain 51 
Rest softly, Earth, upon her breast. 784 

Rest thee, my darling, rest thee 690 

Ring freedom's bells across all lands 765 

Ring merry, merry bells 74 

Ring out the grief that saps the mind 621 
Ring, ring the bells over ocean and 

shore 199 



Rise in thy glory, O thou star 

Rocked in the cradle of the deep. . . 
"Rock of Ages, cleft for me," 

thoughlessly the maiden sang 

Roll on, temperance tide ! 

Roughened and worn with ceaseless 

toil 

Sabbath in the Hebrew temple 

Sad benighted souls are crying 

Sad-eyed Madonnas walk the earth. 

Safe in the arms of Jesus 

Safe now beneath the shadow of the 

cross 

Saints of God, the dawn is bright- 
ening 

Saving faith in Jesus 

Saviour, I am weary, weary ...... 

Saviour, 1 come to Thee 

Saviour, like a shepherd lead us . . . 

Saviour, more than life to me 

Saviour! Thou who dost deliver 

Saviour who died for me 

Say, art thou worn with toil and 

strife? 

Say not it might have been 

Say, sinner, hath a voice within 

Say, where on thy slow pinions tar- 

riest thou 

Scorn not the drunkard if he falls.. 

Seated one day at the organ 

See how the morning sun 

Seek not for some far-off mission . . 

See the banners waving, waving 

See the flag of Jesus 

See the king desired for ages 

See them crowd around the Saviour 
See! the sun is high in heaven. . . . 
Self is struggling, wrestling, heav- 
ing- -• 

Set apart for Jesus 

Set wholly apart for the use of the 

Master 

Shall not the Lord of all the earth . 

Shall desolation always rule? 

Shall we, oh! dare we thus so 

blest 

Shall we, surrounded by the blaze . 
Shall we who trust the Saviour's 

love? 

She dwelt so near her heavenly 

home 

She folded up the worn and mended 
She had pulled her white carnations 
She is launched on the wave, — the 

good ship Prohibition 

She knelt with her sweet hands 

folded 

She knew not what for them she 

sought 

She rocked the cradle to and fro. . . 
She seemed so young, so young to 

die 

She thought by heaven's high wall. 

She was my May when the 

She wears no jewel upon hand or 

brow 

Shine, gentle stars, to-night 

Show me the Father," Lord, 

Show me the way that leads to the 

true life 

Show me thy woman face 

Shout aloud, all ye lands 

Show us our sins, O Lord 

Sickness and pain; and 



780 
570 

806 

434 
379 

^55 
2-0 



INDEX OF FIKST LISES. 



Sign the pledge, my youthful 

brother 497 

Silent and still they waited 35S 

Silent has been the night 567 

Since Jesus is my friend 122 

Since I lie summer roses faded 162 

Since thy Father's arm sustains 

thee 242 

Sinful and weak am I , 521 

Sing, heart of mine! 58 

Sing it out, sing it with a shout !. . . 53' 
Sing praise to God who reigns abo'-e 3' 
Sing ye the honor of God's name!. . 279 
Sing the morning light is breaking. 3: 
Sisters with the heart of Martha. . . 398 

Sit down beneath His shadow OS 

Sitting silently grouped in the 

gloaming 368 

Sleep ! baby, sleep 695 

Sleep not, soldier of the cross 321 

So fades the lovely blooming flower 631 

So far with ine, no farther 746 

Soft floating on the Syrian breeze.. 340 

Softly on the breath of evening 73 

Softly sleep, little one 605 

Softly the daylight faded, far in the 

distant blue 164 

Soldiers in the ranks of Jesus 313 

Soldiers in this earnest battle 487 

Soldiers of the Eternal King 480 

Some find work where some find 

rest 345 

Sometimes the snow 885 

So near comes darkness to our light 620 
Soon may the last glad song arise. . 264 
Soon the cause of right will triumph 480 
Souls in heathen darkness lying. . .. 278 

Sound the Gospel trumpet 323 

Sound the praise of Jesus over land 

and sea 258 

Sovereign of worlds! display Thy 

powers 264 

So you ask for a story, my darling.. 870 

Sow with a generous hand 3S8 

Sowing the seed by the daylight fair 512 
Sparkling and bright in its liquid 

light 497 

Speak for me, friend S37 

Speak, Lord, for Thy servant hear- 

eth 301 

Speak low to me, my Saviour 580 

Speak to me of the beautiful land . . 778 
Speed away, speed away, happy soul 394 
Stand fast in the cause of our Master 488 

Standing by the veiled portal 795 

Standing in the fiercest battle 534 

Star, bright star, I throw you a kiss 696 
Star of Peace, to wand'rers weary.. 381 

Still, still with Thee 53 

Strangely blest were those disci- 
ples SIS 

Strange, strange for thee and me. . 785 
Strew the flowers, bright flowers. . . 773 

Strive not to fill an angel's part 614 

Strong are the mountains. Lord . . . 831 

Sturdy Steenie, rose-cheeked 685 

Such beautiful, beautiful hands 723 

Such costly treasures the wise ruler 

gave 421 

Sunlight of the heavenly day 289 

Sweet bells are ringing 587 

Sweet Christmas bells 81 

Sweet day so cool, so calm, so bright 40 
Sweet friend, when thou and I 567 



Sweet gleam of sunshine 

Sweeter song than e'er was sung. .. 

Sweetheart, thou hast no name. . . 

Sweet is the work, O Lord 

Sweet light is gone and through 

Sweet Sabbath-day of peace 

Sweet to me are hours of . .- 

Swift o'er her face there 

I Swiftly, how swiftly, the years 

I Sword of our gallant fathers 

Take me nearer to your Jesus .... 

Take my hand and 1 will guide thee 

Take my hand, my Father 

Take my life and let it be 

Take the name of Jesus with you. . 

Take Thine own way with me 

Talking of sects till late one eve. . . 

Talitha Cumi, Darling, arise 

Tarry with me, O my Saviour! 

Teach me, O life Divine, to live . . . 

Teach me Thy will, O Lord 

Tell it out among the heathen 

Tell me, O ye gentle zephyrs 

Tell me the old, old story 

Tell me the secret. Lord 

Tell us not, O song of poet 

Temptation assailed him 

Tender Shepherd! Thou hast stilled 

Territory, noble, vast 

Thank God for labor 

Thank God that my darling is rest- 



579 



That goodly Syrian mountain 

That He will al ways us befriend 

That mystic word of Thine 

That time of horror with its 

The angel of death came all unseen 

The breaking waves dashed high. .. 

The. brewer's dog is abroad, boys. .. 

The bridge of prayer from heavenly 
heights 

The certainest, surest thing I know 

The Christian army stands arrajed. 

The children are going to bed 

The children's day has come again. 

The clangof arms, the clash of steel 

The clouds hang low above my .... 

The clouds hang low in the Persian 
sky 

The cold and pitiless rain 

The crown of thorns He wore 

The cry for freedom 

The daisy is the children's flower. . 

The day is done, dear Lord 

The days of summer brightness. . . . 

The dewy rose of Sharon 

The dreamy night draws nigh 

The dull, chill prison building 

The Easter praises may falter 

The east hangs out a signal 

Thee will I worship, Jesus 

The face which duly as the sun .... 

The Father's house hath bread to 
spare 

The fairest action in our human life 

The feast was spread, the solemn. . 

The fields are whitening 

The firelight flickers from the burn- 
ing ember 

The first faint light of early day. . .. 

The first recorded words that brake 

The flo'.ver that blooms beyond out- 
reach 

The foot of spring is on yon blue . . 



The former things are passed away 378 

The gates of glory opened wide 422 

The gates of that city stand ever- 
ajar 153 

The ghost of Christmas past 703 

The gifted tell in song and history. 567 
The glad bells of temperance are 

joyfully ringing 495 

The golden beams of knowledge. .. 272 

The golden gates are lifted up 195 

The gray waves surge between 780 

The harvest of rich and golden 

sheaves 564 

The heavens declare the glory of 

God 24 

The hours of evening close.. 66 

The hurrying days, for all the work 

and praise 431 

The "King in His beauty." 159 

The lark's voice dies, when fall the 

leaves 869 

310 1 The land in Holland is flat and low. 656 
533 The land was wrung by famine.... 354 

509 The lava always finds the sea 802 

103 The legend says in Paradise 786 

644 The leaves are falling, falliDg 718 

556 The Lord is on His holy throne.... c0 
172 The Lord my shepherd is, and I. . . 83 
428 I The Lord of Hosts hath made for me 562 

493 I The man of sorrows died 219 

J The inarching orders we've received 647 
711 j The Master has come over Jordan . 686 
350 i The Master hath need of the reapers 411 
531 The Master is come and calleth for 

117 thee 426 

730 | The Master's voice was sweet 108 

709 I The midnight comes and my lamp. 437 
750 1 The mind was formed to mount 

658] sublime 116 

i The mistakes of my life are many.. 525 

129 ! The murmur of a waterfall 856 

71 The nation hath said 775 

484 The night is here, the peaceful 801 

688 The night had spread her curtain.. 582 

416 ; The night is dark, O Lord! 618 

564 ! The night was dark and fearful 711 

247 ' The night was dark on Galilee 66 

I Then, women, build what men in 

355 [ vain 629 

718 j The past with its blackness 501 

The prodigal with streaming eyes. . 524 
The promised morning o'er us 

breaks 45S 

The promise of delicious youth may 

fail 828 

The pure and holy lilies 190 

The rainbow colors blended bright. 066 

There are pain-prisoned souls 410 

There are poems unwritten and 

songs 870 

There are soldiers who have battled 500 
There is a faith that e'er ascends . . 392 
There is a gate that stands ajar. 179-180 



94 There is a glow at harvest time 
S17 There is a God; all nature speaks. . 

374 | There is a green hill far away 

385 1 There is a name divinely sweet 

I There is a peace supremely pure. . . 
217 There is a spot of consecrated 
86S ground 

50 j There is a truth so great 

There is joy among the angels 
292 | There is life for a look at the cruci 
710 , fied One 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



There is never a day so sunny 188 

There is one name that I would trace 183 
There is trouble in many a home to- 
day 595 

There is woe in our country 47S 

There runneth an ancient legend. . 422 
There's a call from the far-off heath- 
en land 335 

There's a city bright and golden. . . 638 

There's a funny tale of a 334 

There's a light that is beaming above 478 

There's a wonderful tree 412 

There's an enemy at hand 497-4S9 

There's a song ever new 38 

There's a mighty temptation 570 

There's a sigh in the heart 740 

There's a star that shines on the 

blest highway 231 

There's a.wail in the air 483 

There's a waeful blank 733 

There's music in a mother's voice . 724 

There's not a gentle heart 762 

There seems a voice in every gale.. 29 

There was a time 779 

There was heard a song 751 

There was rest, sweet rest, in my 

weary heart 235 

There was tumult on the water. . . 211 

There were ninety and nine 535 

There will be no sin nor pain 320 

The right to be a woman 802 

The rills unbound leap forth 43^ 

The ripened harvest smiled 857 

Th ; roseate hues of early dawn 31 

The Sabbath day was ending 862 

The sacred Sabbath came last night 37 

The sands of time are wasting 158 

The Saviour calls, let every ear 108 

The Saviour! Oh! what endless 

charms 121 

The setting sun fills all the sky 8S3 

The scene is fresh before us 1S8 

The sea of life, — it is deep and wide 512 
The shadows of the evening hours. 66 

The Shepherd of the Orient 84 

The shining of the earliest star .... 71 

The signal lights are glancing 477 

The snow lay heavy 603 

The star of hope has risen 491 

The stone is rolled away 329 

The storm had spent its rage 816 

The storm-king's abroad 589 

The. sun had risen, the air was sweet 56 
The sun is down, the stars are out . 702 

The sunlight's glimmer through 159 

The surging sea of human life 765 

The sweetest face in all the world.. 723 

The sweetest picture that 730 

The sweetest saint, Elizabeth 354 

The to-come of the world 767 

The trance of golden afternoon 441 

The vast illimitable power of God. . 52 
The voice is the voice of a leader. .. 612 
The voice of Jesus! hark, my soul.. 216 
The voice of my best beloved was 

still 392 

The wanderer no more will roam. .. 181 
The way lies over the mountain road 617 

The way is long, my darling 747 

The way seems dark: O Saviour, 

reach 3S7 

The way was long and 761 

The weary night seems long 254 

The whole wide world for Jesus . . . 279 



The words came with my weeping. 

The work of our hands establish 
Thou it 

They are not most at home 

They are waiting for the coming. . . 

They call me, they call me 

They never seem to be far away . . . 

They hushed their breath, that no- 
ble band 

They laid him down with 

They lived and they were useful. . . 

They planted them together. 

They never seem to be far away . . . 

They're gathering homeward . . 

They" re crossing the river 

They tell us Victor Hugo's dead — 

They that trust in the Lord 

They told me I was heir 

Thick darkness ettled o'er the lands 

Thine are the rivers 

Thine forever, God of love 

Thine, most gracious Lord 

Thine the bearing and forbearing. . 

Think it no excuse, boys 

This day I will arise and stand . . . 

This temple, Lord, our temp'rance 
home 

This revelation, — holy, just, and true 

This way! where sweet breathed. . . 

Thorns pierced a holier than Thou. 

Tho' the night be dark 

Thou art coming, O my Saviour 

Thou art gone on high 

Thou art high in Thy glory 

Thou art come from the spirit's land, 
thou bird ■ " 

Thou art my Shepherd caring 

Thou art the way 

Thou beauteous star that lifts 

Thou didst leave Thy throne 

Thou didst pass from my sight 

Thou hast the glow of the summer 
sun 

Thou hast said, blessed Saviour 

Thou healer of the broken heart . 

Thou holy God, the truth, the light 

Thou iayest Thine hand on the. . . . 

Thou lovely source of true delight . 

Thou only sovereign of my heart. .. 

Thou teacher of our spirits, Thou. . 

Thou wakest, my baby boy, from 



inou wilt never grow oiu 

Thou who didst for Peter's faith. . . 

Thou who didst stoop below 

Thou who hast said, n I essed Saviour 

Thou who knowest all our grief. . . 

Though all around Heaven's guards 
are set. 

Though fondly we cherish the flag. 

Though buffetted and tempest-worn 

Though I have sown and reaped no 

Though in a narrow, humblesphere 

Though 1 shrink in human pain. . 

Though now I see no purpose in my 
life 

Though often with pilgrim 

Though smooth be the heartless 
prayer 

Though the night be dark and 
dreary 

Though the rain may fall 

Thought hath wondrous germina- 
tion 



Three little forms in the twilight 

gray 680 

Three little worsted stockings 705 

Through fifty years of 726 

Through many years of light and 

shade 44 

Through the new Jerusalem 792 

Through the love of God, our Sav- 
iour 211 

Through the ripple of the moments <i5S 
Through the whirl of wind and water 825 
Through Warsaw there is weeping. 754 

Through the love of God 532 

Thrust in the sickle 406 

Thus ever in the steps of grief. . . . 835 
Thy brother's blood, thy brother's. 512 
Thy miracles are no state splendors 197 

Till I learned to love Thy name 225 

Time, thou speedest on but slowly .. 254 

Tiny shoes of red ' . . 736 

•'Tired," oh yes! so tired, dear .'.169-747 

Tired, so tired of waiting 5^5 

'Tis a pen for the Master's using. . . 373 

'Tis beautiful to live on earth 454 

'Tis Christmas morn! with noiseless 

tread . . 77 

'Tis Easter-day! glad Easter-day!. . 194 
'Tis human lot to meet and bear. . . 129 

'Tis not for fame; I know 848 

'Tis religion that can give 230 

'Tis said the Turk, when passing 

down 607 

'Tis the death night of the solemn 

old year 423 

'Tis the last night of the year 291 

'Tis the Resurrection Morning... . 188 
'Tis the voice of Jesus, sweetly call- 
ing 504 

'Tis the sunshine of life's troubled 

ocean 870 

'Tis your Maker, O mortal 511 

To bear, to nurse, to rear 719 

To carry on the Temperance cause. 656 

To do God's will 445 

To feel God's glory breaking thro' . 161 

To him who, dwelling by 876 

To his courtiers spake the monarch 575 

Toiling on for Jesus! Oh, how • ()3 

Toiling on, 'mid the ripened grain . . 630 
Toiling up the hillside, see the Sav- 
iour go 100 

To Jesus our exalted Lord. 99 

To know her was to love 394 

Too late ! too late ! how heavily that 

phrase 515 

Toll, belis, from every steeple 766 

Too many for one house 813 

Too weak, I cried, am I to bear life's 

pain . . . 539 

To my youth came a voice that .... 410 
To-night as on all Christmas eves.'. 794 
To-night in the purple twilight . . 852 
To our Redeemer's glorious name.. 33 
To temperance we will raise our 

song 481 

To Thee, Creator of all good 55 

To Thee, O God, my prayer ascends 115 
To the realms of midnight darkness 316 

To the stately village bridal 827 

To the work! to the work! 398 

To Thy cross, dear Christ, I'm 

clinging 179 

To tired brain and aching head 613 

Trace the foundations, see how vast 850 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



Tread softly, tread softly, this hal- 
lowed 768 

True-hearted, whole-hearted 286 

Trusted friend of years agone 789 

Trusting, my cross I bear 469 

Trust Thee! though all life's hopes 

Thou slay 530 

'Twas a thoughtful child that was. 346 

'Twas a vision beatific 

'Twas night upon Judea's hills 73 

'Twas not the features, not the 

form 880 

'Twas springtime in Judea 401 

'Twa^ the eve before Christmas 703 

Twenty years have passed away 772 

'Twill not be long 

Two hands upon the breast 633 

Two hundred years S31 

Two little feet so small 684 

Two little feet have we 336 

Two little waxen hands 713 

Two or three are met together 451 

Two temples God hath builded Him 29 

Unanswered yet. the prayer 860 

Unapproaehed and unf athomed 425 

Unfurl the banner of the cross 293 

Until He comes! like music tones. . 253 

Unto the shining hills of God 147 

Unto us the message cometh 178 

Up! friends of Jesus 313-402 

Up through the voiceless centuries 

of the past 404 

Up to the bountiful Giver of life. .. 170 
Upon the century's battlements . . . 707 

Upon the sadness of the sea 617 

Upon the wintry wold 421 

Upon this sunny shore 354 

Up to my window 852 

Vainly through night's 403 

Vain we number every duty 317 

Venez, car Je'sus est la vie ! 1^:7 

Via crucis! Via lucis! 178 

Wailing bowed the heathen mother 363 

Wait, children, wait! 3S9 

Waiting at the Lord's command. . .. 289 

Waiting, brother, waiting 444 

Waiting for His coming 288 

Waiting for Jesus and working ... 410 

Waiting is Mie golden harvest 405 

Waiting soul, what canst thou say? 503 

Wake, little daisy 92 

Waken ! waken early, Christians. . . 189 

Wake the song of Prohibition 482 

Wake! the welcome day appeareth. 318 

Walking by the quiet river 154 

Wandering one day in Summer 236 

Was it a marvel the maiden 363 

Was it angels that I heard? 177 

Watchman on the walls of Zion 259 

Watch, ye saints, with eyelids waking 251 

Wavelets of harmony 50 

Wave, wave the Gospel banner 407 

Way down within the cold damp 

ground 92 

We adore the rich grace and the 

mercy divine 454 

We all believe in one true God 45 

We are cheerful workers 326 

We are children of a King 665 

We are coming, we are coming 647 

We are coming, for Jehovah 453 

We are coming, O Columbia! 645 

We are here, a band of pilgrims . . . 544 
We are mariners, and God the sea.. 613 



We are marshalling the forces 487 

We are waiting till the shadows. . .. 454 

We are waiting for the coming 424 

Wearily 1 sit and weave 388 

Weary and heartsick, with wasted 

form 605 

Weary, oh ! so weary 102 

Weary, trembling, burdened one . . 505 

Weary wand'rer o'er the main 242 

Weary, weak, by sin oppressed . . . 522 
We ask, and we are answered not. . 819 

Weave no more silks, ye Lyons 755 

We bring no glittering treasures. ... 93 
We bring to Thee, O Lord, this 

temple 473 

We come from the hill-top 555 

We can hear the glad sound 646 

We dedicate to God, to-day 40 

Wee winsome girl, that nestling. . . 674 

We fain would see Thy face 436 

Weep not, when I am dead 828 

We have come to Jesus, praying. . . 325 

We have heard a cry of anguish 452 

We have heard of a joyful sound . . . 268 
We hear a low wailing from over the 

wave 263 

We know not what it is 782 

We know not what's before us 23S 

We lay our fruit and flowers 55 

We lay us down to sleep 876 

We lightly speak of little things . . . 412 
Welcome to this thrice-happy day.. 747 
We'll bear onr burden as we may . . 407 

We'll go home, by and by 162 

We looked at evening from the town 559 
We look to Thee, most gracious Lord 451 

We mean to do it some day 815 

We measured the riotous baby 712 

We must work and pray together . . 490 

We part on this green islet 384 

We plead for the little children 330 

We praise Thee, God, whose boun- 
teous hand 57 

We praise thee, O Elohim 27 

We praise Thee, O God 19 

We must leave thee, little old church 830 
We pray for rest, but would it be 

true rest 442 

We quaff a cup of cold water 574 

We're a band of valiant soldiers. . . 646 
We're a band of busy gleaners. . . .411 
We're children of temperance... . 664 
We read in the sacred traditions of 

yore 157 

We're climbing the mount of bless- 
ing 235 

We're going home, the night is 

passed 7 234 

We're going home 322 

We're saved by the blood 187 

We're happy, dear Saviour 537 

Wert thou, thoughtless, led away?. 240 
We seek a city where each quiet 

dwelling 145 

We see Him not, yet daily walk 216 

We shall sleep but not forever . 633 

We should fill the hours 780 

We sing the time that's coming 803 

We sit beside the lower feast, to-day 391 
We sometimes moan at the weight 

of care , 580 

We speak of the land of the blest. . 157 
We stood one evening, 'mid a crowd 652 
We thank Thee, Father, for the light 57 



We thank Thee, Lord of young and 

old 53 

We wander up and down 835 

We wearily toil up the hillsides 819 

We will bring, we will bring :i2~i 

We will sweetly sing on the golden 

shore 222 

We will work, we will work 470 

What am I offered for baby? 682 

What are the loves of the angels?. . 669 
What are you doing, O brother, to- 
day? 585 

What are you good for, my brave 

little man? 697 

What are we set on earth for? 442 

AVhat! art thou hurt, sweet?. .-. 683 

What awe on Mary's spirit fell 795 

What can the children do? 661 

What do I see? 333 

What did she give? 627 

What do we leave to our beloved?. 777 

What do we live for? 653 

Whate'er I've done amiss 126 

What finite power with ceaseless toil 101 
What have I ever done for Jesus?. . 496 
What have I done to show my love 

for Jesus? 467 

What if thou li vest, evermore alone? 875 

What is a woman's mission? 803 

What is my mission? If I knew 302 

What is this I hear them saying? . . 666 
What said those women as they 

bore? 364 

What limitless comfort, my Father. 872 
What means that solemn dirge? . . . 753 
What means this glorious radiance? 265 
What means this great rejoicing?. . 480 
What meanest thou to ask me why 

I sing? 225 

What shall I lay on the altar shrine? 3J5 

What shall I give to thee? 353 

What shall it be? 651 

What shall we offer of gift to-day. . 195 
What said those women as they 

bore 364 

Whatsoever be our danger 540 

What think ye of Christ? 82 

What though my heart's darling. . . 672 
What though the heavens are dark. 213 
What though we are late in the cold 

starless night? 206-241 

What use for the rope if it be not 

flung ; 816 

What ! was it a dream? 756 

What will be our labors there? 152 

What will Thou have us to do? 293 

What worshippers are these? 319 

When adverse winds and waves arise 389 

When afflictions cloud my_sky 135 

When anxious cares corrode the 

breast 550 

When a slave's child lay dying 851 

When as of old in her sadness 632 

When as returns this solemn day.. 33 
Whence came such stores of gold?. 30 
When Christ's precious ones are 

gathered 160 

When fades the sunlight 572 

When harvest days are over 54 

When I awake, my Saviour 155 

When I can trust my all with God. 238 

When I listen to Thy word 135 

When in life's most sunny path. . . . 553 
When I set out to follow Jesus. . . . 543 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



When I shall go where my Ee- 

deemer is 151 

When is our Easter? 578 

When Jesus came to earth of old. . 321 
When Jesus comes to reward His 

servants 252 

When last night's sun went down.. 846 
When, Lord, they asked, wilt Thou 

restore 344 

When Mary, moved hy grateful love 287 
When Monica lay on her dying bed 345 
When musing o'er the sin and woe. 487 
When my faith lays hold of Jesus. . 531 
When my final farewell to the world 151 

When my ship comes in 811 

When my way is hedged about me. 132 
When o'er the heart redeemed from 

sin 291 

When of old the Lord's disciples. .. 318 
When, oh! when will come the 

morning 142 

When on the broad Chaldean plain. 484 
When our poorest delights are nipt. 244 

When summer skies bend 598 

When the Lord makes up His jewels 239 

When the midnight bells 703 

When the mists have rolled in 

splendor 105 

When the morn awakes in beauty.. 548 
When the morning stars chanted. . 430 
When the pale messenger, with 

silent footfall 224 

When the storms of life are raging. 215 

When the work of day is done 162 

When the youthful fever of the soul 607 

When they go silently 170 

When Thou, my righteous judge, 

shall come 254 

When toiling along over desert and 

plain 215 

When watching those we love and 

prize. ... 125 

When waves of trouble round me 

swell 173 

When we are old enough to vote. .. 663 

When we have tried with 613 

When we meet in fields Elysian 173 

When will this monster demon ... 477 

When with sorrow the costly 618 

When wounded sore, the stricken 

soul 509-241 

Where art thou? O thou Church of 

God 113 

Where did you buy her? 6S6 

Where do you journey, my bi other? 539 
Wherefore drink with me, friends- 544 
Where green Chautauqua's arches'. 629 

Where is the unknown country? 152 

Where shall we make her grave?. .. 637 



Where the purple haze 57 

Where wanderest thou through eve- 
ning mists? 67 

Where wilt thou put thy trust? 205 

Which is the best of all the trees?. . 705 

Which shall it be? 651 

While across Time's ocean 577 

While in toil and in weariness here 273 
While the weary world is sleeping . 274 
While Thee I seek. protecting Power 204 
While verdant hill and blooming 

vale 33 

While we reckon up thy years 726 

"White as snow!'' O what a promise 523 
White lay the world in her burial 

web 799 

White was her hair 588 

Who has tried and proved the Gos- 
pel? 397 

Who cometh from Edom? 630 

Who is on the Lord's side? 649 

Who is this upon Nazareth hill?. . . 415 
Who knows how near my life's 

expended? 20S 

Who will greet me first in Heaven? 175 
Who will take care of me? Darling, 

you say 681 

Why am I here? 591 

Why ait thou so weak and weary?. 462 

Why do men wander? 730 

Why do you bring oblations vain? . 183 
Why do you sing of Grecian myths? 796 

Why do we always mourn? 632 

Why should I long for rest? 503 

Why should we covet the joy 116 

Why perish with cold and with hun- 
ger? 184 

Why should we be discouraged?. . 267 

Why stand ye here idle? 431-491 

Why thus longing, thus foreversigh- 

ing 576 

Why wrapped he not a martyr's robe 376 
Will you play me the songs that you 

played long ago? 843 

Wild, harsh and discordant 763 

Wild weather outside 737 

Will it ever grow hard with toiling. 687 

Will you decide for Jesus? .'. 522 

Wilt Thou hear the voice of praise. 91 
Wings! wings! to leave the level. . . 779 

With careless feet, and dim 862 

With doors unbarred our Afric 

stands 376 

Within a dreary, narrow room . ... 804 

Within my home that 839 

Within these quiet walls, O Lord. . 473 
Within Thy hand, Creator, Lord. .. 403 
With jovous haste along the busy 

street 835 



] With laud and loud thanksgiving. . 270 

With morning light I say 548 

Withno pillowed head on the stormy 

deep 210 

'With one accord" the day 443 

Without life's shadows darkly fall . . 538 
Without Thee, gain is only loss ... 95 

Without the snow lies drifted 837 

With reverent love and gratitude . . 625 

With such a groveling heart 552 

With tearful eyes I look around . . . 109 
With the eyes of our faith on the 

hill of the Lord 451 

With this promise 461 

With tottering step 60S 

With us in our wanderings 17o 

Work, for the night is coming 410 

Work on ! Kentucky brother u2s 

World without end! 10 

Workmen, as I see you resting 43- 

Would we stand, O Christian women 46) 

Would you be young again 85£ 

Wrapped in fine linen, odorous with 

spices 256 

Wrapped in the glory of noonday 

sun 363 

Wrap the broad canvass close! 816 

Write it on the palace gate 145 

Ye angels who stand round the 

throne 139 

Tears ago, there came a footfall . . . 627 

Ye grand men of our early day 750 

Ye messengers of Christ 381 

Yes, a wave, another wave 480 

Yes, He knows the way is dreary. . . 503 
Yes, I am waiting, Lord, and it is 

sweet 290 

Yes, I walk in the shadow 387 

Ye speak of heaven, a home of bliss 347 

Yes, we bid you welcome 662 

Yes, ye are few 751 

Ye watchers for the blessed light. . . 342 
Ye, who in the field of human life . 377 
Yielded to God in body, soul and 

spirit 526 

You are late to-night, John 568 

You came to us once, O brothers . . 763 
You come and go again uncomforted 830 
You give your little child a costly 

book . . 720 

You have read of the Moslem palace 372 

You may sing to the praise 669 

Your birthday ! and what can I ask? 804 
Young spirit freed from bondage. . . 174 

Your childhood hours so wild 745 

You tell me that the summer 209 

You think I choose a subject 569 

You've been seeking through life, O 

my brother 503 




SACKED SONG. 
[From a Painting by RaftUelle d'Urbino. 



WOMAN I2T SACRED SONG. 15 

MARY'S SONG OF THANKSGIVING. 

Luke, 1: 1G-56. 

Mrs. A. R. Hancock, the wife of General W. S. Hancock of Governor's Island, New York, has composed much music of a high 
order, prominent among which is her Te Deum Laudanuis in C, pronounced by musicians to be as fine and difficult a composition as any 
ever written for the Episcopal service. She is also the Author and Editor of The Service and Tune Book. 

Composed by Mrs. \V. S. HANCOCK. 
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Music by MRS. JOSEPH F. KNAPP. By per. 



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f ouisa f arsans jj ophins. 

Louisa Parsons Hopkins is a graduate of Framingham, Mass., State 
Normal School. She is the author o£ "Motherhood," and "The Breath 
of Field and Shore," from which the following hymn of praise is taken, 
by her permission. Some of her stanzas rise to a poetic height that is 
rare. Very much that she has written has been done under a multitude 
of pressing duties, in obedience to that instinct for expression which 
indicates the mission of the heaven-born poet. 



ELOHIM. 

1 We praise thee, Elohim, 

Throned in the cloud! 
Swift lightnings express thee, 

And thunderings loud; 
Sweep, hurst like a whirlwind 

From height uuto height, 
Grand chorus of trumpets 

Proclaiming his might! 

2 Unclothed are the mountains, 

And naked and hoar 
The ancient rocks tremble 

Thy presence before. 
In thick clouds and darkness 

Thy majesty hide, 
For the day of thy coming, 

Ah ! who may abide ! 

3 O'er foot-scorching deserts 

Thy sun-arrows smite, 
Devouring fire, 

Thy glory and light! 
Till in great rock-shadows 

The heat fades away, 
And the cool rest of eventide 

Endeth the day. 
4. Hark ! hark! from the rock-cleft 

We hear thee proclaim, 
" Long-suffering, merciful ! " 

Gracious, new name ! 
O, gentle hand-cover! 

O, soft touch of love ! 
O, heart like a mother, 

Our weakness above! 

5 Thy flock like a shepherd 

Thou'st tenderly led, 
In thirsty land nourished, 

In barren land fed. 
No longer thy glory 

Our spirits appall. 
But patience and tenderness 

Covereth all. 

6 Ye zones of winds rushing, 

Ye streams of the sea, 
Ye desert-wells gushing 

Perennial and free, 
Ye fountains of waters 

And gathering rain, — 
Join all your glad voices 

To swell the refrain! 



7 Ye giand rock-hewn temples, 

Shafts piercing the skies, 
Ye stairways of angels 

From Sinai that rise ; 
Ye great congregation, 

Redeemed by his rod, — 
Awake the grand anthem 

To Israel's God! 

8 Touch gently, maidens, 

The timbrel and lute! 
Sing softly, sweet singers, 

Harsh cymbals, be mute! 
But let the harp's yearning 

Breathe out on the air 
The sweetness of worship, 

The nearness of prayer! 

9 Toss high, ye palm-trees, 

Your emerald plumes! 
Bright tamarisk blossoms, 

Waft wide your perfumes! 
Wave, purple acacia, 

Your tassels abroad, 
And offer sweet incense 

To Israel's God. 



LOUISA PARSONS HOPKINS, 



J|mte Stcck. 

Miss Anne Steele was born in 1716 and died in 1778. She was the 
daughter of a Baptist clergyman and wrote more than one hundred and 
forty hymns, most of which were first published in England, her 
native country. She frequently wrote under the nom de plume, of 
"Theodosia." 



ADORATION. 

John 1: 14. 

1 Awake, awake the sacred song 

To our incarnate Lord! 
Let every heart and every tongue 
Adore th' eternal Word. 

2 That awful Word, that sovereign Power, 

By whom the worlds were made — 
Oh, happy morn! illustrious hour! — 
Was once in flesh arrayed! 

3 Then shone almighty power and love, 

Li all their glorious forms, 
When Jesus left his throne above, 
To dwell with sinful worms ! 

4 Adoring angels tuned their songs 

To hail the joyful day ; 
With rapture, then, let mortal tongues 
Their grateful worship pay. 
5 What glory, Lord, to Thee is due ! 
, With wonder we adore ; 
But could we sing as angels do, 
Our highest praise were poor. 

ANNE STEELE. 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



CORONATION. 
c. M. 

1 Lord, when my raptured thought surveys 

Creation's beauties o'er, 
All nature joins to teach Thy praise, 
And bid my soul adore. 

2 Where'er I turn my gazing eyes, 

Thy radiant footsteps shine; 
Ten thousand pleasing wonders rise, 
■ And speak their source divine. 

3 On me Thy providence hath shone 

With gentle, smiling rays ; 
O let my lips and life make known 
Thy goodness and Thy praise. 

4 All-bounteous Lord, Thy grace impart; 

O, teach me to improve 
Thy gifts, with ever-grateful heart, 
And crown them with Thy love ! 



_NNE STEELE. 



to. Carrie f . %mt 



Mrs. Carrie L. Post was born 1824, in Ashford, Conn. She has written 
quite extensively for various papers and periodicals, prominent among 
which are The Advance, The Sunday Magazine, Life and Light, and 
the Illinois State Journal. 



JEHOVAH'S DWELLING-PLACE. 

S. M. 

Tune, Boylston. 

1 There is a truth so great 

Nature dare not deny, 
Yet foolish man sits in debate 
And doubts a God on high! 

2 "In my warm rays He dwells," 

Saith the uprising sun, 
And crimson sky at twilight tells 
Who hath its tinting done. 

3 Gently the falling dew 

Freshens the sunburnt sod, 
And whispers sweetly, "Unto you 
I am Jehovah, God." 

4 "In me," the thunder roars ; 

"In me," the rain-drops cry; 

"In our pavilion upward soars," 

The gathering clouds reply. 

5 "And on my speedy wings 

Rideth," the whirlwind saith; 
The perfumed air, obeying, brings 
His ever-quickening breath. 

6 The garners full of grain, 

The teeming earth and sea, 
Sing evermore the glad refrain, 
"Jehovah dwells in me." 

7 The insect chirps his thanks, 

And drinks his drop of dew; 
White violets on mossy banks, 
How sweet God maketh you! 



An old, old Book I turn, 

Scanning its leaves all o'er, 
Jehovah's dwelling-place, I learn. 

Is fixed — forevermore. 
Yet a more powerful voice 

Than all combined can be, 
Sings me this song, and I rejoice. 

"Jehovah dwells in me." 



'A III: I K L. POST. 



Springfield, 111., 1880. 

AT THE MERCY SEAT. 

8's & 7's double. 

1 God is in His holy temple ! 

Let the waiting people bow 
At the mercy-seat, imploring 

Him a blessing to bestow ; 
For the sins of strange omission, 

For the wrong which, we have done 
Let us humbly pray for pardon 

Thro' the dear atoning One. 

2 God is in His holy temple ! 

Worshiping, let us adore, 
Telling o'er the wondrous story 

How the Lamb our sins once bore. 
That our souls, all stained with crimson, 

Pure and spotless might become, 
Ready at the feast to gather 

When He calls His children home. 

3 Let glad songs and sweet hosannas 

From each tuneful voice arise, 
Songs of praises, which like incense, 

Mount above these lower skies ; 
Till our earthly service ended, 

We with saints above unite 
In the everlasting chorus, 
"Unto Him be power and might! ' 



IN HIS TEMPLE. 

1 God is in His temple now ; 

God, Jehovah ! King of kings ! 
All the angels lowly bow, 

Veil their faces with their wings. 
Oh, my soul, thyself abase ! 

Who shall stand before His face ? 

2 Oh, Thou One of Ancient Days, 

Just and holy is thy name ; 
Solemn, fearful is thy praise 

Whom our highest notes defame : 
Holy reverence, deep and strong, 

Checks our prayer and stills our song. 

3 God in Heaven above the skies, 

I, on earth, how wide the space! 
From my heart, a bridge of sighs 

Rises to that holy place ; 
But the Lofty One, the guest, 

Comes to visit contrite dust. 

JENXY BLAND ESAUCHAMP. 



21) 



gforgawt (B. Minsto. 

Margaret E. Winslow is regarded as one of the finest of American 
poets. She has written for many papers and periodicals, among them 
the New York Ohserver, and has numerous poems published in vari- 
ous volumes. She is also doing much good as a Gospel Temperance 
Evangelist. TWO TEMPLES. 

"Which temple ye are.'''' 

1 Two temples God hath budded Him, 

His dwelling place to be. 
The one is roofed with blue and gold 

And paved with earth and sea; 
Its pillars are the forest-shafts; 

Its organ-swell, the breeze; 
The echoes of its symphonies 

Float wide among the trees. 

2 Within this, temple's treasure-vault 

All gold and jewels lie, 
With every precious thought of God 

Inwrought in earth or sky ; 
The hidden springs of life are there, 

And nature's endless chain; 
Ten million myriad clasping links, 

None falsely forged, or vain. 

3 No center of barbaric pomp 

Attests the temple's shrine, 
No holiest of the holies ; all 

Is perfect, all divine, 
Where priest and snowy acolyte 

Pour ceaseless praise and prayer; 
And the whole fane is flushed with light, 

For God is everywhere. 

4 The other temple, poor and mean 

It seemeth unto me, 
Narrow and ruinous and low, 

And pitiful to see. 
Its floors and walls are stained with sin, 

Its chants are choked with tears, 
Around the broken shafts of hopes 

Sweep the sad blasts of fears. 

5 In other not forgotten years 

Foul spirits held their sway. 
And round its altar day and night 

Disported in their play ; 
And through the breach their entrance forced 

The tempest sad and drear 
Sweeps unresisted, and maintains 

A winter all the year. 

6 Yet He whose purpose hidden lies 

Behind His loving will 
Makes this His choice abiding-place, 

And loves and guards it still; 
Again He builds its altar-fires; 

His Spirit warm and free, 
Breathes through its darkened corridors 

Fresh life and liberty. 

7 Two temples! One, to worship grand 

By bells of earth and air 

Is calling all created things 

For festal hisdi and rare. 



The other, where the Christ abides, 

Sweet service day by day, 
With homely interchange of love, 

Doth in its ritual lay. 
Two temples' Open eyes may see 

God's glory everywhere, 
And earthly ears may hear the bells 

Proclaim it on the air ; 
But in the lowly and defiled, 

Degraded and down-trod, 
To see and prize the temple still 

Is worthy of a God. 
So we. while kneeling in the great, 

While serving in the small, 
Despise no temple's low estate, 

Since God hath builded all ; 
But seek to open every heart 

By love, and faith, and prayer, 
That Christ may find His dwelling-place 

And temple everywhere. 



ALL THY WORKS SHALL PRAISE THEE. 



1 There seems a voice in every gale, 

A tongue in every Mower, 
Which tells, O Lord, the wondrous tale 

Of Thy almighty power ; 
The birds, that rise on quivering wing, 
. Proclaim their Maker's praise, 
And all the mingling sounds of spring 

To Thee an anthem raise. 

2 Shall I be mute, great God, alone 

'Midst nature's loud acclaim ? 
Shall not my heart with answering tone, 

Breathe forth Thy holy name ? 
All nature's debt is small to mine ; 

Nature shall cease to be ; 
Thou gavest — proof of love divine — 

Immortal life to me. 

MRS. AMELIA OPIE. 

HEAVEN ON EARTH. 

CM. 

1 Come, Lord, and warm each languid heart, 

Inspire each lifeless tongue ; 

And let the joys of heaven impart 

Their influence to our song. 

2 Come, Lord, Thy love alone can raise 

In us the heavenly flame ; 
Then shall our lips resound Thy praise, 
Our hearts adore Thy name. 

3 Dear Saviour, let Thy glory shine, 

And fill Thy dwellings here, 
Till life, and love, and joy divine, 
A heaven on earth appear. 

ANNE STEELE- 



30 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



ISRAEL'S GIFT, AND OURS. 
I. 

1 Whence came such store of gold, 
And treasures manifold, 

Offered by Israel at Thy sacred shrine, 

When, in a desert land, 

1 1 ey brought, at Thy command, 
With joyful heart and hand, these gifts of Thine ? 

2 Egyptian spoils were these, 
From stately palaces, 

Hastily torn from lovely arm or head, 

To speed their slaves away, 

When, on that woeful day, 
In every house there lay the first born dead? 

3 Or did the mines provide, 
On the bare mountain side, 

Their wealth of precious metal for Thy shrine, 

Pillars and beams to enfold, 

And form, of purest gold, 
The vessels manifold for use divine? 

4 With willing hearts and glad, 
Bringing whate'er they had, 

They laid their offerings at Thy prophets' feet ; 

The women spun and wove, 

The men, wise-hearted, strove ; 
In varied ways their love wrought service meet. 

5 So, day by day, they wrought, 
And every morning brought 

Free offerings, as their hearts were pure and free : 

Until the wise men cried: 

"More than enough, provide 
These willing hearts, and tried, in poverty." 

6 This people, whom the Lord 
Supported by His word, 

Fed in the desert with daily bread from heaven, 

Whose garments waxed not old, 

Their purple, linen, gold, 
And precious things untold, to Him had given. 

7 Glorious His shrine was made, 
Its pillars overlaid, 

And clad with gold its every shaft and rod; 

And, holiest unto Him, 

Within its chamber dim, 
'Neath shadowing cherubim, the Ark of God. 

8 What matter if they dwell 
In tents of hair or fell 

Of beast, and ever live on simple fare — 

Who knoweth, far and wide, 

Another state, beside, 
With whom their God doth bide, they are His care? 

II 

1 Like Israel of old, 

Our silver and our gold, 
Our strength and skill, ourselves, we give to Thee, 

In answer to Thy call, 

Wilt Thou accept it all, 
However poor or small the gift may be? 



2 Our precious things misused, 
Or to false gods abused, 

Pass, if Thou wilt, through purifying flame, 

So that Thou make them Thine, 

And, in Thy hands divine, 
Let them transmuted shine, all free from shame! 

3 Ours be the willing mind, 
And trusting heart, inclined 

To give to Thee as we from Thee receive ! 

'Tis by Thy love alone 

Such grace to us is shown, 
For all things are Thine own ; of Thine we give. 

4 And Thou, who dost supply 
The manna from on high, 

And seed for sowing to the sowers' hand, 

Wilt give us seed to sow, 

And make it spring and grow 
A thousand fold, we know, to bless Thy land. 

ESTHER THOME, 
1882, 

Mrs. Sigourney, whose maiden name was Huntley, was born in Nor- 
wich, Connecticut, in 1791, She was the only child of pious parents. 
At the age of eight, she wrote verses which were marked by a rhyth- 
mical accuracy. She carefully hid, for years, all her effusions, with a 
nervous fear lest they should be discovered. One point in her childish 
character — so strong as to be worth recording — was an ardent love and 
reverence for the aged, and an extreme tenderness towards animals. 
Notwithstanding her poetic literary tastes, she was fond of domestic em- 
ployments, and spinning was a favorite accomplishment. She thus 
assisted in constructing many fabrics of enduring benefit to the family; 
among others an entire suit of broadcloth for her father, which he is 
said to have worn with peculiar satisfaction. To those who have read 
Mrs. Sigourney's "Letters to Young Ladies, " it will be pleasant to learn, 
that in her own case, precept and practice were uot divided. At the age 
of eighteen she published her first volume, called " Moral Pieces in 
Prose and Verse." At twenty she was married to a merchant of wealth 
and education in Hartford. 

The one great aim of her life seemed to he to do good. In 1822 she 
published a poem called "Traits of the Aborigines of America," devoting 
all the proceeds to charity. In 1840 she spent a year abroad, and on her 
return gave to the world "Pleasant Memories of Pleasant Lands." Her 
poems and hymns are very numerous, and no collection is considered 
complete without them. Nearly two years since, (in 1882) the compiler 
of this volume stood by her tomb in the cemetery at Hartford, Conn., 
where her body was hid from mortal sight in 1865, her pure soul havto,j 
gone to its reward. 

TRUE PRAYER. 

"The Lord is in His holy temple; let all the Earth keef. 
silence before Him." 

1 The Lord is on His holy throne, 

He sits in Kingly state; 
Let those who for His favor seek, 
In humble silence wait. 

2 Your sorrows to His eye are known, 

Your secret motives clear, 
It needeth not the pomp of words 
To pour them on His ear. 

3 Doth Death thy bosom's cell invade ? 

Yield up thy flower of grass : 
Swells the world's wrathful billows high? 
Bow down and let it t:;v «. 



31 



4 Press not thy purpose on thy God, 

Urge not thine erring will, 

Nor dictate to the Eternal mind, 

Nor doubt thy Maker's skill. 

5 True prayer is not the noisy sound 

That clamorous lips repeat, 

But the deep silence of a soul 

That clasps Jehovah's feet. 

LYDTA HUNTLEY SIGOU.&NEY. 

Hartford, Conn, 1847. 

GRATITUDE. 

1 Now let my soul, eternal King, 
To Thee its grateful tribute bring ; 
My knee with humble homage bow, 
My tongue perform its solemn vow. 

2 All nature sings Thy boundless love, 
In worlds below, and worlds above ; 
But in Thy blessed word I trace 
Diviner wonders of Thy grace. 

3 Here what delightful truths I read ! 
Here I behold the Saviour bleed ; 
His name salutes my listening ear, 
Revives my heart and checks my fear. 

4 Here Jesus bids my sorrows cease, 

And gives my laboring conscience peace ; 
Here lifts my grateful passions high, 
And points to mansions in the sky. 

5 For love like this. Oh, let my song, 
Thro' endless years. Thy praise prolong; 
Let distant climes Thy name adore, 
Till time and nature are no more. 

ANNE STEELE, 

FOR WHAT SHALL I PRAISE THEE? 

1 For what shall I praise Thee, my God and my King, 
For what blessings the tribute of gratitude bring? 
Shall I praise Thee for pleasure, for health, or for ease, 
For the sunshine of youth, for the garden of peace ? 

2 For this I should praise; but if only for this, 

I should leave half untold the donation of bliss ! 
I thank thee for sickness, for sorrow, and care, 
For the thorns I have gathered, the anguish I bear ; 

3 For nights of anxiety, watching, and tears, 
A present of pain, a prospective of fears ; 

I praise Thee, I bless Thee, my Lord and my God, 
For the good and the evil Thy hand hath bestowed ! 

CAROLINE FRY. (WILSON. ) 

Died 1846. 

OUR STRENGTH AND GUIDE. 

1 Thou holy God, the truth, the light, 

From everlasting still the same ; 
Our strength by day, our guide by night, 

We bow before Thy righteous name : 
We seek to know our Father's will, 
And bid our troubled hearts be still. 

2 From sin's dark mazes set us free, 

From gloomy doubts and error's thrall ; 
Pure, meek, and trusting we would be, 

And listening to Thy loving call, 

We'll follow where the Shepherd leads, 
O'er flinty rocks or dewy meads. 



3 When pleasure's giddy paths allure, 

Or dark temptation seeks to win 
Our souls from thee, O make us pure, 

O keep us from all guilt and sin ; 
May grace sufficient e'er be given, 
To lead us home to Thee in heaven. 

4 When we shall see Thee as Thou art, 

And join the angels at Thy feet ; 
May we be given some humble part, 
As we shall tread the golden street, 

Some work for Thee, still done in love, 
AiQoni' the ransomed hosts above. 



GOD OF MY LIFE- 

L. M. 

1 God of my life, to Thee belong 
The grateful heart, the joyful song ; 
Touched by Thy love, each tuneful chord 
Resounds the goodness of the Lord. 

2 Yet why, dear Lord, this tender care ? 
Why doth Thy hand so kindly rear 

A useless cumberer of the ground. 
On which so little fruit is found P 

3 Still let the barren fig-tree stand. 
Upheld and fostered by Thy hand ; 
And let its fruit and verdure be 

A grateful tribute, Lord, to Thee. 

ELIZABETH SCOTT, 1764. 

THE SOUL'S DESIRE 



1 The roseate hues of early dawn, 

The brightness of the day, 

The crimson of the sunset sky, 

How fast they fade away ! 

2 Oh, for the pearly gates of heaven ! 

Oh, for the golden floor ! 
Oh, for the Sun of Righteousness, 
That setteth nevermore ! 

3 The highest hopes we cherish here,. 

How soon they tire and faint! 

How many a spot defiles the robe 

That wraps an earthly saint! 

4 Oh, for a heart that never sins I 

Oh, for a soul washed white ! 
Oh, for a voice to praise our King, 
Nor weary day nor night ! 

5 Here faith is ours, and heavenly hope, 

And grace to lead us higher ; 
But there are perfectness and peace, 
Beyond our best desire. 

6 Oh, by Thy love and anguish, Lord, 

And by Thy life laid down. 
Grant that we fall not from Thy grace, 
Nor fail to reach our crown ! 



32 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



IMMANUEL 

7s. 

1 God with us ! oh, glorious name ! 
Let it shine in endless fame ; 
God and man in Christ unite ; 
Oh, mysterious depth and height ! 

2 God with us ! the eternal Son 
Took our soul, our flesh, and bone ; 
Now, ye saints, His grace admire, 
Swell the song with holy fire. 

3 God with us ! but tainted not 
With the first transgressor's blot ; 
Yet did He our sins sustain, 
Bear the guilt, the curse, the pain. 

4 God with us ! oh, wondrous grace ! 
Let us see Him face to face ; 
That we may Immanuel sing, 

As we ought, our God and King. 

SARAH SLINN. 

HOW SWEET THE LAY. 

Matt. 14 : 23. 

1 How sweet the melting lay 

Which breaks upon the ear, 

When at the hour of rising day 

Christians unite in prayer. 

2 The breezes waft their cries 

Up to Jehovah's throne : 
He listens to their humble sighs, 
And sends His blessings down. 

3 So Jesus rose to pray 

Before the morning light- 
Once on the chilling mount did stay, 
And wrestle all the night. 

4 So Jesus still doth pray 

Before the morning bright, 
On heavenly mountains far away, 
While we toil here in night. 

5 Leave, Lord, Thy vigil there, 

Descend upon life's wave ; 
Come to the bark through midnight air, 
The storm shall cease to rave. 

MRS. BROWK. 

GOD IS LOVE. 

From "Songs of Delight," by per. 

1 Sing, the morning light is breaking. 

And the shadows fly ; 
Earth, in all its beauty waking, 

Praises God most high. 
Sing, the zephyrs soft are o'er us, 

Fleecy clouds above, 
While the birds in joyful chorus, 

Tell us God is love. 

2 Now the noon is bright and glowing, 

Rest would be so sweet ; 
When the brook is softly flowing, 

And the shadows meet. 
Summer's light and life are o'er us, 

Summer skies above, 
All the world is bright before us, 

Knowing God is love. 



Weary feet are homeward turning, 

Lower sinks the sun ; 
Sunset clouds in splendor burning, 

Tell us day is done. 
Pray, the shadows deepen o'er us, 

Darker all above, 
But the stars in solemn chorus, 

Whisper God is love. 



CLARA B. HEATH, 



ita. gBrbanOr. 



Ann Letitia Aiken was born at Kibworth Harcourt, Leicestershire. 
20th June, 1743. Her father, the Rev. J. Aiken, was principal of a boys' 
school. It was not until she was thirty years of age that Miss Aiken 
published, in 1773, a volume of poems, written at various periods. In 
1774 she. married the Rev. Rochement Barbauld, the minister of a Dis- 
senting congregation at Palgrave, Suffolk, where he and Mrs. Barbauld 
conducted a boarding school for boys. Mrs. Barbauld published vari- 
ous works, and distinguished herself by promoting the cause of ration- 
al education. She wrote fourteen articles for "Evenings at Home," a 
work published by her brother, Dr. Aiken, with whom she resided after 
the death of her husband. Died 1825. 

WELCOME MORN. 

0. M. 

1 Again the Lord of life and light 

Awakes the kindling ray, 
Unseals the eyelids of the morn, 
And pours increasing day. 

2 Oh, what a night was that which wrapt 

The heathen world in gloom ! 
Oh, what a sun which broke this day, 
Triumphant from the tomb ! 

3 This day be grateful homage paid, 

And loud hosannas sung ; 
Let gladness dwell in every heart, 
And praise on every tongue. 

4 Ten thousand differing lips shall join 

To hail this welcome morn, 
Which scatters blessings from its wings 
To nations yet unborn. 

5 Jesus ! the friend of human kind, 

With strong compassion moved, 
Descended, like a pitying God, 
To save the souls He loved. 

6 Exalted high at God's right hand, 

And Lord of all below, 
Through Him is pardoning love dispensed, 
And boundless blessings flow. 

7 And still for erring, guilty man 

A brother's pity flows ; 
And still His bleeding heart is touched 
With memory of our woes. 

8 To Thee, my Saviour and my King, 

Glad homage let me give ; 
And stand prepared, like Thee, to die, 
With Thee that I may live. 

ANN LETITIA BARBAULD, 



33 



AN ACCEPTABLE OFFERING. 
c. M. 

1 When, as returns this solemn clay, 

Man comes to meet his God, 
What rites, what honors shall He pay ? 
How spread His praise abroad? 

2 From marble domes and gilded spires, 

Shall clouds of incense rise ? 
And gems, and gold, and garlands deck 
The costly sacrifice ? 

3 Vain, sinful man ! creation's Lord 

Thy offerings well may spare ; 
But give thy heart, and thou shalt find 
Thy God will hear thy prayer. 

ANN LETITIA BARBAULD. 1778. 

TRUSTFULNESS. 

C. M. 

1 O Father, though the anxious fear 

May cloud to-morrow's way, 
No fear nor doubt shall enter here ; 
All shall be Thine to-day ! 

2 We will not bring divided hearts 

To worship at Thy shrine ; 
But each unworthy thought departs, 
And leaves this temple Thine. 

3 Sleep, sleep to-day, tormenting cares, 

Of earth and folly born ; 

Ye shall not dim the light that 

From this celestial morn. 



L. BARBAULD. 



SPRING. 

C. M. 

1 While verdant hill and blooming vale 

Put on their fresh array, 
And fragrance breathes in every gale, 
How sweet the vernal day ! 

2 Oh, let my wondering heart confess, 

With gratitude and love, 
The bounteous hand that deigns to bless 
The garden, field, and grove ! 

3 The bounteous hand my thoughts adore, 

Beyond expression kind, 
Hath sweeter, nobler gifts in store, 
To bless the craving mind. 

4 That hand, in this hard heart of mine 

Can make each virtue live ; 
And kindly showers of grace divine, 
Life, beauty, fragrance give. 

ANNE STEELS. 

THE SACRED WORD. 

1 Father of mercies, in Thy word 

What endless glory shines ! 
Forever be Thy name adored, 
For these celestial lines. 

2 Here may the wretched sons of want 

Exhaustless riches find ; 
Riches above what earth can grant, 
And lasting as the mind. 



3 Here the Redeemer's welcome voice 

Spreads heavenly peace around, 
And life and everlasting joys 
Attend the blissful sound. 

4 Oh, may these heavenly pages be 

My ever dear delight ; 
And still new beauties may I see, 
And still increasing light. 

5 Divine Instructor, gracious Lord, 

Be Thou forever near ; 
Teach me to love Thy sacred word, 
And view my Saviour there. 

ANNE STEELE. 1760. 

WHERE JESUS REIGNS. , 

Rev. 21 : 23. 

1 Oh, for a sweet, inspiring ray, 
To animate our feeble strains, 

From the bright realms of endless day — 
The blissful realms where Jesus reigns ! 

2 There, low before his glorious throne, 
Adoring saints and angels fall ; 
And, with delightful worship, own 

His smile their bliss, their heaven, their all. 

3 Immortal glories crown his head, 
While tuneful hallelujahs rise, 

And love, and joy, and triumph, spread 
Through all the assemblies of the skies. 

4 He smiles, — and seraphs tune their songs 
To boundless rapture, while they gaze ; 
Ten thousand thousand joyful tongues 
Resound his everlasting praise. 

5 There all the followers of the Lamb 
Shall join at last the heavenly choir : 
Oh, may the joy-inspiring theme 
Awake our faith and warm desire ! 

ANNE STEELE. 

HIS LOVE, 
c. M. 

1 To our Redeemer's glorious name 

Awake the sacred song ; 
Oh, may his love, immortal flame, 
Tune every heart and tongue. 

2 His love, what mortal thought can reach, 

What mortal tongue display ! 
Imagination's utmost stretch 
In wonder dies away. 

3 He left his radiant throne on high, 

Left the bright realms of bliss, 
And came to earth to bleed and die ! 
Was ever love like this ? 

4 Blest Lord, while we adoring pay 

Our humble thanks to Thee, 

May every heart with rapture say, 

"The Saviour died for me." 

5 Oh, may the sweet, the blissful theme 

Fill every heart and tongue, 
Till strangers love Thy charming name, 
And join the sacred song. 

HARRIET D. STEELE, 



34 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



«Is Juirtingtmt pita. 

Emily Huntington Miller has written much in prose and verse. Her 
stories and hymns are eagerly sought after, being thoroughly orthodox, 
and consequently regarded as safe for young readers and singer3. 

THE EARTHLY AND THE HEAVENLY 
TEMPLE. 

1 Enter Thy temple, glorious King! 

And write Thy name upon its shrine, 
Thy peace to shed, Thy joy to bring, 
And seal its courts forever Thine. 

2 Abide with us, Lord, we pray, 

Our strength, our comfort, and our light ; 
Sun of our joy's unclouded day! 

Star of our sorrow's troubled night! 

3 If from Thy paths our souls should stray, 

Yet turn to seek Thy pardoning grace, 
Cast not our contrite prayer away, 

But hear from heaven, Thy dwelling-place. 

4 Grant us to walk in peace and love, 

And find, at last, some humble place 
In that great temple built above, 

Where dwell Thy saints before Thy face. 

MRS. EMILY H, MILLER. 



Mrs Mil'sr was born in Brooklyn, N.T., in 1833. The well and favor- 
ably known D-. Thomas Huntington was her fath-T, and her mother 
was one of earth's rare fruits. Her grandfather Huntington was one of 
Washington's staff officers. At the Oberlin College where she was edu- 
cated, she first met Mr. John H. Miller. Thsy were married in 1859. 
Of their four children three have grown up into the "whole-souled" sort 
of men who never sneer at "intellectual women," as another expresses 
it, For ten years Mrs. Miller was associate editor of the "Corporal," 
founded during the war by Alfred L. Sewel), a Chicago publisher, after- 
wards taking the entire supervision. She has contributed much prose 
and verse to many papers and magazines of the higher class, and has 
writtsn and had published "The Royal Boad to Fortune," "The Kirk- 
Tvood Library," "Capt. Fritz," "Home Papers," and numerous other 
works. She is prominently connected with both foreign missions and 
temperance work, aird has lectured with great acceptance in behalf of 
both causes. In regard to her husband's high appreciation of his wife's 
literary attainments, Miss Willard closes a sketch of her as follows:— 

"Talk of the 'chivalry' of ancient days! Go to, ye mediaeval ages, and 
learn what that word means. Behold the Christian light of the nine- 
teenth century of grace, in which we have the spectacle, not of lances 
tilted to defend 'my lady's' beauty, by swaggering knights who could 
not write their names, but the noblest men of the world's foremost rac* 
placing upon the brows of those most dear to them, above the wreath of 
Venus the helmet of Minerva, and leading into broader paths of oppor- 
tunity and knowledge the fair divinities who preside over their homes." 

1886. 



1 Praise ye the Lord — let praise employ, 
In his own courts, your songs of joy ; 
The spacious firmament around 

Shall echo back the joyful sound. 

2 Recount His works in strains divine, 

His wondrous works — how bright they shine ! 
Praise Him for all His mighty deeds, 
Whose greatness all your praise exceeds. 

3 Let all whom life and breath inspire, 
Attend, and join the blissful choir; 
But chiefly ye, who know his word, 
Adore, and love, and praise the Lord ! 

ANNE STEELE. 



IN THE BATTLE. 

1 God is in the din of battle ; I have heard His 

conq'ring car 
As it rushed along the heavens from the 

realms of glory far; 

1 have heard the stately steppings of His 

coursers to the war 
As they went marching on. 

2 God is by the blazing camp-fire ; I have 

heard His "still, small voice," 
As He whispered to the sinner, " Make the 

paths of right your choice : " 
I have seen the contrite wand'rer in His pardon 

free rejoice, 
As he went marching on. 

3 I have seen Him by the death-bed where the 

wounded soldier lay, 
I have seen the peaceful sweetness on the lips 

of pallid clay, 
I have watched the franchised spirit as it to the 
realms of day 
Went swiftly marching on. 

4 I have seen Him in the struggle when retreat 

was close cut off, 
And the captive legions listened to their 

conq'rer's taunting scoff; 
I have heard Him say, "This potion to the dregs 

my foes must quaff 
As they go marching on." 

5 I have heard Him in the vict'ry when the flag 

was floating high, 
And the people's joyous peans on the air rose far 

and nigh, 
When "To God be praise and glory" was our 

exultant cry, 
As we went marching on. 

6 We are "treading in the wine press" where our 

Surety trod before : 
We are walking in the furnace where the gold is 

melted o'er 
And He waits to see His image in our spirit's 

inward core, 
As we go marching on. 

7 Thou who ever with Thine armies in the days 

of old didst dwell 
Their glorious Lord and Leader when the hosts 

before them fell, 
Thou whose name wast proudly mentioned in the 

song's triumphant swell, 
As they went marching on ; 

8 Lead us onward thro' the conflict, the wine- 

press and the flame, 
Make our starry banner glorious with thine all - 

prevailing name, 
Nor put out the raging war-fires till our country, 

free from shame, 
Goes proudly marching on. 

BUM* V. ALDRICH. 1862. 



35 



I WOULD DRAW NIGH. 
"Draw nigh to God, and He will draw uijh to thee." 

1 I would draw nigh, but tell me where ? 

In forest old and dim ? 
Or when on lonely mountain top 
The soul seems nearer Him ? 

2 I would draw nigh ! but whither go ? 

Where purple sunlight falls, 
And music sways the charmed air 
Within the temple walls ? 

3 Oh, soul ! no outward circumstance 

Of time, or state, or place, 
Debars the visits of Thy God, 
If thou dost seek His face — 

4 If thou dost tread the holy ground 

With shoes from off thy feet ; 

And welcome the dear Comforter 

Who comes with solace sweet. 

5 It is not thus with absent friends — 

Our soul with anguish torn, 
May cry, ''Would God that they were here !" 
On some refulgent morn, 

6 When they go forth with gladsome eyes, 

Unconscious of our woe, 
And learn, at last with sad surprise, 
When all too late to know ! 
J And those who from our side have fled 
To breathe. celestial air, 
How should they hear, midst harmonies, 
The voice of our despair ? 

8 The stifling mountains shut it in, 

The waters drown our cry ; 
No answer from untroubled depths 
Of the far-distant sky ! 

9 Ah, thus it seems ; yet who can say 

That friend to friend no more 
Returns — returns as embassy, 

Fresh from the "Shining shore '." 

10 But this we know, though friends should fail, 

God will draw nigh His own ; 
A loving word, or wish, may bring 
An answer from the throne. 

11 And when we tread the sunless vale, 

Which Christ before hath trod, 
His word of promise shall not fail 
While we go home to God. 

ANNIE LENTHAL SMITH. 

HIS WITNESSES- 

Heb. 11 : 6. 

1 There is a God ! all nature speaks, 
Thro' earth, and air, and seas, and skies ; 
See ! from the clouds His glory breaks, 
When the first beams of morning rise. 

2 The rising sun, serenely bright, 

O'er the wide world's extended frame, 
Inscribes, in characters of light, 
His mighty Maker's glorious name. 



3 Ye curious minds, who roam abroad, 
And trace creation's wonders o'er, 
Confess the footsteps of your God, 
And bow before Him, and adore. 

ANNE STEELE. 

MIDDAY. 

1 A little rest, Lord, midway of Life's hours, 

A space of soft and summer-sweet repose ; 
Time to glance backward on bright morning's flowers, 
On weary wanderings ere the noontide goes ; 
Give me one hour of rest ! 

2 A time to strengthen all the heart's faint hopes 

For toil and battle in the day's decline ; 
In the cool shade, where streams glide down the slopes, 
Thy humbler creatures drain noon's peaceful wine ; 
One hour, and I am blest ! 

3 But no ? not e'en one little fleeting calm 

Of folded hands, and dreams, and dear delay ? 
'Tis well ; the path will yield some precious balm ; 
Straightway I rise to press adown the day, 
And soon shall be Thy guest ! 

CELESTE Iff. A. WINSLOW, 

Keokuk, Iowa. 

OUR LIFE AND GUIDE. 

1 Jesus, Son of Righteousness, 

Brightest beam of love divine, 
With the early morning rays 

Do Thou on our darkness shine. 
And dispel with purest light 
All our night, — all our night. 

2 Like the sun's reviving ray, 

May Thy love, with tender glow, 
All our coldness melt away, 

Warm and cheer us forth to go ; 
Gladly serve Thee and obey, 
All the day, — all the day. 

3 Thou, our only Life and Guide, 

Never leave us nor forsake ; 
In Thy light may we abide 

Till the eternal morning break ; 
Moving on to Zion's hill, 
Homeward still, — homeward still. 



COMMUNION IN LOVE. 

1 Hail, happy clay ! thou day of holy rest, 

What heavenly peace and transport fill our breast ! 
When Christ, the God of grace, in love descends, 
And kindly holds communion with his friends. 

2 Let earth and all its vanities be gone, 

Move from my sight, and leave my soul alone ; 
Its flattering, fading glories I despise, 
And to immortal beauties turn my eyes. 

3 Fain would I mount and penetrate the skies, 
And on my Saviour's glories fix my eyes : 
Oh, meet my rising soul, thou God of love, 
And waft it to the blissful realms above ! 



36 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



FROM EVERLASTING. 

L. M. 

1 Ere mountains reared their forms sublime, 

Or heaven and earth in order stood ; 
Before the birth of ancient time, 
From everlasting, Thou art God. 

2 A thousand ages, in their flight, 

With Thee are as a fleeting day ; 
Past, present, future, to Thy sight 
At once their various scenes display. 

3 But our brief life's a shadowy dream — 

A passing thought, that soon is o'er — 
That fades with morning's eai-liest beam, 
And fills the musing mind no more. 

4 To us, O Lord, the wisdom give 

Each passing moment so to spend 
That we at length with Thee may live, 
Where life and bliss shall never end. 

HARRIET AUBER. 

THOU HAST MADE SUMMER. 

Psalm Ixxiv: 17. 

1 It is through a flower-strewn way 
That Thy children walk to-day, 

O God,who makest the Summer-time so beautiful to see; 

And the sweetly-scented air 

Bears upwards many a prayer 
Of loving, happy gratitude from the sons of men to 

[Thee. 

2 There is sunshine on the hills, 
And the silver-sparkling rills 

Seem to laugh in low, glad music at some pleasant 

[tale retold ; 
And the soft, caressing shadows 
Steal about the sighing meadows, 
When the daisy whiteness softens the broad space of 
[burnished gold. 

3 All the world is full of song, 
And the melody lasts long, 

From the opening of the day when the dawn and 
[darkness meet, 
Till the soft, reluctant light 
Leaves the land to rest and night, 

And Philomela's evening hymn arises soft and sweet. 

4 O God, is any sad 

When the world is all so glad, . 
And thou hast made the Summer so full of joy and 

[love ? 
Are there tears in any eyes 
That look upward to Thy skies, 
When the earth in beauty vieth with the azure space 

[above ? 

5 Alas, 'tis even so ! 

Thy children dwell below, 
Where sin and sorrow darken e'en brightest days of 

[May; 
Yet Thou, whose bounteous hand 
Has made so fair the land, 
Hast power to bless the sorrowful, when unto Thee 

[we pray. 



6 For all the pain and sadness. 
Thou canst put joy and gladness 

In hearts that do not know them though "the corn 
[and wine increase." 
Hush Thou the care and strife 
That mar our human life, 
And give to every troubled one some share of love 

[and peace. 

7 All things own Thy control ; 
Make Summer in the soul, 

Whose sobbings spoil with dissonance the season's 
[merry chime ; 
Thy blessings crowd the sod, — 
Be merciful, God, 
And give to every child of Thine the joy of Summer- 
time. 

MARIANNE FAKNINGHAM, 



IN ALL THINGS PRAISE. 

1 For gladsome summer days, 
For joy and peace always, 
Dear Lord, I sing Thy praise ; 
For woful winter's night, 

Foi grief's long fearful fight, 
Still praise, O Lord of Light! 

2 For all the calm I find, 
For lightsome, happy mind, 

I praise thee, Lord most kind! 
For all life's toil and strain, 
For weary heart and brain, 
I praise Thee, Lord, again. 

3 For dear one's health and peace, 
And joys that still increase, 
My praises shall not cease ; 
Yea, for their grief and care, 
And burdens loved ones bear, 

I praise Thee still with prayer. 

4 For home, for each dear friend, 
For life, till life shall end, 
My praises shall ascend; 

For dear ones gone before, 
For Death's foot at my door, 
I'll praise Thee, Lord, the more. 

5 With gladness I'll receive 
The joys my God shall give, 
And praise Thee while I live ; 
The griefs Thou mayest send 
My heart in twain may rend — 
Still praises shall ascend. 

6 And when kind Death shall stand 
To lead us by the hand 

Into Immanuel's land, 
I'll praise Thee and adore, 
Upon the heavenly shore, 
Dear Lord, forevermore. 



37 



ALL PRAISE AND GLORY. 

1 Sing praise to God who reigns above, 
The God of power, the God of love, 

The God of our salvation ; 
With healing balm my soul He fills, 
And every faithless murmur stills ; 

To God all praise and glory! 

2 The Angel host, O King of kings, 

Thy praise forever telling, 
In earth and sky all living things 

Beneath Thy shadow dwelling, 
Adore the wisdom which could span, 
And power which formed creation's plan: 

To God all praise and glory ! 

3 What God's almighty power hath made, 

His gracious mercy keepeth ; 
By morning glow, or evening shade, 

His watchful eye ne'er sleepeth; 
Within the kingdom of His might, 
Lo ! all is just, and all is right 

To God all praise and glory! 

4 O ye who bear Christ's holy name, 

Give God all praise and glory ! 
All ye who own His power, proclaim 

Aloud the wondrous story : 
Cast each false idol from His throne, 
The Lord is God, and He alone : 

To God all praise and glory ! 



pss Gils % iottijfei. 



Miss E. A. Hotchkiss, who writes under the nom de plume of Hazel 
Wilde, is a popular verse writer of the present day. She is versatile in 
style, and her articles are on many and varied themes. The following 
hymn, and another entitled "Supplication," in this volume, were penned 
on recovery from severe illness. While her life was despaired of, her 
soul life was quickened, and she reconsecrated herself to the Master's 
service. 

HIS NAME BE PRAISED. 

1 God's love in all around I see, 
But wondrous is His love to me, 
Whose soul Himself from death set free: 

His Name be praised! 

2 Almost my earthly course was run, 
God saved my life ! His will be done, 

Is now my prayer, through Christ His Son : 
His Name be praised! 

3 Long time, in sin, I went astray, 
Oft as I ought I did not pray, 

God led me, then, His heavenly way : 
His Name be praised ! 

4 Let soul and body bless Thee, Lord, 
Who strengthens both, who both restored; 
And to my mind Thy truths afford, 

Thy Name be praised ! 

ELLA A. HOTCHKISS, 

Westville, New Haven, Conn., 1888. 



IMP M> 



Martha Day was the eldest daughter of Jeremiah Day, L. L. D., 
President of Yale College, and was born at New Haven, Conn., on the 
yth of February, 1813. 

THE BOUNDLESS UNIVERSE. 

Psalm cii. 

All that it hath of splendor and of life, 
The living, moving worlds, in their bright robes, 
Of blooming lands, and heaving glittering waters, 
Even the still and holy depths of heaven, 
Where the glad planets bathe in floods of light, 
Forever pouring from a thousand suns, 
All, all, are but the garments of our God, 
Yea, the dark foldings of His outmost skirts ! 
Mortal ! who with a trembling, longing heart, 
Watchest in silence the few rays that steal, 
In their livid dimness, to thy feeble sight — 
Watch on, in silence, till within thy soul, 
Bearing away each taint of sin and death, 
Springs the hid fountain of immortal life! 
Then shall the mighty vail asunder rend, 
And o'er the spirit, living, strong, and pure, 
Shall the full glories of the God-head flow! 



THE COMING OF THE SABBATH. 

1 The sacred Sabbath came last night, 
Silent, saintly, robed in white ; 

She parted the moonlit depths of blue 

With her star-gemmed prow and glided through. 

2 The world was weary and vexed with heat, 
With sweat on his brow, and dust on his feet, 
And with panting tongue and heaving breast, 
He sighed for an hour of quiet rest. 

3 She moored her boat on the fretted strand 
Of Time, and touched the shifting sand 
With her dainty foot, and sprang to meet 
The care-worn world with waters sweet. 

4 Upon his brow she laid her hands, 
Unloosed his burden's galling bands, 
Pressed to his lips the waters cool, 

With which the springs of heaven are full. 

5 " O vexing cares ! I bid you cease," 

She said, "and give the poor world peace. 

Stand ye aside one day in seven, 

And let me bring a breath of Heaven." 

6 'Twas done ! With hands upon his breast 
The poor world settled to his rest ; 
From cheek and brow the fevered flush 
Was cooled away, — a sacred hush 

7 With that sweet guarding Presence came ; 
The winds and waters learned her name, 
And while her dainty sail is furled, 
Steal lightly past the resting world. 

MRS. 3. M. I. HENRY. 
Evanstou, 111., 1883. 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG 



THE NEW SONG. 

1 There's a song ever new that the angels are singing, 

Thro' streets that a-e garden, from hearts ever 

[blest: 
There's a song ever * i -j"> r that the sweet hells are 

[ringing, 
As each week beg : 'ts with its Sabbath of rest. 

2 There's a song ever new that the ransomed in glory 

Are singing to-day, as around the white throne, 

From the infant of days to the head that was hoary, 

They join in the praise of what Jesus hath done. 

3 There's a song ever new that awaits us in heaven, 

"When earth-toil all finished, earth duties all done, 
We shall meet upon high with our sins all forgiven, 
And sit at the feet of the glorified One. 

4 There's a song ever new, oh, proclaim it, ye mountains ! 

Shout, shout it with gladness, ye beautiful hills, 
Pour it forth in your flowing, ye rivers and fountains, 
• While ev'ry green vale with its melody thrills. 

By permission. 



E. SERVOgS. 



SWEET SABBATH DAY. 

"Gall the Sabbath a delight,"— Isa. liii: 13, 

1 Sweet Sabbath-day of peace, 
Sweet day of rest and prayer; 

In it we read a Father's love, 
A Father's tender care. 

2 Thro' all the busy week, 
To toil our days are given; 

But now we put these cares aside, 
And look from earth to heaven. 

3 Here in this holy house, 

This place where God doth meet 
His friends, we lay our joyful songs 
Our off'rings at his feet. 

4 Dear Lord, may Sabbath peace 
Pervade each troubled heart; 

May tho'ts of worldly toil and gain, 
And wrong desires depart. 

5 Oh, fill our hearts with love 
For thee, thou First and Best: 

And may this day a foretaste be 
Of thy eternal rest. 



ANNA SHARK, 



Info $trae tfllwtt. 



Julia Anne Elliott, the daughter of John Marshall, of Hallsteads, 
and wife of the Rev. H. V. Elliott, was the author of many beautiful 
hymns, some of which were published in a collection made by her hus- 
band in 1835, entitled, "Psalms and Hymns for Public Worship." She 
died on the 3d of November, 1841, in Eugland, her native land. 

BRIGHT AND SACRED MORN. 
1 Hail ! thou bright and sacred morn, 

Risen with gladness in thy beams! 
Light, which not of earth is born, 

From thy dawn in glory streams : 
Airs of Heaven are breath'd around, 
And each place is holy ground. 



2 Sad and weary were our way, 

Fainting oft beneath our load, 
But for thee, thou blessed day, 

Resting-place on life's rough road! 
Here flow forth the streams of grace, 
Strengthen'd hence we run our race. 

3 Great Creator! who this day 

From Thy perfect work didst rest; 
By the souls that own Thy sway 

Hallow'd be its hours and blest ; 
Cares of earth aside be thrown, 
This day giv'n to Heaven alone ! 

4 Saviour ! who this day didst break 

The dark prison of the tomb, 
Bid my slumbering soul awake, 

Shine through all its sin and gloom ; 
Let me, from my bonds set free, 
Rise from sin, and live to Thee ! 

5 Blessed Spirit! Comforter! 

Sent this day from Christ on high ; 
Lord, on me Thy gifts confer, 

Cleanse, illumine, sanctify ! 
All Thine influence shed abroad, 
Lead me to the truth of God ! 

6 Soon, too soon, the sweet repose 

Of this day of God will cease ; 
Soon this glimpse of Heaven will close, 

Vanish soon the hours of peace ; 
Soon return the toil, the strife, 
All the weariness of life. 

7 But the rest which yet remains 

For Thy people, Lord, above, 
Knows nor change, nor fears, nor pains, 

Endless as their Saviour's love ; 
Oh! may every Sabbath here 
Bring us to that rest more near ! 



$rs. tamt f ark gnUf. 



Mrs. Urania Locke Bailey was born in Gill, Franklin Co., Mass,, and 
died March 25th 1882, at Providence, R. I. She was the author of many 
touching hymns, the best known of which are perhaps,— " The Master 
has come over Jordan" and "The mistakes of my life have been many." 
Through the kindness of her husband the following hymn is inserted 
from her well-known volume entitled "Star Flowers." Hers was a 
sweet and saintly spirit and the world has lost much by her removal. 
But being dead she yet speaketh through her beautiful hymns, breath- 
ing so much of patience and love. 

THE LORD'S DAY COMETH. 

1 Falling half asleep, some spirit 

Seems to take me by the hand, 
Suddenly, without transition, 

To a radiant summer-land; 
Where the light is like a glory, 

Where the mountains are sublime, 
And the feet of young immortals 

Rather seem to fl'v tha:> climb. 




THERE'S A SONG IN THE VALLEY. 



PRAISE. 



39 



2 Trees are there, like palms in stature; 

Birds of shape and plumage rare, 
Streaked and hued like gorgeous lilies, 

Float along the ambient air. 
Then a voice, a stir, awakes me ; 

I am on a couch of pain ; 
And this weak and weary body 

Holds me like an iron chain. 

3 Hark ! the robins in the linden ! 

Hark ! the swallows in the sun ! 
Singing for the joy of living ! 

Bliss of being just begun ! 
Hark! the Lord's day chimes are playing! 

List the sound of joyful feet 
Passing onward to the temples 

Where the Lord's beloved meet ! 

4 Lo! another Lord's day cometh! 

Soon for me it may be here ! 
All my heart leaps up in gladness 

When I think it draweth near! 
Every fetter fallen from me 

In His countenance divine, 
I shall see Him in His beauty, 

Mary's risen Lord and mine! 



DAY OF REST. 
At last the lingering shades of night 

Have passed with mute adieu, 
And Nature's face again is bright 

With morning's roseate hue; 
Day never dawned with fairer light 

Beneath a sky of blue. 

LORD'S DAY SONG.* 



2 A radiance overhangs the town — 

A charm half understood — 
The splendor of a golden crown 

Encircles field and wood ; 
Like that first morn when God looked down 

And saw " that it was good." 

3 A holy calm o'er all the earth, 

A glory in the air, 
As if the glad sunlight had birth 

In some divinely fair 
Enchanted land, where songs of mirth 

Are echoed but in prayer. 

4 Anon, the chime of sacred bells 

Falls on each listening ear ; 
With many a note of praise, that swells 

From choir and organ clear, 
To Him " who in the heavens dwells," 

And yet is ever near. 

5 It is the Lord's appointed day — 

Sweet Sabbath day of rest; 
We put all earthly thoughts away, 

And kneel, our sins confessed, 
And humbly, penitently pray 

That we may still be blest. 

6 Oh, peaceful, sacred Sabbath day! 
Blest day of all the seven ; 

'Twere rapture here alone to stay 

From dawn till dewy even, 
In contemplation of the way 

That leadeth up to heaven. 



i 



HATTIB HOWARD. 
LUCY J. RIDER. 



^=^s=^= 



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Now in thy peace-ful 
Since thy first dawn-ing 
Fly at thy dawn-ing, 



-S- -9- ~ ~ ' ~ " ~ ' ^ 

1. Beau-ti - ful morn- ing.' Day of hope, Dawn of a bet - ter life, 

2. Beau-ti- ful morn- ing! All the week Wait - eth thy wel - come light, 

3. Beau ti - fill morn - ing ! Grief and pain, Weep - ing be - fore the tomb, 




OUT! 



hours we rest, Far from earth's noise and strife, 
calm and clear, Out of the dark - est night. 
Je - sus rose, Je • sus dis-pelled the gloom. 



9 + 

Morn - ing of 



ur - rec - tion joy, 




Day when the Saviour rose, 



Sing-ing shall greet thy opening hours, Singing shall mark thy close. 



i'..i.vi-ieht«l 1879, by "P. H. RKVKTX. By permission. 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



AGNES. C. M. 



HERBERT. 



MISS MATE L. RICKEY. 



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From "The Standard." O. Ditson & Co. Boston. 



Irons §lanir gronxjianqj. 

Mrs. Jenny Bland Beauchamp, is the wife of Rev. S. A. Beauchamp, 
pastor of the Baptist Church, Denton, Texas. She is a woman of 
rigorous intellect, though small in stature. Her writings in both 
prose and poetry have been considerable. "The Woman's Journal" 
"Woman at Work," and various other periodicals and news papers, are 
enriched and enlivened by her contributions. She was the first one to 
propose a compilation of hymns and sacred poems by woman, through 
the columnsof The Inter-Ocean, some three anda half years since, Her 
appeal was at once seconded by men and women all over the land and 
has resulted in this volume. She is now President of the Texas Woman's 
Christian Temperance Union, and is filling the position most ably and 
acceptably. Thoroughly consecrated to the Master's use in any field, 
her power is felt for good in reform work, aud especially in the uplifting 
of woman to the position God designed her to occupy by the side of her 
brother, as an equal and a help-meet. 



DEDICATION HYMN, 
c. M. 

1 We dedicate to God, today, 

This house for praise and prayer: 
Oh may we in this Temple, Lord, 
A better temple rear. 

2 We'd build as built the saints of yore, 

Like to the pattern shown ; 

A glorious compact it shall be 

If Thou prepare the stone. 



S For goodly stones elect and clean, 
And fashioned by thy grace, 
Adorned with precious gems and gold 
Shall mark thy dwelling place. 

4 Be thou the rock on which we stand 

Then we will fear no fall; 
Although the fearful storms of life 
May beat upon our wall. 

5 Make here the fold of thine own sheep, 

Where we may dwell secure ; 
Let none intrude, who come not thro' 
The heaven appointed door. 

6 Here we will tell thy dying love, 

And show the tokens given ; 
Will oft our solemn vows renew 
And tune our harps for Heaven. 

7 But earthly temples made of clay, 

How soon, alas ! they fail ; 
Our feeble frames more frail than they 
Shall moulder in the vale. 
9 Oh grant when earthly scenes are o'er 
To us this sweet reward, 
To tread Thine upper courts, and see 
Thy glorious temple, Lord. 

JENNY BT.AND BEAUCHAMP, 1882. 



ANNIVERSARY AND DEDICATION. 



41 



OUR WELCOME. 

1 O God ! into thy temple come, 

Let Thy great presence bless ! 
Our yearning hearts could ask no more : 
They would not rest with less. 

2 This altar is their refuge, Lord ! 

Drooping beneath the load 
Thy changeless love has ever laid, 
Thou good and gracious God ! 

3 Thy changeless love ! Come, Church of Christ 

Gathered above, — below: — 

Ye angel-lips, once vocal here, 

Help us our thanks to show. 

4 Distance and peril overpassed, 

Pastor and people rest ; 
And home is reached when Zion's courts 
The wandering feet have pressed. 

5 O Heavenly Home ! thy pearly gates 

Are shining on our way ; 
There may our souls a welcome find, 
Such as we give to-day. 



LUtlJ 



tesjjingtoit. 



Lucy H. Washington (nee Walker) was born in Whitney, Addison 
County, Vermont, Jan. i, 1835. She graduated at Clover Street Seminary, 
Rochester, N. Y., in 1856. Many of her poems and hymns have been 
published in a neat volume entitled " Echoes of Song." She has long 
been recognized as a poet of ability and an effective lecturer on temper- 
ance and kindred topics. 

HALF A CENTURY. 

1828. 1878. 

Fiftieth Anniversary of the Diamond Grove Baptist Church, 

near Jacksonville, Illinois. 

1 A half a century has rolled 

Upon time's ceaseless flood, 
Since here an earnest few were called 
To plant a church of God. 

2 Upheld by all sustaining grace, 

In mingled joys and tears, 
This church hath kept abiding place, 
Through all these changing years. 

3 With melting hearts and humble prayer 

Unto our God we raise, 
We'll thank him for his watchful care, 
And sing his glorious praise. 

4 For He hath led us all the way, 

Our shield and buckler He, 
Who brings us to this goodly day 
Of anniversary. 

5 As now we dwell upon the past, 

In tender, sad review, 
O may that love which holds us fast, 
Our love and zeal renew. 



6 The scrolls of half a century, 

Undimmed to-day they show 
The names of those who served their God 
Those fifty years ago. 

7 And all along adown the line 

What record do they bring, 

Of many who have loyal been 

Unto their Glorious King. 

8 Within the midst some still abide 

The banner to uphold, 
Which for these fifty years has stood, 
Inviting to the fold. 

9 Others afar toil not in vain, 

Beneath the noontide sun, 
Who ne'er may view the scenes again, 
Where morning life begun. 

10 Many have wearied by the way, 

And gone unto their rest — 
E'en as the sun, at close of day, 
Sinks in the azure west. 

11 Yet as the sun resplendently 

Again at morn shall rise, 
All, all, shall re-united be 
In mansions in the skies. 

12 When Time and Tide shall roll away, 

Then pass'd Death's turbid flood 
We'll dwell in everlasting day, 
Church of the living God. 



OUR OFFERING. 

Dedication of the Congregational Church, Hopkinton, Mass., 

January 19th, 1860. 

1 Father, our offering we bring, 

In Jesus' sacred name, 
And humbly through His precious blood, 
Would thine accejotance claim. 

2 Here may the Spirit with us dwell, 

An honored, constant Guest ; 
Here may His wondrous power be known, 
To give the weary rest. 

3 May here, on wings of living faith, 

Ascend the voice of prayer, 
And to Thy glorious throne on high, 
Thy people's wishes bear. 

4 Here may the notes of joyful praise, 

Like incense sweet, arise, 
To mingle with the angels' song, 
Above the upper skies, — 

5 Until, thine earthly worship o'er, 

Through the Redeemer's love, 
We meet to praise Thee better still, 
Within Thy courts above. 

susie v. aldrich, Born 1828. 
Hopkinton, Mass. 



42 



WOMAN IN SACKED SONG. 



OUR FATHER AND OUR FRIEND. 

1 God, our Father and our Friend, 
Around Thy throne our people bend, 
For blessings sent through countless days, 
Inspire our hearts with thanks and praise. 

2 A life of working years has sped, 
Since hands were laid upon his head, 
With silvered locks, before Thee, now, 
Our pastor breathes again his vow. 

3 Thou'st guided him midst joys and tears, 
Thy strength he's craved for doubts and fears, 
Thy hand to smooth the dying bed, 

Thy blessing begged on childhood's head. 

4 Preserve our love as true and warm 
When age shall bow the shepherd's form ; 
May we, long fostered by his care, 

Our thanks to Thee unceasing bear. 

MRS. FRANCES E. BRIDGES. 

Hopkinton, Mass., 1863, 

PASTOR AND PEOPLE. 

1 Our Father's God, on Thee we call, 

To meet Thy children here in love : 
Indite each thought — accept our praise, 
And make this scene a blessing prove. 

2 We thank Thee that Thou'st spared so long 

This guide, the way of life to show ; 
To feed this flock — their joys to share, 
In hours of woe with them to mourn. 

3 His labors, too, Thy hand has blessed, 

And souls have for his " seal " been given; 
Oh ! still Thy gracious aid bestow, 

And may Thy truth win souls for Heaven. 

4 And when is hushed the "watchman's" voice, 

His trumpet tones no more we hear — 
Around Thy throne may we rejoice, 
And join in nobler worship there. 



m Cambridge. 



Ada Cambridge, an English writer, is the author of "Hymns on th 
Litany," Hymns on the Holy Communion," published in 1366, and ; 
tale entitled, "The Two Surplices." 

THE TEMPLE OF CHRIST. 

1 On the dark threshold of His dwelling-place 

The Master stands ; 
And hark ! He knocks all gently at the door, 
As he has — oh ! so often — knocked before ; 

His voice is raised to plead 

With those His love has freed 
From woe eternal and death's iron bands. 

2 How shall He find His temple-home prepared 

When He comes in ? 
That Light of light, with purity divine, 
Must it upon a soul's pollution shine ? 

Is it in ruins there — 

Once in His sight so fair ? 
Will it be choked with noisome weeds within ? 



3 O Lord of life ! if it indeed be so, 

Then grant, we pray, 
Thine aid Divine its beauty to restore ! 
Let it be cold and dark and foul no more, 

But build its altar up : 

Pour out the brimming cup 
Of Thine own love, to cleanse each stain away. 

4 Ah ! as within a great cathedral church 

The sunbeams shine 
On pure and perfect beauty, may the light 
Of heavenly grace and pardon, soft and bright, 

Shine upon hearts made fair 

By daily work and prayer — 
Meet for Thy presence and Thy love divine. 

ADA CAMBRIDGE. 



DEDICATION OF A CHURCH. 

1 Father, with our grateful praises 

At Thy throne we bow to-day, 
In the blessed name of Jesus 

Hear us, as to Thee we pray. 
Hear us, Father, 
Turn not from our plea away. 

2 Sins confessing, pardon asking, 

Of ourselves we have no claim, 
Yet we plead the full forgiveness 

Thou hast promised in His name. 
Oh ! receive us 
In our Surety's blessed name. 

3 We have built this habitation 

For Thy worship here below, 
Wilt Thou, gracious God, accept it 

And Thy blessing now bestow? 
Help us, Father, 
Here the seeds of life to sow. 

4 May the gospel's precious story 

Here in earnest words be told, 
And may faithful shepherds gather 

Many lambs to swell the fold ; 
While hosannas 
Echo thro' the streets of gold. 

5 Here may mourning hearts find comfort 

Sweeter far than earth can give,. 
And the dying learn, triumphant, 

How to die that they may live I 
More than conquerors, 
Learn to die that they may live ! 

6 Now, dear Lord, accept our offering, 

Let Thy blessing on us rest ; 
In this earthly habitation 

Ever dwell an honored guest : 
May we serve Thee 
Till we meet amonsr the blest. 



ANNIVERSARY AND DEDICATION. 



43 



Xm %m\t f . Smit 



TWO HUNDRED YEARS. 

Read at the Bi- Centennial Anniversary of the First 
Congregational Church, Stonington, Conn. 
1674. 1S74. 

1 Just where Delft-Haven's sons look out 

Over die white sea-foam, 
' Once knelt upon its shining sand 

Exiles from hearth and home. 
Upon its shining beach knelt down 

The May-Flower's little band, 
And asked that God would be their Guide 

To the far Western Land. 

2 To that far Western Land they l came, 

And prayed upon its shore; 
Behind, the wild Atlantic wave ; 

The forests wild, before, — 
Behind, they left their sculptur'd Fanes, 

With windows broad and high, 
Where one unfading sunset reigns 

In rich emblazonry. 

3 Before them spread the forest aisles, 

With pillar'd vistas fair, 
Where tones, like organ tones, were in 

The undulating air, — 
Where oft, through interlacing boughs, 

And leafy canopy, 
Streamed hints that God paints ev'ry day 

The windows of the sky. 

4 They brought with them a treasure rare, 

Not of the land, or sea; 
They nurtured it in faith and prayer, 

The germ of Liberty ! 
Its branches spread to many climes ; 

The nations sit beneath ! 
Its roots upheave old dynasties 

Of tyranny and death ! 

5 And others sought, with kindred zeal, 

"The 2 River of the Pines," 
And others came where Wallingford 

In azurn glory shines. 
Just where 3 New Haven's steeples rise 

'Mid wealth of greenery, 
They worshiped 4 that first Sabbath day 

Beneath the broad oak tree. 

6 So, on this hillock green, where still 

Is heard the voice of prayer, 
Once 5 came a chosen few, whose names 

We keep with rev'rent care. 
They wrought with fond, forecasting love, 

For ages yet to be ; 
And age to age repeats the praise 

Of honored ancestry. 



7 They 6 formed a church, whose shining light 

Should point their sons to Heaven ; 
A beacon in each stormy night 

For those hy tempest driven ; 
And fast, and faster, came the storm! 

And fast shut down the night ! 
And still from this lone hillock shone 

The faithful beacon light. 

8 And thus, by earnest men, who sought 

Their best to consecrate, 
Was founded dear New England's realm, 
Were founded Church and State. 

9 "He who transplanted, still sustained," t 

When fierce their savage foes, 
And skies were redden'd as the names 

From burning homes arose ; 
When life grew tearful 'mid its wants, 

'Mid hunger and disease, 
And death grew fearful 'mid the taunts 

Of savage enemies. 



1620 



ANNIE L. SMITH. 



2. Hartford, on the Connecticut— 1635and 1636. 

3. New Haven, near Quinnipiac river. 4. April 18th, 1638. 

5. First Coinn-egrational Church of Stonington, formed on Agree- 

ment Hill. 

6. This Church was formed in 167i-the year preceding "Philip's war." 

THE CHILDREN'S SONG. 

Tune.— "Auld Lanj Syne." 

1 O God ! in dark and troublous times 

The fathers trusted Thee ; 
And what was gain they counted loss, 

For Christ and Liberty ! 
And when they slept untroubled sleep 

New England hills among, 
"He who transplanted, still sustains," 

Became the children's song. 

2 Swift 'neath dividing centuries 

The electric current runs, 
Linking through love and loyalty 

The fathers and the sons. 
For we are one, though they in dust 

Sleep centuries away — 
And strong with life our pulses beat, 

Yet we are one to-day. 

3 One, though our eyes have never seen 

The City where they dwell : 
Its pearly gates, its golden sheen, 

To us invisible. 
And we, their sons, when scatter'd far, 

By mountain and by sea, 
Though creeds divide, shall yet be one, 

O Christ our Lord, in Thee ! 

4 God, their Deliv'rer and their Strength ! 

The children still upstay, 
Nor suffer them in life or death, 

To fall from Thee away ! 
" He who transplanted yet sustains," 

With ever-growing love, — 
Age after age shall catch the strains, 

Until we meet above ! 

ANNIE L, SMITH. 



44 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



DEDICATION HYMN. 

Our Father, God, this day we bring 

To Thee our heartfelt offering ; 

The products of our stores and lands, 

The work of many willing hands. 

We ask for peace, 
For sacred rest. 

Those gifts of trust Thou dost bestow 

Upon Thy children here below, 

May we in harmony combine 

And render back as ever Thine. 

We ask for peace, 
For sacred rest. 

And in this temple for Thy praise, 

We wish our thoughts and lives to raise 

Up to a standard pure and fair, 

So we be worthy of Thy care, 

And Thy sweet peace, 
Thy sacred rest. 

May we all nobler, stronger prove, 

As we may bring each gift of love ; 

Father, we bow to Thee to-day, 

Let every trusting spirit pray 

For Thy sweet peace, 
Thy sacred rest. 



MRS. M. M. FRAZIER. 



THE CORNER STONE. 



Upon the occasion < 



the laying of the corner stone of the Woman's Col- 
lege, Evauston, 111. 



1 Great Builder, from whose perfect thought 

Burst like a flower creation's plan, 
Whose mighty hand through ages wrought 
To shape a dwelling-place for man, 

2 Not with Thy wisdom or Thy might 

Can we, Thy children, build to-day. 

Since Thou could poise the stars of light, 

And hold them on their shining way. 

3 Weak are our hands, but striving still 

To bring Thy glorious kingdom near, 
We work obedient to Thy will, 

And claim Thy strength and feel no fear. 

4 Builder divine ! beside each rope 

Let Thy bright angels stand to-day, 
Angels of Patience, Faith, and Hope, 
Unseen our corner-stone to lay. 

5 Speed Thou the work until we raise, 

With shouts of joy, the topmost dome, 
And grateful say, amid our praise. 

We do but e-ive Thee back Thine own. 



i, i::: i.;i,il.v m 'I ... ni in . ..a i. 



ANNIVERSARY HYMN. 
1 Through many years of light and shade, 
How dear the bond has grown, 
Which has the pastor and his flock 
Cemented into one. 



2 Their prayers have blent in bridal scenes — ■ 

Beside the bed of death ; 
And rose, a cloud of incense sweet, 
Upon the zephyr's breath, 

3 Wien contrite ones have bowed the knee, 

And plead, with trembling tone, 
That darkest sins might be forgiven, 
Through the atoning One. 

4 O gracious Father, Thou whose smile 

Hath blessed these lengthened years 
With all their glowing joy and love, 
Their mingled hopes and fears, 

5 Grant that this bond may never break, 

But when we meet above, 

May we, as pastor and as flock, 

Still join to sing Thy love. 



$rs Julis $. Salter*. 

Mrs. Julia P. Ballard is the wife of the Professor of Moral Philosophy 
and Rhetoric, in Lafayette College, Pa. From 1866 to 1872 he was the 
pastor of Fort St. Church, Detroit, Mich. While there, the following 
hymn was written by Mrs. Ballard, and sung at the 20th anniversary of 
that church. She is the author of many beautiful hymns and poems 
that will have a permanent place in hymnology and literature. She is 
one of the authors of the ' ' Starlet Oak," a book of poems of rare merit, 
and from which she has courteously allowed selections to be made for 
this volume. The young people, for whom she has written much prose 
as well as poetry, will best know her by the name of Kruna. 

HYMN FOR CHURCH DEDICATION OR 
ANNIVERSARY. 

1 O Thou whose ever-listening ear 
Thy children's faintest, cry doth hear, 
Thy gracious love to us impart, 
Great Helper of each waiting heart. 

2 Be with us while as one we meet, 
Thy special mercies to repeat ; 
While we our song of praise renew, 
The Lord hath helped us hitherto. 

3 The past Thy tender care hath found, 
The present with Thy love is crowned; 
Let all the future work Thy will, 

The Lord shall be our Helper still. 

JULIA P. RALLARD. 



WELCOME TO A PASTOR. 

1 Our Lord hath sent a shepherd, 

His flock to tend and feed ; 
We give thee joyful welcome, 

Thy watchful care we need ; 
Come, lead us thro' green pastures, 

Beside the waters still, 
Till safe Thy flock is folded 

Upon the heavenly hill. 



ANNIVERSARY AND DEDICATION. 



45 



2 Our Lord hath sent a teacher 

The bread of life to break; 
We give thee earnest welcome, 

For our Great Teacher's sake. 
Thou, looking unto Jesus, 

Hast learned His truth divine ; 
Let now upon our spirits 

Its tender glory shine. 

3 Our Lord has sent a leader, 

His gospel trump to sound; 
We give thee loyal welcome, 

His banner rally round. 
Lead on, with thee we follow, 

Against the hosts of sin ; 
Till in the church triumphant. 

Our Lord's well-done we win. 

4 To Bethany's sweet friendships, 

To Cana's feasts, so fair ; 
To Zion's holy temple, 

To Olive's mount of prayer; 
From Bethlehem to Calvary, 

E'en through Gethsemane, 
With us to follow Jesus, 

We welcome, welcome thee. 

MRS. M. 

VACATION HYMN. 

7s. Tune "Horton." 

1 Pleasant church, undo thy doors ! 
For the morning sunlight pours 
Down thy walls, and balmy breeze 
Stirs among the waving trees, 

2 And the fountain's diamond drops 
Rise and fall in measured stops : 
Open ! let the praise go in, 
Chording with the organ-hymn. 

3 From the belfry, old and gray. 
Swinging slow in solemn sway, 
Sounds the voice that years ago 
Called our fathers to and fro. 

4 Now the children hither bring 
Willing feet, and hearts that sing; 
This, the parting hymn, they pour 
'Till the summer-days are o'er. 



THE APOSTLES' CREED. 

1 We all believe in one true God, 

Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, 
Strong Deliverer in our need, 

Praised by all the heavenly host. 
By whose mighty power alone 
All is made, and wrought, and done. 

2 And we believe in Jesus Christ, 

Son of man and Son of God ; 
Who, to raise us up to heaven, 

Left His throne and bore our load ; 
By whose cross and death are we 
Rescued from our misery. 



And we confess the Holy Ghost, 
Who from both forever flows ; 

Who upholds and comforts us, 
In the midst of fears and woes. 

Blest and holy Trinity, 

Praise shall aye be brought to thee! 

T. OLAUSNITZEK. TR. BY MISS l\ W. 



[NKWORTH. 



A PASTOR'S WORK. 

From a pof-ra rearl a> the tenth anniversary of Dr. Onnrlell's pastorate 
of the Pilgrim Congregational Church, St. Louis. 

1 O pastor ! friend ! to whom we bring 

This greeting from our hearts to-night, 
Yours was the face, the hand, the voice, 

That gave our life its happiest light. 
You've helped us all our burdens bear, 

And never wearied night or day ; 
You've turned our thoughts and hearts aside 

From earth and pain to heaven alway. 

2 You have upon our children's heads 

Laid softly the baptismal seal ; 
Or at the marriage altar joined 

Their youthful lives for woe or weal ; 
You've turned their faces to the light 

And radiance of the Father's throne, 
Until they've learned His wondrous grace, 

And He has marked them for His own. 

3 You've held the hand of those we loved 

When shadows gathered thick and fast, 
When lights burned low and stars grew dim, 

As from our clinging arms they passed ; 
You've stood beside the open graves 

Wherein we laid them down to sleep, 
And whispered to our aching hearts 

That they were given to God to keep. 

4 Your words full many a mother's voice 

Has whispered to her listening child ; 
Your prayers full many a stubborn heart 

From ways of sorrow have beguiled ; 
And in that light which you have cast 

Upon this weary life of ours, 
Small tasks and aims have grown divine, 

And gained new purposes and powers. 

5 You may not know what higher thought, 

Or what uplifted argument, 
The tenor of your life has given, 

Or to your neighbor's life hath lent; 
What hearts and souls you've made alive, 

And taught how vast the world may be; 
What visions you have shown to eyes 

That knew not heaven was fair to see. 

6 But soon or late, the time will come 

When groves of countless palms shall spring 
Upon the barren ground we knew, 

And in the branches birds shall sing ; 
And many witnesses shall rise 

To bless your memory, and tell, 
Beneath the grateful, pleasant shade, 

From whom the seed thus quickened fell. 



46 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



AN ORDINATION HYMN. 

1 O God of Israel ! who hast led 

Thy people night and day ; 
Who hast their Zion made to them 
A fair and pleasant way ; 

2 A grief hath dimmed her altar fires — 

Made pale her precious stones ; 
With angel-worshippers, her priest 
The temple-service owns. 

3 To Thee we bring another, Lord! 

Let Thine ordaining hand 
Seal him the "Minister of God," 
Within these courts to stand. 

4 A watchman on Thy holy hill, 

To hail the morning light ; 
A shepherd that shall fold his flock 
From perils of the night. 

5 His feet upon the mountain tops 

Let them in beauty come ; 
His voice with heavenly tidings draw 
The wandering people home. 

6 The dew of youth is on his head — 

O God! care Thou for him! 
On priest and people pour the light 
That earth-clouds cannot dim. 

7 Light on his way and ours, great God! 

God of that "Morning Star" 
Which guides the nations to the house 
AVhere many mansions are ! 

MISS H. S. WABB. 
Boston, Mass., 1882. 



ANNIVERSARY OF AN ORDINATION 

Behold, the years, the conquering years, 

Run out man's little life ; 
Furrows and frosts and pains and tears 

Proclaim the unequal strife. 
Behold the soul, serene and strong, 

Beneath its patriarch day : 
Its morning beauty plays along 

Its evening's glorious way. 
So shines the day of him who wrought, 

O church of Christ! for you ; 
Your homes and graves and hearts have taught 

How faithful and how true. 
His way of duty girdled round 

Your every varied lot ; 
To God's deep providences bound, 

And to himself forgot. 
Time's shadows fall ; he rests him now ; 

O grace of God ! descend, 
Infold his heart and bless his brow, 

And own him as thy friend. 

MISS B. S. TVARB. 



Susau Janes Slarfo. 



Susan Hayes Ward is a prolific and pleasing writer of both prose and 
Terse, though in the latter, her work has consisted mainly of German 
translations and Biblical paraphrases. For the missionary department 
of this work, she has written a beautiful paraphrase on the 6th of Isaiah, 
which chapter she considers tin.- mainspring of all missionary effort. 



THE MOUNT OF THE SERMON. 

1 O sons of men ! come and behold 
The pulpit God hath built of old ; 
O sons of men ! hear as ye ought 

The preacher God Himself hath taught. 
Christ teacheth from the mountain. 

2 Ye priests, come from Jerusalem, 
Ye shepherds, come from Bethlehem, 
Thou traveller from Jericho, 

Do not pass by ; why hasten so ? 
Christ teacheth from the mountain. 

3 Leave, husbandman, thy plough afar, 
And maiden, leave thy water-jar ; 
Ye mothers, haste in eager throng 
And bring your little ones along. 

Christ teacheth from the mountain. 

4 Come, weary graybeard, with thy staff ; 
Come, brown-haired boy, with merry laugh ; 
The draught He pours of truth divine 

Is milk for babes, for old men wine. 
Christ teacheth from the mountain. 

5 Kings of the East, oh, haste ! and ye 
From far-off islands of the sea, 

Let all the nations hither flow, 
His word runs swiftly to and fro. 
Christ teacheth from the mountain. 

6 Ye little birds in ether blue, 

Lilies that gleam the meadows through, 

Ye birds of might that sweep the plain, 

The Lord who made you speaks again : 

Christ teacheth from the mountain. 

7 When Moses on the mountain spoke, 
The land in storm and thunder shook ; 
When Jesus on the mountain stands, 
In sunlight glimmer all the lands. 

Christ teacheth on the mountain. 

8 O heart bowed down with agony, 
Come, climb this mountain side with me ; 
Like mist, thy pain shall disappear, 
Thine heart expand, thine eye grow clear. 

Christ teacheth on the mountain. 

9 Hence ! arrogance and hate and pride, 
That thrusts the publican aside ; 

The soul that thirsts for righteousness 
Our God invites, our God will bless. 

Christ teacheth from the mountain. 
10 Hence ! idle boast of dead works done ; 
Hence ! pride of priestcraft, overblown ; 
Where'er au eye looks up to God, 
Is temple, altar, holy rood. 

Christ teacheth on the mountain. 



ANNIVERSARY AND DEDICATION. 



47 



11 And though He wait your door without, 
And though the thankless bar Him out, 
His gospel of eternal grace 

Shall still resound through every place. 
Christ teacheth from the mountain. 

12 The birds will sing it in the air, 

The flowers will waft its fragrance far, 
The waves will bear it o'er the sea, 
And winds will float His message free. 
Christ teacheth from the mountain. 

13 And if I go, or if I bide, . 

In valley deep, on mountain side, 
'Neath noontide blaze, or starlight dim, 
When Jesus speaks I'll hear to Him, 
Christ teacheth from the mountain. 



14 O Darnel ess mountain ! nobler far 
Than all earth's loftier summits are, 
Sinai and Zion well agree 

With Gerazim to bow to thee. 

Christ teacheth from the mountain. 

15 O earth, so wide and fair and broad, 
A temple sacred to our God, 

O church, built by the Lord most high, 
And reaching all beneath 'the sky ; 
Christ teacheth from the mountain. 

16 Come, quickly come, that glorious day 
When all the world shall Him obey, 
When unto Him shall bow each knee, , 
And all flesh worship silently, 

And Christ teach from the mountain. 

Translated from the German of Gerok by 
SUSAN HAYES "WARD. 
Newark, N. J., 1883. 



THEY THAT TRUST IN THE LORD. 



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50 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



PARTING SONG. 
For the class of 1S37, Andover Theoloyical Seminary. 

1 Brethren, the hour hath come 

That severs heart from heart, 
And bids from Learning's sacred dome 
Our pilgrim steps depart ; 

2 Some to yon eastern sphere, 

Where the dead idols reign, 

The banner of the Cross to rear 

O'er Falsehood's giant fane ; 

3 Some to the youthful West, 

The country of our love, 
To sow that seed in earth's green breast 
Whose fruit is reaped above. 

4 Dear are the hallowed walls ; 

How dear each chosen friend ; 
Yet cheerful, when our Saviour calls, 
Each cherished tie we rend. 

5 And every deed of love 

Deep on our hearts we'll grave, 
Howe'er in foreign lands we rove, 
Or ride the crested wave. 

6 Prayer is the link of gold 

That binds us heart to heart, 
The watchword of our Master's fold 
That joins us, though we part. 

7 Why should we say farewell ? 

Are we not soon to meet, 
The triumphs of our God to tell 
Before His glorious seat ? 

8 Why should we say farewell ? 

How few and brief the days 

Ere with the angel-host we swell 

Our dear Redeemer's praise. 

MRS. SIGOURNEY. 1837. 

THE EVERLASTING YEA. 

1 The first recorded words that brake 

Across the silent Eden air, — 
The first that lips created spake 

To man, the sinless dweller there, — 

2 Were words of covert doubt, that veiled 

Denial in their cautious breath 
Right subtly, or they else had failed 
To lure their listener on to death. 

3 - Yea hath God said?" One carping thought 

Dropped with the tempter's sinuous slur 
Into the startled soul, and caught 

With strange assent, had power to stir 

4 Such dread negation, that its force 

Was strong in might to overthrow 
Faith at the race's fountain source, 
And whelm a skeptic world in woe. 

5 "Yea hath God said?" The primal doubt 

Wrought through the earliest sophist's skill, 
Is flun<?, like some new question, out 
From the last lip that cavils, still. 



6 Its echo sinks and swells 

The ages, with a spell accurst ; 
Now arrogant, defiant, strong, 
Now cunning, crafty, as at first. 

7 And fast and far the lava flood 

Will roll its ruin deep and broad, 
Unstayed by even atoning blood, 
Till the millennium of God. 

8 Then shall the unavailing Nay 

Uttered in Eden first, become, 
Before the Everlasting Yea 

Breathed in the olive garden, dumb ! 

9 For God hath said, and He will show 

His word confirmed all worlds before, 
Till the whole universe shall know 
His Yea is Yea, forevermore ! 



MARGARET J. PRESTON. 



ANGELUS DOMINI, 
Wavelets of harmony, 

Circlets of sound, 
Vibrations of melody, 

Liquid and round, 
Riplets so holy, 

Beautiful chimes, 
Angelus Domini, 

Matin bell rhymes. 
Seraphic intonings, 

Breathings of prayer, 
Rustle of angels' wings 

Filling the air, — 
Purer than lullaby 

Right from the sea, 
Angelus Domini, 

Ave to Thee ! 
Ave Maria, 

Maiden so true, 
Listen, dear sinner, 

She's pleading for you. 
A sad Miserere 

The bells seem to wail, 
Angelus Domini, 

Her prayers must avail. 
Gratia plena 

Seems floating through space, 
Fit alleluia 

To virginal grace. 
Tower of ivory, 

Mystical rose, 
Angelus Domini, 

Pray for our woes. 
Back through dim ages 

The memory sweep's, 
Sin and death rages. 

Mortality weeps. 
No angel of beauty. 

No mother most chaste, 
Angelus Domini, 

The world was a Waste. 



PRAISE, AND OMNIPRESENCE OF GOD. 



51 



6 No Gloria Patri, 

No star in the East, 
No mother of pity 

For even the least ; 
No stable so holy, 

No manger of straw, 
Angelus Domini, 

Man an outlaw. 

7 No Christ in agony, 

No cruel thorn, 
No lone Gethsemane, 

No Saviour born ; 
No blood on Calvary, 

No crucified Lord, 
Angelus Domini, 

Nor incarnate Word. 

8 No five sacred wounds, 

So willing to bleed, 
Strict justice abounds, 

No Jesus to plead ; 
No Mater Dei, 

No way of the Cross, 
Angelus Domini, 

Think of the loss. 

9 Then peal out your tragedy 

All the year round, 
Angelus Domini, 

A Redeemer is found ! 
Eiplets so holy, 

Beautiful chimes, 
Angelus Domini, 

Vesper bell rhymes. , 



LAVINIA BATHTJBST. 



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Anne Bradstreet was the wife of the governor of Massachusetts Col- 
ony, and daughter of Gov. Thomas Dudley. She was born in England 
in 1612, but the honor of her poetic fame belongs to America, for she is 
recorded as the earliest poet of New England, where she gained much 
celebrity. Cotton Mather was an ardent admirer of her writings, and 
the excellent John Norton pronounced her "the mirror of her age, and 
the glory of her sex, honored and esteemed for her piety and gracious 
demeanor." She died in 1672. Her poems fill a large volume. Below 
are given three stanzas from a lengthy poem. 

CONTEMPLATION. 
I wist not what to wish, yet sure, thought I, 
If so much excellence abide below, 
How excellent is He that dwells on high, 
Whose power and beauty by His works we know. 
Sure He is goodness, wisdom, glory, light, 
That hath this under world so richly dight ; 
More heaven than earth was here, no winter and no 

night. 
So he that saileth in this world of pleasure, 
Feeding on sweets that never bit of th' sowre, 
That's full of friends, of honour and of treasure, 
Fond fool ! he takes this earth ev'n for heav'n's bower ; 
But sad affliction comes, and makes him see 
Here's neither honour, wealth, nor safety ; 
Ouly above is found all with security. 



O Time ! the fatal wrack of mortal things, 

That draws oblivion's curtain over kings, 

Their sumptuous monuments* men know them not, 

Their names without a record are forgot ; 

Their parts, their ports, their pomp's all laid i' th' 

dust, 
Nor wit, nor gold, nor buildings, 'scape Time's rust ; 
But He whose name is graved in the white stone, 
Shall last and shine when all of these are gone. 

ANNE BRADSTREET. 1665. 

CHRIST IS IN THE UNIVERSE. 

1 Restless heart, that, worn with pain, 

Dost thy bitter griefs rehearse, 
Cease to murmur and complain : 
Christ is in the universe ! 

2 Pilgrim, footsore, weak and poor, 

Bearing neither scrip nor purse, 
Hope, and cheerfully endure : 
Christ is in the universe ! 

3 Wretched one, with conscience weighed 

Heavily with secret curse, 
Heavenward turn and cry for aid : 
Christ is in the universe ! 

4 Soul in darkness, wrestling sore, 

Doubts of Him forbear to nurse, 
Knock and seek, and ne'er give o'er : 
Christ is in the universe ! 

5 Anxious one, perturbed, distressed, 

Evermore foreboding worse, 
Comfort thee in thy unrest : 
Christ is in the universe ! 

CNA LOCKE BAILET. 



"THOUGH HE BE NOT FAR." 

1 Not far ! and yet how many times and oft 

Low-weighted with dire burdens of distress, 
We strain dim eyes toward empty nothingness, 
And toss wild arms, half-doubtiugly, aloft, 

2 Up toward vast sky-abysses, making moan, 

Where faintly throbs that solemn, central star, 
If, haply, we may send so high and far 
One message to His white and shining throne. 

3 "Not far from every one of us! " why, then, 

The crouching beggar in the grimy street, 
The trembling slave, whom no man turns to greet. 
May seek for Him, and ask, and ask again, 

4 For needed mercy and His loving care, 

For light to lead where faltering feet must go ■, 
For strength to battle with each subtle foe, 
And keep the soul from uttermost despair. 

5 Assurance blest ! Though sorrows bind and bar 

Our hearts from joyous bursting into bloom, 
'Mid poignant pain and unrelenting gloom, 
We still shall find our Helper is not far. 






52 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



"I WILL ABIDE IN THINE HOUSE." 

1 Among so many can He care ? 
Can special love be everywhere ? 

A myriad homes — a myriad ways — 
And God's eye over every place. 

2 Over; but in ? The world is full ; 
A high Omnipotence must rule ; 
But is there Life that doth abide 
With mine own living, side by side ? 

3 So many, — and so wide abroad ; 
Can any heart have all of God ? 
From the great spaces, vague and dim, 
May one small household gather Him ? 

4 I asked ; my soul bethought of this : 
In just that very place of His 
Where He hath put and keepeth you, 
God hath no other thing to do ! 

MRS. A. D. T, WHITNEY. 

Ins. gnit Um. 

Ann Taylor was born in London, January 28, 1782. Her father, Isaac 
Taylor, was an eminent engraver ; and she was the sister of Isaac Tay- 
lor, the author of ' 'Ancient Christianity" and many other works, and of 
Jane Taylor, also the author of various works in prose and verse. The 
hymns written by Jane and Ann have been translated into various for- 
eign languages. In 1813 Ann married the Itev. Joseph Gilbert, a Con- 
gregational minister, who was first a tutor in a college, then a pastor at 
Hull, a;iu afterwards at Nottingham, where he died in 1852. Ann Gil- 
bert died Dec. 20, 1SC6. in her 85th year. 

GOD OMNIPRESENT. 

1 Amongst the deepest shades of uight, 

Can there be one who sees my way ? 
Yes : God is like a shining light, 
That turns the darkness iuto day. 

2 When every eye arouud me sleeps, 

May I not sin without control ? 

!S T o ; for a constant watch He keeps 

On every thought of every soul. 

3 If I could find some cave unknown, 

Where human feet had never trod, 
Yet there I could not be alone ; 

On every side there would be God. 

4 He smiles in heaven ; He frowns in hell ; 

He fills the air, the earth, the sea ; 
I must within His presence dwell ; 
I cannot from His anger flee. 

5 Yet I may flee ; He shows me where ; 

To Jesus Christ He bids me fly ; 
And while I seek for pardon there, 
There's only mercy in His eye. 

MRS. ANN GILBERT. 

Born 1782 ; died 1866. 

THE SWEETER WITNESS. 

The vast, illimitable power of God 

Proclaims the starry host. 
But the pure lilies, rising from the sod, 

Reveal His love the most. 

MARY HEWITT. 



LIVE AND HELP LIVE. 

1 Mighty in faith and hope, why art thou sad ? 
Sever the green withes, look up and be glad , 
See all around thee, below and above, 

The beautiful, beautiful gifts of God's love. 

2 What tlio' our hearts beat with death's sullen waves ? 
What though the green sod is broken with graves ? 
The sweet hopes that never shall fade from their bloom, 
Make their dim birth-chamber down in the tomb. 

3 Parsee or Christianman, bondman or free, 
Loves and humilities still are for- thee , 
Some little good every day to achieve, 
Some slighted spirit no longer to grieve. 

4 In the tents of the desert, alone on the sea, 
On the far-away hills with the starry Chaldee ; 
Condemned and in prison, dishonored, reviled, 
God's arm is around thee, and thou art His child. 

5 Mine be the lip ever truthful and bold ; 
Mine be the heart never careless nor cold : 

A faith humbly trustful, a life free from blame, 
All else is unstable as flax in the flame. 

6 And while the soft skies are so starry and blue ; 
And while the wide earth is so fresh with God's de-vnr 
Though all around me the sad sit and sigh, 

I will be glad that I live and must die. 

ALICE CARY. 



INDWELLING. 

From "Gems of Poetry." 

1 God is not far above us, bending low 

His gracious head, our human wants to know, 

Our prayers to hear ; 
But He is omnipresent, and my cry 
Need not be wafted far beyond the sky, 

To gain His ear. 

2 But if He in this bosom dwells apart, 
And I to His Almighty, loving heart 

Am closely pressed ; 
How can He help but hear, and feel, and know, 
My voiceless prayer, my pain, my human woe, 

Though unexpressed ? 

3 Then may I not entrust to Him my way ? 
Though sorrows gather oft to cloud my day, 

He will sustain ; 
And may I never let an evil art 
Come in and fill the temple of my heart, 

Where He should reign- 



THY PENETRATING EYE. 
c. M. 
1 Great God ! Thy penetrating eye 
Pervades my inmost powers ; 
/"ith awe profound, my wondering soul 



profound, my 
Falls prostrate 



With awe x 

and adores. 



OMNIPRESENCE AND PRAISE. 



53 



2 To be encompassed round with God, 

The Holy and the Just, 
Armed with omnipotence to save, 
Or crush me to the dust, — 

3 Oh ! how tremendous is the thought ! 

Deep may it be impressed ; 

And may Thy Spirit firmly grave 

This truth within my breast. 

4 Begirt with Thee, my fearless soul 

The gloomy vale shall tread, 
And Thou wilt bind th' immortal crown 
Of glory on my head. 



3 Save in the evil hour ! 

Save from the tempter's power ! 
Thou to whom darkness shirieth as the day ; 

Glorious in purity ! 

The heart which rests on Thee 
In contrite trust, Thou wilt not cast away. 

4 Bless, purify, control, 
The fountains of the soul; 

Bid Thy good Spirit o'er the waters move ; 

Then shall this breast of mine 

Be as a holy shrine, 
Filled with Thy Spirit, glowing with Thy love. 



ELIZABETH SCOTT, 



SABA II E. MILES. 



PSALM CXXXIX. 

"When I am awake, I am still with Thee." 

1 Still, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh, 

When the bird waketh and the shadows flee ; 
Fairer than morning, lovelier than the daylight, 
Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with Thee. 

2 Alone with Thee — amid the mystic shadows, 

The solemn hush of nature newly born ; 
Alone with Thee in breathless adoration, 
In the calm dew and freshness of the morn. 

3 As in. the dawning, o'er the waveless ocean, 

The image of the morning star doth rest, 
So in the stillness, Thou beholdest only 
Thine image in the waters of my breast. 

4 Still, still with Thee ! as to each new-born morning, 

A fresh and solemn splendor still is given, 
So does this blessed consciousness awaking, 

Breathe, each day, nearness unto Thee and heaven, 
o When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber, 

Its closing eye looks up to Thee in prayer, 
Sweet the repose beneath Thy wings o'ershading, 

But sweeter still, to wake and find Thee there. 
6 So shall it be at last, in that bright morning, 

When the soul waketh and life's shadows flee ; 
Oh ! in that hour, fairer than daylight dawning, 

Shall rise the glorious thought — I am with Thee. 

MBS. H. B. STOWE. 1867. 



"THOU GOD SEEST ME." 

1 Father, to Thee alone 

Is Thy child's spirit known, 

To Thee it lieth open as the light i 
Thine eye of mercy sees 
The heart's deep mysteries, 

Which are so closely veiled from human sight. 

2 And I rejoice to feel, 
As I before Thee kneel, 

From Thee there is no covering, no disguise ; 

Though heavy clouds of sin 

Obscure the light within, 
My God, I would not hide me from Thine eyes. 



THANKSGIVING SONG 

1 We thank Thee, Lord of young and old, 
For summer's heat and winter's cold ; 
For all the seasons as they pass, 

Brown Autumn's blight, Spring's tender grass. 

2 Thank Thee for sunshine and for rain ; 
For blasted corn and perfect grain ; 
For all the crops we've gathered in, 
And better ones, that might have been. 

3 Thank Thee for sickness and for health ; 
For poverty as well as wealth ; 

For pleasant gatherings at home, 
And for the partings that must come. 

4 Both disappointment and success, 
Firm Faith accepts, and both will bless 
A heart, whose cheerful gratitude 

In all things sees a loving God. 

5 Thou'rt Lord of weakness and of might ; 
Thou orderest all and all is right ; 

All things are in Thy providence, 
Nor can we separate them thence. 



PRAISE TO GOD. 

1 Praise to God, immortal praise, 
For the love that crowns our days ! 
Bounteous Source of every joy, 
Let Thy praise our tongues employ. 
For the blessings of the field, 

For the stores the gardens yield ; 
For the fruits in full supply. 
Ripened 'neath the summer sky ; — 

2 All that spring with bounteous hand 
Scatters o'er the smiling land; 

All that liberal autumn pours 
From her rich, o'erflowing stores ; 
These, to Thee, my God, we owe, 
Source whence all our blessings flow : 
And for these my soul shall raise 
Grateful vows and solemn praise. 



L. BARBAULD. 



54 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



HARVEST HOME. 

1 Lord of harvests, heavenly King, 
Take the tribute that we bring ; 
Hear the songs of grateful praise 
For Thy bounteous gifts we raise. 

2 Thou didst give the morning light, 
And the gentle dew of night, 
Thou didst send the plenteous rain, 
On the forest, field and plain. 

3 All the fair, broad earth is Thine, 
Wealth of field and wealth of mine ; 
We but bring Thee back Thine own, 
Who have planted, toiled, or sown. 

4 Fruits to please, flowers to adorn, 
Waving grain and golden corn, 
Glowing clusters from the vine, 
These we render — they are Thine. 

5 Day by day Thy hand fulfills 
Whatsoe'er Thy bounty wills, 
Till with its abundant cheer, 

All Thy goodness crowns the year. 



THANKSGIVING. 

1 When harvest days are over,. 

And sheaves crowd the eaves, 
When on the dying clover 

Lie drifted heaps of leaves, 
When October's gold has faded, 

And November's brandies bare, 
Like witches gaunt and jaded, 

Toss in the stormy air, — 

2 Then we light the wintry fires, 

And their blaze upward plays, 
As we gather like our sires 

In the stalwart early days, 
To count our mercies over, 

And to reckon up the store 
That spring and summer labored 

In our open hands to pour. 

3 ' Tis a custom worth the keeping 

With the noise of the boys ; 
And we think the fathers 

Even now share our joys ; 
From the better country gazing 

On the many-peopled land, 
Its harvest so amazing 

From their sowing on the strand. 

4 Do they see from heights elysian 

In their cold home of old, 
Souls as pure and true in vision, 

Hearts as fearless, words as bold ? 
Is the purpose of the people 

Still, as then, that right be might ? 
Does it peal from every steeple, 

Inspiration for life's fight? 



5 Are our arms, like theirs, still wielding 

The sword of the Lord ? 
Never flinching, never yielding. 

Are we holding fast His word ? 
Never trailing low our banner, 

Do we wave it o'er the free ? 
Is our battle-cry " Hosanna ! " 

For perfect liberty ? 

6 Then gladly let us gather 

In the snow or the blow, 
Though wintry outside weather, 

Within the fireside glow ; 
From million homes let freemen 

Their glad thanksgivings raise, 
Till mountain-peak and canyon 

Alike shall echo praise. 

7 Then when, like them, we're sleeping, 

Our sheaves in the eaves, 
The turf our low graves keeping 

Warm with piled-up autumn leaves, 
In the gladness of that living 

We shall count our garnered store. 
We shall sing our glad thanksgiving 

Of praise forevermore. 

MISS M. E. WIXSLOW. 

Zion's Herald," Nov. 25, 1880. 



MY BLESSINGS. 

1 Great waves of plenty rolling up 

Their golden billows to our feet, 
Fields where the ungathered rye is white, 
Or heavy with the yellow wheat ; 

2 Wealth surging inward from the sea, 

And plenty through our land abroad, 
With sunshine resting over all: 
That everlasting smile of God! 

3 For these — yet not for these alone — 

My tongue its gratitude would say; 
All the great blessings of my life 
Are present in my thoughts to-day. 

4 For more than all my mortal wants 

Have been, God, Thy full supplies ; 
Health, shelter, and my daily bread, 
For these my grateful thanks arise. 

5 For ties of faith, whose wondrous strength 

Time nor eternity can part ; 
For all the words of love that fall 
Like living waters on my heart. 

6 For even that fearful strife where sin 

Was conquered and subdued at length, 
Temptations met and overcome, 

Whereby my soul has gathered strength ; 

7 For all the warnings that have come 

From mortal agony or death ; 
From even that bitterest storm of life 
Which drove me on the rock of faith. 



THANKSGIVING. 



55 



8 For all the past I thank Thee, God ! 

And, for the future, trust in Thee, 
Whate'er of trial and blessing yet, 
Asked or unasked, Thou hast for me. 

9 Yet only this one boon I crave — 

After life's brief and fleeting hour, 
Make my beloved Thy beloved, 
And keep us in Thy day of power. 

PHEBE CART. 

THANKSGIVING. 

1 O blessed Master, "come and dine," 
The feast we spread is Thine, all Thine. 

2 We would not eat except 'tis blest 
By Thee, our gracious Kingly Guest. 

3 "We call our loved ones round our board, 
And in their midst would see our Lord. 

4 Our "Elder Brother," didst not Thou 
To thorns lay bare Thy sinless brow, 

5 That we co-heirs with Thee might be, 
And freely take Thy gifts, so free ? 

6 True gratitude is surely meet 

When friend sits down with friend to eat. 

7 We do rejoice in gifts and home, 

And, with the loved ones, bid Thee come. 

8 Show us, on this Thanksgiving Day, 
The beautiful and living way. 

9 Dispensing from abundant store, 
Teach us to help Thy needy poor. 

10 Some, even in our flowing land, 
Crouching and hunger-bitten stand, 

1 1 While rarest fowl and fattest kine, 
And fish from stored ocean's brine ; 

12 And mother-earth her varied gifts 
Up from the furrows gladly lifts, 

13 And fruits from tropic tree and vine 
Drop like sweet dew from hand of Thine. 

14 Welcome, dear Lord ! Thy thoughtful care 
Giveth us bread to eat and spare. 

15 When our great Nation's dire distress 
Left her poor children fatherless, 

16 Did not Thy wise-directed rod 
Lift the world nearer to our God ? 

17 "Our Government lives." Yea, ah ! yea ; 
Jehovah turns not in His way. 

18 "I Am" can use among His tools 
The meanest of unbalanced fools ; 

19 And golden linings we can trace, 
Fringing the clouds that hid Thy face. 

20 Nothing can hinder when God moves, 
Races and nations own His love. 

21 Soul hath touched soul on every shore, 
Still will we thank Thee more and more. 

CARRIE L. POST. 

Springfield, Not. 24, 1881. 



A MORE EXCELLENT SACRIFICE. 

5y faith Abel offered to God a more excellent sacrifice than Cain !"— H 
s .11:4. 

1 We lay our fruits and flowers 

Before Thy sacred shrine, 
Spring's promise, summer's bowers, 

Brown autumn's laden vine. 
Cain-like, we shower down 

The best our earth can yield, 
Like Cain we meet Thy frown, 

We tillers of the field. 

2 And why ? The gifts are fair, 

Their origin divine ; 
With patient toil and care 

We culture that is Thine. 
An Eden offering ours ; 

But in this outside woe 
A blight is on your flowers, 

And blood for sin must flow. 

3 No more we bring like Cain 

An offering of self-will ; 
Since Abel's Lamb was slain 

For us on Calvary's hill ; 
His blood makes all things sweet, 

Washes all taint and stain, 
And thus before His feet 

We lay our flowers again. 

4 Sweet buds of purpose true, 

Blossoms of sacred thought, 
Ripe fruits of actions new, 

And deeds our hands have wrought ; 
These be our offerings rare, 

With incense of rapt praise, 
And holy word and prayer 

Through consecrated days. 

5 Not for their worth or ours 

We bring them, Lord, to Thee, 
Though beautiful our flowers, 

And ripe our f rui ts may be ; 
As sinners lost we claim 

Thy sacrifice alone, 
And in Thy sacred name 

We give Thee back Thine own. 

MISS M, E. WlNStOW. 

HARVEST HYMN. 

1 To Thee, Creator of all good, 

Who givest life, and health, and food, 
Sing we Alleluia ! 

2 To Thee, O bounteous Lord of heaven, 
Who hast our wants in mercy given, 

Sing we Alleluia. 

3 To Thee, O Saviour of the lost, 
Who hast redeemed at wondrous cost, 

Sing we Alleluia. 

4 To Thee, our glorious Lord and King, 
True adoration now we bring, 

Singing Alleluia. Amen. 



oG 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



HARVEST TIME. 

1 There is a glow at harvest time 

Unknown, unseen, in early spring ; 
There is a flush o'er nature's prime 

She wears not at her blossoming. 
A light, of full fruition born, 

Shines in October's russet west 
That never gilded April's morn, 

Nor kissed the buds on earth's cold breast. 

2 There is a gladness Autumn yields, 

The fair young May can ne'er bestow; 
O'erflowing barns, and golden fields 

Through which the sickles come and go. 
The crown of hope, and fear, and pain, 

The guerdon of our weary toil, 
Is spread on every hill and plain — 

The hard earned riches of the soil. 

3 There is a joy at harvest tide, 

A peaceful, holy happiness, 
Which youth, with all its hope and pride, 

Can ne'er imagine nor possess. 
The glory of life's setting day 

Shines over fields of other years, 
Where glistening pastures stretch away — 

That throve beneath our falling tears. 

4 The grain, that cost us hours of woe, 

Lies ready for the Master's call, 
The agony that racked us so, 

Has borne the fairest fruit of all. 
Nor heed we Winter's frosty breath, 

Our earth-worn hearts are true and strong ; 
Only the stubble waits for death, 

For God will bind the sheaves e'er long. 

NELLY H. BUTLER. Bom 1865. 

(Daughter of a Baptist Clergyman.) 
Highland Park, Chicago, 1884. 



THE HAY-FIELDS. 
1 

1 The sun had risen, the air was sweet, 

And brightly shone the dew, 
And cheerful sounds and busy feet 

Pass'd the lone meadows through ; 
And waving, like a flowery sea 

Of gay and spiry bloom, 
The hay-fields rippled merrily 

In beauty and perfume. 

2 I saw the early mowers pass 

Along that pleasant dell, 
And rank on rank the shining grass 

Around them quickly fell ; 
I looked, and far and wide at noon 

The fallen flowers were spread, 
And all, as rose the evening moon, 

Beneath the scythe were dead. 



"All flesh is grass," the Scriptures say, 

And so we truly find; 
Cut down, as in a summer's day, 

Are all of human kind: 
Some, while the morning still is fair, 

Taken in earliest prime ; 
Some, mid-day's heat and burden bear, 

But all laid low in time. 
A fable full of truth to me 

Is this the mower's tale ; 
I soon a broken stem shall be 

Like hay that strews the vale; 
At early dawn, or closing light, 

The scythe of death may fall ; 
Then let me learn the lesson right, 

So full of truth to all. 



JANE TAYLOK. 



%Xxtt $l0tertoto. 



Alice Flowerdew was the widow of Daniel Flowerdew, an English 
gentleman, who at one time held a goverment appointment in Jamaica. 
After his return to Euglaud he was in such poor circumstances that 
Mrs. Flowerdew was obliged to keep a school at Islington. One of her 
hymns has appeared in many collections, and has sometimes been attrib- 
uted to John Needham. It is possible that he may have altered a few 
words in it. From Islington she removed to Bury St. Edmunds, and 
then to Ipswich, where she died, September 23, 1830. 

FOUNTAIN OF MERCY. 

1 Fountain of mercy ! God of love ! 

How rich Thy bounties are ! 

The rolling seasons, as they move, 

Proclaim Thy constant care. 

2 When in the bosom of the earth 

The sower hid the grain, 
Thy goodness marked its secret birth, 
And sent the early rain. 

3 The spring's sweet influence was Thine, 

The plants in beauty grew ; 
Thou gav'st refulgent suns to shine, 
And mild refreshing dew. 

4 These various mercies from above 

Matured the swelling grain ; 
A yellow harvest crowned Thy loye, 
And plenty fills the plain. 

5 Seed-time and harvest, Lord, alone 

Thou dost on man bestow ; 
Let him not, then, forget to own 
From whom his blessings flow. 

6 Fountain of love ! our praise is Thine ; 

To Thee our songs we'll raise, 
And all created nature join 
In sweet harmonious praise. 



THANKSGIVING. 



HYMN OF THE REAPERS. 

1 Our Father, to fields that are white, 

Rejoicing, the sickle we bear ; 
In praises our voices unite 

To Thee, who hast made them Thy care. 

2 The seed that was dropped in the soil 

We left, with a holy belief 
In One who, beholding the toil, 

Would crown it at length with the sheaf. 

3 And ever our faith shall be firm 

In Thee, who hast nourished the root ; 
Whose finger has led up the germ, 
And finished the blade and the fruit. 

4 The heads, that are heavy with grain, 

Are bowing, and asking to fall ; 

Thy hand is on mountain and plain, 

Thou Maker and Giver to all ! 

5 Thy blessings shine bright from the hills ; 

The valleys Thy goodness repeat ; 
And, Lord, 'tis Thy bounty that fills 
The arms of the reaper with wheat. 

6 Oh ! when, with the sickle in hand, 

The angel Thy mandate receives, 
To come to the field with his band 
To bind up and bear off Thy sheaves, 

7 May we be as free from the blight, 

As ripe to be taken away, 
As full in the ear to Thy sight, * 

As that which we gather to-day ! 

8 Our Father, the heart and the voice 

Flow out, our fresh off'rings to yield ; 
The reapers, the reapers rejoice, 

And send up their song from the field. 

HANNAH FLAGG GOULD. 

AUTUMN FESTIVAL HYMN. 

(Tune— Duke-Street.) 
Written for, and dedicated to the Y. M. C. A., Springfield, 111., on the 
occasion of their Autumn Festival. 

1 We praise Thee, God, whose bounteous hand 

Hath scattered plenty o'er the land ; 
For all that liberal autumn sends 

Throughout the earth's remotest ends. 

2 Eternal praise to Thee ascend ; 

To Thee in grateful homage bend 

All who partake of Thy great love, 

Sent in rich measure from above. 

3 For all the flocks that feed on hill, 

That furnish strength to do Thy will ; 
For ripened fruits and golden grain, 
We raise to Thee our thanks again. 

4 Grant, Lord, that we may ripened be, 

With Thee to dwell eternally ; 
Great source whence all our comforts flow, 
May we Thy saving bounty know. 

MRS. G. C. SMITH. 

October 30, 1882. 



WE THANK THEE. 

1 We thank Thee, Father, for the light 

That came when all the way was rough, 
And sorrow's clouds were dark enough 
To hide Thee all the day from sight. 

2 Thy goodness stood revealed : Thy care, 

Thy tender care for all the weak, 
The weary ones too faint to speak, 
Who seek Thy presence everywhere. 

3 We thank Thee for the hand that held 

Our own with such a tender clasp, 
When life seemed slipping from our grasp, 
And stormy fears would not be quelled. 

4 We praise Thee for the love that shone 

With brighter glow in our great need, 
For friends who proved themselves in deed 
And truth to ever be our own. 

5 Good gifts, and perfect — and we know 

Thou art the giver of all such ; 
We cannot praise Thee over-much, 
Let heart and tongue both overflow. 

6 Let us not drift beyond the bound 

Thy loving hand doth kindly place; 
Storm-driven, we have sought Thy face, 
And in Thy love a harbor found. 

7 And should our lives be short or long, 

They must be full of love to Thee, 
And prayer and praise ne'er cease to be 
The daily burden of our song. 



OCTOBER. 

1 Where the purple haze of autumn 

The tinted woods infold, 
And leaves are fluttering downward 

In crimson sheen and gold, 
Out beneath the glowing forest, 

How truant fancy weaves 
Her weird, mysterious music 

To the falling of the leaves. 

2 With their quaint, exquisite minor 

Sweeping the lute-like air, 
They, in ^Eolian whispers, 

Are falling everywhere. 
Less a sound than sense of music, 

Their low, soft rhythms beat, 
And catching their mystic cadence, 

How the poet's lute grows sweet. 

3 For the flame-lit hills and valleys ; 

For the shimmer and the sheen 
Of the amber, misty sunlight 

Showering down between, 
For the autumn's mellow splendor ; 

For a heart o'erflown with love ; 
For the gift, and for the Giver, 

I lift glad thanks above. 

MARY A. LEAVTTT. 

Vernon, Oct., 1880. 



58 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



THANKSGIVING. 

1 Sing, heart of mine, the year is young, 

The buds are bursting on the trees, 
The swelling hopes of life are thine 
And float in song on every breeze. 

2 Sing, heart of mine, the summer bloom ; 

Its fragrant perfume tills the air ; 
Now life is rich, for Love and Faith 
Within the soul their incense bear. 

3 Sing, heart of mine, the year is ripe, 

Full harvests bless the fruitful land ; 
Life's royal fruitage waiteth, too, ' 
The tender Master's garnering hand. 

4 Sing, heart of mine, the year is done, 

Chill winter spreads her silver vest, 

Life's fruit is with its gathered sheaves, 

Thy year is done, now wait thy rest. 

5 Sing, heart of mine, for God is just 

Who gives the waiting earth His care ; 
The spring-time rain, the bud and bloom, 
The cooling dew to summer air. 

6 Sing, heart of mine, for God is good 

Who fills the ear and bending sheaf : 
Who hides the clusters of the vine 
Beneath the golden autumn leaf. 

7 Sing, heart of mine, oh, praise His name, 

Whose loving care hath blessed our store ; 
With glad thanksgiving praise His name 
Whose care surrounds us evermore. 



HARVEST SONG. 

1 Thought hath wondrous germination 

In the soil of mind, and Time 
Shields with joy each new creation — 
Harvest-miracle sublime. 

2 Greater harvest, fuller seeding 

For the broader age to come ; 
For the larger thought then needing 
Voice and speech that now are dumb. 

3 Every power hath more progression 

Than created mind can think ; 
Each capacity, possession 

Of strange depths from which we shrink 

4 Shrink in fear from their revealings 

Of responsibility. 
Life's most trivial daily dealings 
Touch futurity for thee. 

5 Rise ! and " sow beside all waters !" 

Sow white truth and love alone. 
See ! life's future sons and daughters 
Haste to reap what thou hast sown. 



6 Listen ! hear the Lord of harvest 

Calling, calling for thy sheaves ! 
Not alone thy soul thou starvest : 

'Tis thy friend, thy child, who grieves — 

7 Thy soul's kin who should inherit 

Bread and wine thy lands have grown. 
Ah ! how desolate the spirit 
Seeking but its own alone ! 

8 Seed-time, harvest, each inherit ! 

Past nor future stands alone ; 
Ah, Divine One ! Holy Spirit ! 

Bless what our poor fields have grown ! 

GILBERT JEITEKY. 



I BLESS THEE, O MASTERI 



1 Ere the glow of autumn glory 

Fades from the Western sky, — 
Ere the tints of its sunset banners 

Waver and fade and die, 
Come, gather around the fireside, 

Yield to the dying days 
A tribute' of tender memory ; 

To the Master a song of praise. 

2 If we garner the golden fruitage, 

The harvests of ripened grain, 
Praise Him for the sweet sun-shining 

And the gifts of the blessed rain. 
Praise Him for the tender mercy 

That ordered each new-born day ! 
Praise Him for the love that led us 

Through many an unknown way. 

3 What, tears in your eyes, my beloved ! 

Memories of trouble and loss ! 
Can you not thank Him for the anguish ? 

Can you not bless Him for the cross ? 
Draw nearer the glowing fire, 

Clasp hands in the tender gloom ; 
Surely a blessed presence 

Is filling this quiet room ! 



; — 4 It is good to be here for a little, 

Kneeling low at the Master's feet ; 
If the lesson He gives us is sorrow, 

The learning is very sweet. 
He knows and He loves ! Unnoted of Him, 

Not one of these tears shall fall, 
Look up through their shining, dear heart, and say, 

I bless Thee, O Master, for all! 



THANKSGIVING. 



61 



OH, BE JOYFUL IN THE LORD. 

(JUBILATE DEO.) 

Mrs. Clara H. Scott, nee Jones, is the author, editor and publisher of The Royal Anthem Book. She received her musical 
education at the Chicago Musical Institute, and is acknowledged to be among the best composers of the land. Her productions are all 
artistic, and numbered by the hundred. Her present residence is Minneapolis, Minn. 



Allegretto. 



MRS. C. H. SCOTT. 
From "Royal Anthem Bouk." By per. 



Oh, be joy-ful In the Lord, Oh, be joy-ful in the Lord, be joy - ful, be joy - ful, be joy - ful,all ye lands. 




Oh, be joy-ful in the Lord, Oh, be joy-ful in the Lord, be joy - ful, be joy - ful, be joy - ful, all ye lands. 




Serve the Lord with glad-ness, Serve the Lord with gladness, and come before His presence with a song. 




Serve the Lord with glad-ness, Serve the Lord with gladness, and come before His presence with a song. 



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63 



truth en - dur - eth from gen-er - a - tion to gen - er - a - tion. 

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HE CARETH, OR " ONE OF THE SWEET OLD CHAPTERS. 



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Rest, and refuge, and home, But, wea-ry and heav - y la - den. 
faith is simply to be, ... Oh, hush' d by the ten - der les - son., 



Un-to thy Book I come. 
My God ! let me rest in thee. 



EVENING DEVOTION. 



65 



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Copyrighted, 1876. by John Clmrch & Co., and used by per. 



BETHANY 

1 O blessed home, thy fragrance sweet 

Groweth sweeter evermore ; 
In dreams I behold thy beauty, 

Looking in at open door ; 
Around the- latticed windows low, 

And beneath the shadowy eaves, 
The little sparrows come and go 

And twitter in the leaves ; 

2 Thy hills are bathed in sunshine, 

Thy vales in sweet perfume ; 
Ripe barley fields bend in the wind, 

And yellow lilies bloom, 
Just as they did in centuries gone 

When Jesus gathered them 
Along the city way, and down 

The road to Bethlehem. 

3 Away through distance dim we hear 

The rustle of the palms, 
Or the rhythmic cadence it may be, 
Of the far-off temple's psalms ; 



Nay, list, 'tis Martha's twilight song, 
Crooned low and tenderly. 

For the blessed One hath come to rest 
All night at Bethany. 

4 Silent the starry sails go down 

Upon the western sea ; 
Silent they bear away our cares 

And leave us glad and free ; 
So calm eacli over-burdened heart,. 

So still each burning chord, 
So glad to sink down at His feet, 

And listen to the Lord. 

5 O happy home, to lie between 

Jerusalem and heaven ! 
Sweeter than spikenard was the love 

And rest to the Master given ; 
Oft, as to-night, o'er barley helds 

Bloweth a whispered psalm, — 
I know not whether said or sung. 

But it brinffeth rest and calm. 



E. MITCHELL. 



66 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



JMatte %mt Jrrrdor. 

Adelaide A. Proctor, the daughter of Bryan Waller Proctor, was 
born in England, in 1835, She published "Lyrics and Legends," "A 
Chaplet of Verses," and other poems. 

EVENING HYMN. 

1 The shadows of the evening hours 

Fall from the darkening sky ; 
Upon the fragrance of the flowers 

The dews of evening lie. 
Before Thy throne, O Lord of Heaven, 

We kneel at close of day ; 
Look on Thy children from on high, 

And hear us while we pray. 

2 The sorrows of Thy servants, Lord, 

Oh ! do not Thou despise ; 
But let the incense of our prayers 

Before Thy mercy rise ; 
The brightness of the coming night 

Upon the darkness rolls : 
With hopes of future glory, chase 

The shadows on our souls. 

3 Slowly the rays of daylight fade ; 

So fade within our heart 
The hopes in earthly love and joy, 

That one by one depart : 
Slowly the bright stars, one by one, 

Within the heavens shine ; 
Give us, O Lord ! fresh hopes in heaven, 

And trust in things divine. 

4 Let peace, O Lord ! Thy peace, O God ! 

Upon our souls descend ; 
From midnight fears and perils, Thou 

Our trembling hearts defend ; 
Give us a respite from our toil, 

Calm and subdue our woes, 
Through the long day we suffer, Lord, 

Oh ! give us now repose ! 



LORD EVERLASTING. 

1 Now God be with us, for the night is closing, 
The light and darkness are of His disposing ; 
And 'iieath His shadow here to rest we yield us ; 

For He will shield us. 

2 Let evil thoughts and spirits flee before us, 

Till morning cometh, watch, O Father ! o'er us : 
In soul and body Thou from harm defend us, 
Thine angels send us. 

3 Let pious thoughts be ours when sleep o'ertakes us : 
Our earliest thoughts be Thine when morning wakes us ; 
All sick and mourners we to Thee commend them, 

Do Thou befriend them. 

4 We have no refuge, none on earth to aid us, 

But Thee, O Father? who Thine own hast made us; 
Keep us in life ; forgive our sins ; deliver 
Us now and ever. 

5 Praise be to Thee through Jesus our salvation, 
God, three in one, the Ruler of creation, 
High-throned o'er all Thine eye of mercy casting, 

Lord everlasting. 



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"The following hymn, valuable from any author, has a new beauty 
when we accept it from a Christian mother, who from principle applied 
herself to home duties, when her talents invited her to an easy and 
more brilliant course. The 'forms of outward care' and the 'thought 
for many things,' the flock which the ' guardian Shepherd' would fold 
to sleep,' all were realities to her, as they will be to many who partake 
of her Christian spirit." {Eng. Col.) 

SATURDAY EVENING. 



'IT IS I; BE NOT AFRAID." 

St. Mark xi: 50. 

1 The night was dark on Galilee, 
The wind blew high across the sea, 
Weary and faint, a patient band 
Toiled with the oars to gain the land. 

2 But see ! a white and spectral form 
Walks on the waves amid the storm ; 
With quaking hearts they cry with fear, 
For lo ! the awful form draws near. 

3 But hark ! who answers to their cry ? 

No foe that voice, — the Lord draws nigh ; 
He speaks to cheer, not to upbraid : 
" Lo ! it is I ; be not afraid." 
5 Our human hearts oft faint and fear, 
Oppressed and sad while ills draw near ; 
Ah ! often heaviest clouds that rise 
Are only blessings in disguise. 

ANNA HOLYOKE HOWARD. 

Brooklyn, N. Y., 1883. 



le rest, of the holy Sabbath." Ex. xvi : 23. 

1 The hours of evening close, 

The lengthened shadows, drawn 
O'er scenes of earth, invite repose, 
And wait the Sabbath dawn. 

2 So let its calm prevail 

O'er forms of outward care, 
Nor thought for many things assail 
The still retreat of prayer. 

3 Our guardian Shepherd near 

His watchful eye will keep, 

And safe from violence or fear, 

Will fold His flock to sleep. 

4 So may a holier light 

Than earth's, our spirits rouse, 
And call us, strengthened by His might, 
To pay the Lord our yows. 



EVENING DEVOTION. 



WHITHER GOEST THOU? 

1 Where wanderest Thou through evening mist, 

dearest Pilgrim, Jesus Christ ? 
Come, grant me this felicity, 
Turn Thou aside, my Lord, to me. 

2 Be Thou entreated, dearest Friend, 
Thou knowest all that I intend ; 
Thou knowest if my guest Thou'lt be, 
With all good cheer I'll welcome Thee. 

3 Behold ! the day is now far spent ; 
Night draws the curtain of her tent ; 
Then Light of Truth, it cannot be 
Thou'lt leave me in my poverty. 

4 Enlighten me, that I the road 

May find that leads to heaven and God ; 
That sin's dark night mislead not me, 
Nor make me wander helplessly. 

5 Then in my last great need, by faith 
Help me to die a peaceful death ; 
Lord Jesus, stay, I cling to Thee, 

1 know Thou wilt not turn from me. 

Translated from the German of J. Angelas i 

SUSAN HAYES WARD. 

Newark, N. J., 1883. 



UNTO THEE. 

1 After the day done 

Is it my rest, 
O meek and lowly One, 
Into Thy heart to come ? 

2 Dreary and comfortless, 

Weary and worn, 
Tears from my eyelids press ; 
Yearnest Thou now to bless 

3 Though this Thy love for me, 

I grieve and grieve ; 
Still must my refuge be, 
O gentle Heart, in Thee? 

4 Spite of my wayward day, 

Spite of my will 
Tangling my cumbered way, 
Now must my burden lay, 

5 Saviour Divine, I know, 

On Thee alone ; 
I've nowhere else to go, 
No one to love me so! 



AT NIGHTFALL. 

1 The day is done, dear Lord, the weary day ; 
And I have tried so hard to do Thy will, 
And faithfully the tasks Thou gav'st fulfil ! 

2 The little ones are sleeping ; all the day 
The restless feet have hurried to and fro, 
The childish voices ceaseless in their now. 



3 Thou knowest, dear Lord, the work I try to do: 
To train these treasures Thou hast lent to me, 
Till Thine own image in their hearts may be. 

4 I strive to guard from harm my garden fair — 
The sweet home garden with its tender blooms, 
Its promised fruitage, and love's rich perfumes ; 

5 But spite of all my care, the hedge is poor, 
The crafty foxes creep in unaware, 

And little sins despoil my garden fair. 

6 So all the day I've labored, watched and prayed, 
To lead the little souls to Thy dear feet, 

And guard lest sin should dim their whiteness sweet. 

7 Now they are nestled 'neath Thy wings to rest ; 
But I am tired, so tired, dear Lord, to-night, 
Too spent and weary e'en to pray aright. 

8 To-morrow's tasks arise before my sight ; 
But oh, my Lord, they are so heavy grown, 
I faint and fall ; I cannot walk alone ! 

9 Bear Thou my burdens, be in weakness strength; 
Take in Thy arms the children of my care, 

So that Thy blessing all their lives may share. 
10 I lay me down to sleep with peaceful heart; 

Strength will be given for all the morrow brings, 
Till, by-and-by, our earth-souls shall find wings ! 

MRS. S. E. TITTERINGION. 

EVENING PRAYER. 

1 Father, as the days decline, 
Grant Thy sun of truth shall shine 
In my soul, and in my heart, 
Bid, ah ! bid Him not depart, 

But continue through the night, 
And at morn my pathway light. 

2 I have need of light and truth, 
I am in the paths of youth ; 

And, dear Lord, I would not stray, 
Guide and light my onward way, 
And when evenings all are past, 
Oh ! receive Thine own at last. 

RACHEL E. MOORE. 

" SISTE VIATOR." 

"At even-time it shall be light." 

1 My little one-life-power in the great sum of things, 

Makes its small pause — a broken day, whose ze- 
nith sun 
Climbs not in earthly skies. No finished offerings 
My altars hold, and yet my half day's work seems 
done. 

2 Thro' all my soul, a hush holds me with mighty hand, 

With "gates ajar " toward every possible delight, 
My silent, darkened sick-room grows enchanted land, 
And yet, a helpless waif, I lie upon the night. 

3 I cannot reach, or open wide one unlocked gate ; 

I cannot stand upon the strangely-lighted floor ; 
I only float on wondrous waves of thought — and wait, 
And send a voiceless yearning toward the inner 
shore. 



68 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONQ. 



: Mushed on this night of sharp, of almost conquering 
pain, 
Just on the unlit edge of vast realms unexplored, 
Both quivering flesh and unillumined brain 

Make darkness where the tangling shadows wait a 
sword, 

i Whose name is dawn ! What shall the patient watch- 
er see ? 
A rosy East look down where one shall slowly rise, 
And yet go forth to useful years ? or shall it he 
The all-suliicing day of God, shall light these eyes ? 

6 The dripping ice that on my burning forehead lies, 

Is not more grateful to the parched and aching 
sense 
Than these soul-ministerings I faintly recognize, 
Striviiiii to Jill an inner thirst, still more intense. 

7 Once let me feel the pressure of those shadowy lips, 

Once let me groping find the dear magnetic hand, 



Av ant-couriers, of heav'nly sweet companionships 
Flying from Heart, Home, Temple of the Better 
Land. 

8 My head, so tired, thought-tangled with the warring 

creeds, 
Here rests ! I only know and feel that God is just, 
With power, omnipotent to iill all human needs. 
Our needs ! — the on things that sometimes are not 
dust. 

9 Who is that other watcher, waiting in my room? 

I feel him, but I cannot see his shrouded face, 
Is it the strange mysterious one Ave miscall " Doom?" 

The only earthly one, maligned of all our race. 
10 So wise, so patient, Death, who, who so unreplying, 

Who, with such grand appeal to the event sublime, 
Death can be tender too, if aught like this were dying 

'Tis passing sweet, where'er Eternity nears Time. 

ISADORE GILBERT JEPFKUY. 

Waukegau, 111., Oct. 30, 1874. 



EVENING SONG TO THE VIRGIN. 



Poetry by Mrs. HEMANS. 



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Usris f enton irajmm fatjergal. 

Misa Maria Vernon Graham Havergal, the sister of Frances Eidley 
Havergal, has written much in both prose and verse. She has the sweet, 
consecrated spirit that her dear departed sister possessed in such a 
marked degree. Among her works is a memorial of her sister, and 
"Pleasant Fruits from the Cottage and the Class." She has also compiled 
and prepared for publication six books of her sister's writings, among 
which are "Life Echoes," "Life Chords," " Under His Shadow," and 
"Starlight through the Shadows." To her our readers are indebted for 
much in this volume, never before published in this country, and some 
of it is new and by various authors of renown in England. 



I- 

'AT EVENING TIME IT SHALL BE LIGHT. 

Zech. xiv : 7- 

1 Life's orient morn hath passed away. 
Hushed all the clamorous cares of day : 
Through twilight calm soft steals one chime, 
"It shall be light at evening time." 

2 Life's western portal opes for me ; 
Death's darkening valley near I see ; 
This promise meets my dimming sight: 
"At evening time it shall be light." ' 

3 Jesus, my light of life, draw near, 
Shine on my darkness, chase each fear ; 
Stand by me in life's closing fight, 
And cheering say, " I am thy light." 

4 "Washed in Thy precious blood alone, 
Arrayed in righteousness Thine own, 
From evening time I pass away, 

To Heaven's eternal shadeless day. 



II. 

The shining of the earliest star, 
Unveiled from purple shades afar, 

That brightens o'er the brow of night, 
Can bring no cheer, amid its beams, 
More bright than through this promise gleams : 

"At evening time there shall be light." 
"There shall be light!" O wanderer, say, 
Groping through tears thy weary way, 

Hath hope in shadows taken flight ? 
There shines a love-star o'er the tomb, 
And sing the angels through the gloom : 

"At evening time there shall be light." 
And seest thou, through the dying day, 
That brighter shines the lovely ray 

As darker grows the coming night ? 
And hearest thou, through the twilight calm, 
The silvery sweetness of this psalm : 

"At evening time there shall be lio-ht ? " 
As erst around the Bethel Stone, 
A gleam of Heaven's own glory shone, 

The pilgrim saw, in visions bright, 
Down starry steeps a band descend, 
And seraph-tones in chorus blend 

At evening time, and there was light. 



4 And as the Magi turned their way 
Toward where the infant Saviour lay, 

And one pure star had crowned the night, 
Methinks o'er plains of far Judea, 
His herald's voices sounded clear : 

'At evening time there' shall be light." 

5 Untouched by earth's insensate things, 
We hear the sound of angel wings, 

Down drooping in their distant flight; 
We see the shadows melt away, 
With silvery voices softly say : 

"At evening time there shall be light." 

6 No frowning darkness of the grave, 
No murmurs of the sullen wave 

Our feet have touched, can bring affright, 
As, floating from the starry spheres, 
Sounds the glad hymn of endless years : 

"At evening time there shall be light." 



ELIZABETH G. BARBER 



OPEN IMMEDIATELY. 



1 The certainest, surest thing I know, 

Whatever, what else, may yet befall 
Of blessings or bane, of weal or woe, 

Is the truth that is fatefullest far of all, 
That the Master will knock at my door some night, 

And there, in the silence hushed and dim, 
Will wait for my coming with lamp and light, 

To open immediately to Him. 

2 I wonder if I at His tap shall spring 

In eagerness up, and cross the floor, 
With rapturous step, and freely fling, 

In the murk of the midnight, wide the door ? 
Or will there be work to be put away ? . ■ 

Or the taper, that burns too low, to trim ? 
Or something that craves too much delay 

To open immediately to Him ? 

3 Or shall I with whitened fear grow dumb, 

The moment I hear the sudden knock, 
And startled to think He hath surely come, 

Shall falter and fail to find the lock, 
And keep Him so waiting as I stand, 

Irresolute, while my senses swim, 
Instead of the bound with outstretched hand, 

To open immediately to Him. 

4 If this is the only thing foretold 

Of all my future, — then, I pray, 
That quietly watchful, I may hold 

The key of a golden faith each day 
Fast shut in my grasp, that when I near 

His step, be it dawn or midnight dim, 
Straightway may I rise without a fear, 

And open immediately to Him. 



72 



WOMAN- IN SACRED SONO. 



NIGHT HYMN AT SEA. 

1 Night sinks on the wave, 

Hollow gusts are sighing, 
Sea-birds to their caves 

Through the gloom are flying. 
Oh ! should storms come sweeping, 

Thou in heav'n unsleeping, 
O'er us vigil keeping, 

Hear, hear, and save. 

2 Stars look o'er the sea, 

Few, and sad, and shrouded ! 
Faith our light must be, 

When all else is clouded. 
Thou, whose voice came thrilling, 

Wind and billow stilling, 
Speak ! our pray'r fulfilling, — 

Power dwells with Thee. 



FELICIA HEMANS. 



ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP. 

L. M. 

1 Rocked in the cradle of the deep, 
I lay me down in peace to sleep ; 
Secure I rest upon the wave, 

For Thou, O Lord ! hast power to save. 

2 I know Thou wilt not slight my call, 
For Thou dost mark the sparrow's fall 
And calm and peaceful is my sleep, 
Eock'd in the cradle of the deep. 

3 And such the trust that still were mine, 
Though stormy winds swept o'er the brine, 
Or though the tempest's fiery breath 
Roused me from sleep to wreck and death; 

4 In ocean caves still safe with Thee, 
The germs of immortality ; 

And calm and peaceful is my sleep, 
Rocked in the cradle of the deep. 

MRS. WILLARD. 

HE HOLDETH THE WATERS IN HIS HAND 

1 O Thou, who hast spread out the skies, 

And measured the depths of the sea, 
Our incense of praise shall arise 

In joyous thanksgiving to Thee. 
Forever Thy presence is near, 

Though heaves our bark far from the land ; 
We ride on the deep without fear ; 

The waters are held in Thy hand. 

2 Eternity comes in the sound 

Of billows that never can sleep ; 
Jehovah encircles us round ; 

Omnipotence walks on the deep. 
Our Father, we look up to Thee, 

As on toward the haven we roll; 
And faith in our Pilot shall be 

An anchor to steady the soul. 

HANNAH Y. GOULD 



f aba fttntingtom. 






Lady Huntingdon, of English birth, was born in 1707. In 1728 she was 
married to Theophilus, 9th Earl of Huntingdon, and became a widow in 
1746. Adopting the principle of the Calvanistic Methodists, she made 
the eminent founder and preacher Geo. Whitfield, one of her chaplains. 
On his death in 1770, she was appointed by bis will, sole proprietor of his 
possessions, and she immediately set about the good work of organizing 
a mission to North Asia. Her labors at home increased with her years. 
For the education of ministers, she established and maintained a College 
in Wales. She also built, or became possessed of, many chapels in dif- 
ferent parte of the country, the principle one being at Bath. She like- 
wise expended large amounts in supporting young men for the itinerant 
ministry, as well as in private charity and deeds of love for Christ's sake. 
Before her death in 1791, she bequeathed her chapels, 64 in number, to 
the management of four persons. Her hymns of devotion are among 
the sweetest and best ever written by woman. 

THE LAST BEAM. 

P. M, 

1 Fading, still fading, the last beam is shining ; 
Father in heaven ! the day is declining, 
Safety and innocence fly with the light, 
Temptation and danger walk forth with the night ; 
From the fall of the shade till the morning bells chime, 
Shield me from danger, save me from crime. 
Father, have mercy, Father, have mercy, 

Father, have mercy thro' Jesus Christ our Lord. 

2 Father in heaven! oh, hear when we call, 
Hear, for Christ's sake, who is Saviour of all ; 
Feeble and fainting we trust in Thy might, 

In doubting and darkness Thy love be our light: 
Let us sleep on Thy breast while the night taper burns 
Wake in Thy arms when morning returns. 
Father, have mercy, Father, have mercy, 
Father, have mercy thro' Jesus Christ our Lord, 

LADY SELINA HUNTINGDON. 

SAFE IN THY CARE. 

L. M. 

Psalm iv : a 

1 Great God ! to Thee my evening song 
With humble gratitude I raise ; 

Oh, let Thy mercy tune my tongue, 
And fill my heart with lively praise. ' 

2 My days unclouded as they pass, 
And every gentle, rolling hour, 
Are monuments of wondrous grace, 
And witness to Thy love and power. 

3 And yet this thoughtless, wretched heart, 
Too oft regardless of Thy love, 
Ungrateful, can from Thee depart, 
And, fond of trifles, vainly rove. 

4 Seal my forgiveness in the blood 
Of Jesus ; His dear name alone 

I plead for pardon, gracious God ! 
And kind acceptance at Thy throne. 

5 Let this blest hope mine eyelids close, 
With sleep refresh my feeble frame ; 
Safe in Thy care may I repose, 

And wake with praises to Thy name. 

ANNE STEELE. 1760. 



EVENING DEVOTION. 



73 



DAY IS DYING. 



From " Spiritual Songs." Edited by Rev. Chas. S. Robinson, D. D. 

1 Day is dying in the West ; 
Heaven is touching earth with rest; 
Wait and worship while the night 
Sets her evening lamps alight 

Through all the sky. 
Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of Hosts ! 
Heaven and earth are full of Thee ! 
Heaven and earth are praising Thee, 

O Lord most high ! 

2 Lord of life, beneath the dome 
Of the Universe, Thy home, 
Gather us who seek Thy face 
To the fold of Thy embrace, 

For Thou art nigh. 
Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of Hosts! 
Heaven and earth are full of Thee ! 
Heaven and earth are praising Thee, 

O Lord most high ! 

MARY A. LATHBORY. 
By per. 



PILGRIM, WATCH AND PRAY. 
"Therefore let us not sleep as do others, but let us watch and be sober.' 

1 Softly on the breath of evening 

Comes the tender sigh of day; 
Lonely heart, by sorrow laden, 

'Tis the time to pray. 
Weary pilgrim, cease thy mourning ; 
Weary pilgrim, cease thy mourning ; 

Rest beyond forever. 

2 Pearly dews, like tears, are falling 

Gently on the sleeping flowers ; 
Stars, like angel eyes, are beaming 

From celestial bowers. 
Weary pilgrim, cease thy mourning ; 
Weary pilgrim, cease thy mourning ; 

Rest beyond forever. 

3 'Tis the hour when hallowed feelings 

Chase our doubts and fears away ; 
'Tis the hour for calm devotion, 

Pilgrim, watch and pray. 
Weary pilgrim, cease thy mourning; 
Weary pilgrim, cease thy mourning ; 

Rest beyond forever. 

4 Though temptations dark oppress thee, 

Jesus guides thee on thy way; 
He will hear thy lightest whisper, 

Pilgrim, watch and pray. 
Weary pilgrim, cease thy mourning; 
Weary pilgrim, cease thy mourning ; 

Rest beyond forever. 



\n, J|Mia <f . Urates. 



Mrs. Adelia C. Graves is the wife of Rev. Z. C. Graves, who for abort 
thirty or more years has been president of the Mary Sharp College, Win- 
chester, Tennessee. She is a woman of rare executive ability, poetic 
taste and culture, and to her efforts and indomitable perseverance the 
college is greatly indebted for the prominence it has attained among the 
finest educational institutions in the South. Her pupils in English lit- 
erature and rhetoric are to be found in every quarter of the globe. The 
compiler of this volume was once a pupil in the Mary Sharp College, 
and to it owes much of the little she may have acquired of a taste for 
literature of a high order, 

Mrs. Graves has published a volume of poems, and has written many 
sketches of an interesting and instructive nature. 



THE ANNUNCIATION. 

1 'Twas night upon Judea's hills, 

And sparkling shone her thousand rills 

Beneath a starry sky ; 
While shepherds, on the dewy grass, 
Watched the nocturnal shadows pass, 

Till midnight hours drew nigh, 

2 When, from the crystal walls above, 
The white-winged messengers of love, 

On joyous errand bent, 
Sang through each upland, glade and glen, 
"Peace upon earth, good will to men, 

A Saviour to mankind is sent." 

3 Judea's hills take up the song, 
Judea's vales the strain prolong, 

"Peace and good-will and joy," 
And mortal tongues, through endless days, 
Shall chant the same in nobler lays, 

And find it sweet employ- 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 

1 Shine, gentle stars, to-night, 
With pure and tender light ! 
And wintry winds, lie low : 
Let softer breezes blow ! 

And moonbeams trembling on the air, 
Glitter with sheen most wondrous fair, 
For this is Christmas eve. 

2 Blaze, faggots, on the hearth; 
And children, shout with mirth ; 
And let the song go round 
With merry, joyful sound ; 

While gentle hands the gifts display, 
Which wait the dawn of Christmas day, 
For this is Christmas eve. 

3 Ring, ring, ye silver bells, 
Till all the deepest wells 
Of melody break forth 

And roll "from South to North ; 
Ring till each grand cathedral aisle 
Resounds with sweetest chimes the while, 

For this is Christmas eve. 



74 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



4 Bow down, our hearts, in love 
To Him who from above 
Found to our world His way, 
And in a manger lay ; 

While angels sang of peace on earth, 
To crown with joy His hours of birth. 
Aye! this is Christmas eve. 

5 Forget ye not the poor, 
Who stand outside your door, 
Or shiver at the gate 

Where no warm welcomes wait ; 
But, like the Saviour, fly with speed 
To scatter gifts where there is need, 

Aye ! this is Christmas eve. 



RING, MERRY, MERRY BELLS. 

1 Ring, merry, merry bells, 

The Christmas morn ! 
Ring out a joyous peal ! 

The Saviour comes, 

The Christ is born ; 
He comes to save and heal. 

2 Ring, merry, merry bells, 

O'er all the land, 
By hall and cottage fires ; 



Let every home 
And household band 
Hear music from your spires. 

3 Ring, merry, merry bells ! 

There cometh here 
The wondrous truth at last, 

By ancient king 

And kingly seer 
So longed-for, ages past. 

4 Ring, merry, merry bells \ 

Let hill and vale, 
Through all the festal day, 

In notes of joy 

Repeat the tale 
Of Christ, the Living Way. 

5 Ring, merry, merry bells ! 

Our heavy load 
We lay, rejoicing down ; 

For by His cross 

We gain the road 
To our eternal crown. 

6 Ring, merry, merry bells ! 

Your carols pour, 
Nor let your gladness cease ; 

The Wonderful ! 

The Counsellor ! 
The mighty Prince of Peace ! 



MERRY, MERRY CHRISTMAS! 



- 'Mir;!,,': V \s CAROL.) 
' Unto you is born a Saviour."— Luke, 2: 31. Words and Music by Mrs. T. J. COOK. 

Copyrighted, 1870, by Biglow &Main, and used by per. from "Pure Sol. 




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FROM A POEM ENTITLED 
CHRISTMAS. 



Chime out, O joyful bells ! 

All worldly discords drown ! 
Yield up your green, O trees, 

To make a Christmas crown ! 
Give of your best, O earth ! 

Make room, O human heart, 
That He who came this day 

May nevermore depart ! 



CHRISTMAS. 



77 



CHRISTMAS MORN. 

I. 
'Tis Christmas morn ! with noiseless tread 
The centuries have onward sped ; 
Proud, earthly powers have passed away, 
And kingdoms crumhled to decay ; 
But perfume from the Magi gift 
And echoes from the angels' chime 
Still linger on the Christmas air, 
And float upon the stream of time. 
And swift-winged winds for aye repeat 
The tidings which the shepherds told, 
The story of redeeming love — 
Forever new, forever old ! 

II. 
'Tis Christmas morn ! What shall we bring? 
What worthy gift, what offering? 
Not orient pearl or sparkling gem, 
Nor jewels for Thy diadem ; 
Thou would'st not these, all, all are Thine, 
The secrets of the hidden mine, 
The pearls that ocean's caverns keep, 
And all the treasures of the deep, 
Shine but for Thee. One gift alone 
Dear Saviour, Thou wilt bless and own. 
Then teach us how that gift to bring, 
Oh ! teach us how Thy praise to sing ! 
The angels only sing Thy birth, 
We praise Thee for Thy life on earth : 
As infant on Thy mother's breast, 
As child at play, as youth at rest, 
At work by holy Joseph's side, 
Or wandering lone at eventide, 
By Kedron's brook. On mountain bare 
We praise Thee for Thy midnight prayer, 
The touch that made the blind to see, 
The " Peace be still" to Galilee ; 
The hand that the live thousand fed, 
The tears o'er sleeping Lazarus shed ; 
For ears unstopped, for tongue set free, 
For footsteps on the troubled sea, 
For lepers cleansed, for dead upraised, 
O Christ of God, Thy name be praised ! 
The burdens Thou for us didst bear, 
For carrying every load of care ; 
For wounds by our transgressions made, 
For griefs and sorrows on Thee laid ; 
For chastisements our peace that sealed, 
For stripes by which our wounds were healed, 
For visage marred, and bleeding feet, 
For Pilate's hall and judgment-seat, 
For plaited crown and pierced side, 
For Calvary's cross and Him that died; 
For Joseph's tomb and Easter morn, 
For death of all its terrors shorn ; 
The promise of Millenial dawn, 
For hope of resurrection mom, 



For Him who intercedes above, 
For God in Christ, the God of love, 
Let songs of adoration rise, 
Ring hallelujahs to the skies ! 



From a "Christmas Epic" 



CHRISTMAS. 



MRS*. W. L. MILLER, 
i St. Louis Evangelist, 



1 How fair upon the mountains 

The hasting feet which bring 
To-day the glorious tidings 

Which o'er the earth shall ring. 

2 He reigns, our blessed Saviour, 

Lie reigns, the King of Peace ! 
To-day His heavenly mission 
Begins and ne'er shall cease. 

3 What though a new-born infant 

He smiles on Mary's breast ? 
He comes to free the people 
With sin and woe opprest. 

4 He comes to break the fetters 

Which bind the toiling slave, 
And bid from every hill-top 
The flag of freedom wave. 

5 Break forth, ye lofty mountains, 

And ye, O little hills, 
Pour out your deepest music, 
And mingle, tinkling rills. 

6 Let every voice in nature 

Unite to swell the strain : 
"To-day our blessed Leader, 

The 'Prince of Peace,' doth reign." 

SUSIE V. ALDRICH. 1883. 



MERRY CHRISTMAS BELLS. 

1 Hark ! hark ! the sweet, sweet chiming 

Of merry Christmas bells ! 
Their low, melodious hymning 

A wondrous story tells. 
Beneath the stars that glisten 

O'er distant Syrian plains, 
The watching shepherds listen 

To clear, angelic strains. 

2 "To God the highest glory! " 

While heavenly arches ring 
Responsive to the story 

That Gabriel doth sing. 
" The peace on earth whose blessing 

Shall bring good will to men," 
And in His name progressing, 

Shall till the world aaain. 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



3 And when the dawn is streaking 

The eastern sky afar, 
They see the glory breaking 

From off a new-born Star. 
It shines above the manger 

Wherein a babe is born, 
And for that infant stranger 

Archangels hail the morn. 

4 No kingly crown awaits Him, 

No robe of Tyrian dye, 
But heavenly choirs His praises 

Are sounding through the sky ; 
For Bethlehem's lowly manger 

The King of kings contains ; 
And Glory ! Glory! Glory ! 

The Lord of all He reigns. 

MARIE MASON. 
Copyright by Messrs. Ditson & Co., used by per. 



grata J. Star. 



The author of the following Christmas Carols was formerly Miss Jew- 
ett. She attended school and graduated at Eutger's Female Seminary. 
New York City. Since her marriage to- a Pennsylvania gentleman, 
her residence has been in Towanda, Penn. Her first {published poem 
was set to music by Prof. Geo. F. Root, for an anniversary occasion. 
Those who are acquainted with her predict for her ; a brilliant future, 
and one resulting in good to others. Her Christmas Carols are already 
extensively known and sung. She designed a Christmas star for 1882, 
which was a beautiful work of art, filled with her own original songs 
for Christmas festivities. 

Mrs. Mercur has spent some time abroad, with her family and has 
recently issued a beautiful translation of " Karin." While in Germany, 
her correspondence to several American papers was pronounced excel- 
lent and read with much interest by many. 

CHRISTMAS CAROLS. 
I. 

1 Christus ! Anointed One ! King at Thy birth ! 

Entwined by Thy name with emblems of mirth. 
Bring the bright holly, the weird mistletoe ; 

With ivy — both gladness and reverence' to show. 

2 Jehovah's new name, combining in one 

Infinite, Finite, Father and Son. 
Better than angels hath Jesus the Way 
Obtained a more excellent title than they. 

3 Mythology fabled the nation's desire 

Through peace-breathing lute, and Promethian fire, 
Revealed to Isaiah in vision sublime, 

He preached it before the fulness of time. 

4 Hearken, O nations, and listen, land, 

For you is a Prince and Deliverer at hand, 
Whose government gentle, shall ever increase, 
A reiga of love, purity, righteousness, peace ! 

5 No longer the desolate places are waste, 

. Fields wait for the harvest ; ye reapers, make haste ! 
The wilderness blossometh, yea, as the rose, 
And waters of comfort invite to repose ! 
G Heaven's King is your guest, receive him, O Earth! 
Jesus, the child of immaculate birth! 
Son of a virgin, yet monarch most high — 
Hosanna! hosanna! exultingly cry! 



7 Rejoice, happy mother ; most blessed thou art, 

Thy name among women dwells henceforth apar f 
Yea, magnify Him, thy Saviour and Son, 
Whose rule, long expected, at last is begun ! 

8 Wake psaltery and harp ! sound cymbal and lyre ! 

'Tis the birthday of Him whom all hearts desire. 
Blow ye the trumpets, command to the feast 

Of Jesus Immanuel, our Kinjr and High Priest ! 



MERCUR, 1882. 



II. 



1 Immanuel, God with us ! 

Bow down, ye heavens, to-day! 
Behold a wondrous glory, 

The star of Bethlehem's ray ! 
For angels have descended 

With message from on high ; 
Let all the earth keep silence, 

Redemption draweth nigh ! 

2 Strange sight for men and angels! 

Lo ! the effulgent light 
Which led the holy magi 

Rests on Judean height ! 
Stopped in its course celestial, 

O'er lowly cattle-shed, 
Its heavenly beams illumine 

An Infant's manger bed. 

3 O Earth, with all thy kingdoms, 

Was there no other place 
Wherein to welcome Jesus, 

The Lord of life and grace? 
No room in royal palace ? 

No spot within the inn 
To shield the Word made human — 

The God-man without sin? 

4 To make men priests and monarchs, 

Joint-heirs with Him on high, 
The Logos consubstantial 

Descendeth from the sky. 
Leaving the Father's brightness, 

Leaving His throne of flame, 
He comes a helpless infant, 

To suffer grief and shame. 

5 Depth of humiliation ! 

Love passing all degree ! 
Thus to restore to mortals 

Their immortalitj' ! 
Henceforth the race shall triumph, 

And foil the serpent's art: 
The laws of stone on Sinai 

Be written in the heart ! 

6 All hail ! angelic heralds 

Proclaiming peace on earth! 
Hail ! gracious star of promise, 

Sign of a Saviour's birth ! 
Lift up thy gates, Zion! 

Sing, everlasting hills ! 
Joy for the God incarnate 
• The whole creation iills ! 



MERCUR. 1882. 



CHRISTMAS. 



79 



NIGHT'S CANOPY OVER JUDEA. 

1 Night's canopy over Judea now hung, 

The harp of the minstrel lay mute and unstrung ; 
The shepherds together sat watching the fold, 
While round them reigned darkness and silence and 
cold. 

2 And now, in their midst, shines an angel of light ; 
Quick vanishes fear at the radiant sight , 

And hark ! in the words of their own native tongue, 
"Good tidings of joy" by the angels are sung. 

3 "This day, in the city of David, is born 

A Saviour, whose birth is Redemption's glad morn ; 
No longer in darkness and doubt shall ye grope, 
In Bethlehem's manger lies Israel's hope ! " 

4 A chorus angelic re-echoes in Heaven 

The glorious news to the meek shepherds given ; 

" Peace, peace and good-will unto earth ! " is their 

song, 
While praises to God their loud pasau prolong. 

ELIZABETH U. KINNEY. 



Siss S*Utt I. iwtltr. 

Miss Nellie H. Butler is a resident of Highland Park, Chicago, 111., 
and was born in 1S65. She is the daughter of a talented and successful 
Baptist minister. Although but nineteen years of age, she has frequently 
contributed quite acceptably to the Chicago Weekly Magazine, and other 
periodicals, thus giving great promise of future usefulness. 

CHRISTMAS HYMN. 

1 O God, to-day we may forget 

How awful and how great art- Thou, 
The terrors that o'ur sins have set 

Around Thy throne, about Thy brow ; 
Thy will, unsearchable to man, 

Thy power that hath encompassed all — 
That whirled the spheres, ere time began, 

And marked rebellious angels' fall. 

2 .Jesus, now we cannot weep ; 

Thy cross transfigured seems to rise. 
Celestial armies round it keep 

Eternal vigil in the skies. 
We cannot feel Thy suffering, 

Nor see Thy coronet of thorn; 
We only hear the seraphs sing 

That Christ, the Prince of Peace, is born. 

3 O Holy Ghost, our Father's gift, 

Suffuse our inmost beings, till 
Immortal joy our spirits lift, 

And holds them captive to Thy will. 
To-day Thou dost not come to chide, 

Or bring our guilt before Thy face ; 
But, pure and clean, we may abide 

In Thine own secret dwelling-place. 

4 A little child to us is given, 

A tender halo on His head, 
His smile hath caught the light of Heaven, 
And human woe is comforted ! 



He sleeps in every stricken breast, 

He gazes into weary eyes, 
And lo ! a blessed peace and rest 

Steals on our hearts from Paradise. 
Ah, soul of mine, canst thou withstand 

The presence of that Child divine, 
Or thrust aside the little hand 

He lays so trustingly in thine? 
Oh! join the world's great hymn of love, 

That never-ending, rapturous lay ! 
While cherubim and saints above 

Adore the Babe of Christmas day. 

NELLIE H. BUTLER. 1834. 



THE BURDEN OF THE BELLS. 

1 Oh ! the Christmas bells are ringing, 

All the world is wide awake, 
And the chorus as it echoes 

Makes the mighty steeples shake. 
Miles away its tide is swelling, 

As if it would never cease, 
And the burden of its music 

Is a rolling wave of p>eace. 

2 All the leafless branches, swinging 

In the cold December air, 
Soft are breathing forth its cadence 

Like the murmur of a prayer ; 
And they bend above each other 

AVith their wintry robes of fleece 
In a gentle benediction. 

Breathing forth a hymn of peace. 

3 So the pastor to his people. 

On this blessed Christmas day, 
Gives a lesson full of meaning 

For each one to take away ; 
And he gently bids the mourner, 

Who from grief would seek release, 
At the cross to drop his burden, 

Where the Saviour giveth peace. 

4 Lo ! the cross is full of healing, 

And the crown is lying near 
With its wealth of jewels, gleaming 

Like the sunlight of a tear. 
And to-day our hearts will gladden, — 

May the echo never cease 
As we sing the love of Jesus, 

Who will crown us with His peace. 

5 " Peace on earth ! " How dear the blessing 

As it comes from Heaven and here 
Drops its tenderness upon us 

At the closing of the year. 
So abiding in God's keeping 

Witli the bells, our hearts will chime 
"Peace on earth ! " Oh, gracious promise! 

'■•Peace on earth, at Christmas time." 



80 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



A CHRISTMAS HYMN. 



: shall be called Wonderful." Isa : ix. 6. 



1 Oh ! wonderful, thrice wonderful, Thou mighty Sav- 

iour-King; 
With what glad, joyous voices, Thy praises we would 

sing! 
But earthly strains are feeble, and human praises cold, 
And lips would fail to utter Thy mercies manifold. 

2 Yet, Lord, we kneel before Thee, at this our Christmas 

Feast, 
And wait Thy benediction, our Counsellor and Priest; 
We have no gems to offer, like Eastern sages rare, 
Poor hearts we open to Thee, and pray Thee enter 

there. 



3 The half has not been told us of all Thy beauty 

But we would gaze with rapture, and learn at Thy 

dear feet. 
Forgive our great transgressions, our want of love 

forgive, > 

Wash us till in Thy Heaven we look on Thee and live ; 
Then, risen King most wonderful, we shall Thy name 

adore, 
And with immortal voices praise Thee for evermore. 

HAVEROAL. 1882. 

i F. R. Havergal's niece). 



THE MISSION OF THE MAGI. 



1 At night, on Bethlehem's cloud-capped hill, 
Lo ! suddenly the star stands still, 
Centering its radiant blaze on cattle shed, 
Over a young child's bed. 

2 And now the aged Melchior 
First falls on bended knee. 
He doth his gift prefer 

Of bitter myrrh, 

To show the Babe's humanity. 

3 Next, dark Balthasar comes. 
Gold is his costly offering, 

To symbolize that Christ is King! 

4 Lastly, young Caspar bends 
With lowly reverence, 
And proffers frankincense, 
Seal of our Lord's Divinity. 

When lo ! crowning the hallowed head, 

A glorious nimbus 

Floods with mystic light 

The humble shed ; 

The trembling shepherds, led 

By heavenly choir, adoring praise, 

While oxen in their stalls 

Lift up bewildered gaze 

At the unearthly sight. 



5 The wise men's mission now is done- 
Before the rising sun 
They take their separate way, 
Warned that they may not stay. 
Divinely they Avere sent 
Three mighty Continents to represent, 
And this to teach : 
Messiah's reign should reach 
From shore to shore ! 



CHRISTMAS SOUNDS. 



A sound from the north : 
The year is old, 

And hoar-frost lieth fold on fold 
Wrapt in silence, white and cold ; 

But the sledge-bells sway 

In a sweet, mild way, 

And Christmas-tide is glad to-day. 

A sound from the south : 
The orange blooms 
Are redolent with rich perfumes, 
High in the air the palm-tree looms ; 

But the joy-bells chime 

In melodious rhyme, 

The south is gay, this Christmas-time. 

A sound from the east : 

The lights shine out 

And melt the shadows 'round about : 

Laughter peals 'mid mirth and shout. 
And the steeple-bells, 
As their echo swells, 
Each the story of Christmas tells. 
A sound from the west : 

The camp-fires glow, 

The year is fading still and slow. 

One by one the moments go : 
But the bells repeat, 
With their music sweet, 
The Christmas chime in lane and street. 

A sound from the earth : 
Man giveth praise 
To God, for all His wondrous ways, 
Blessing Him for Christmas days. 

From the east and west, 

With a joyous zest, 

From south and north is God addressed. 

A sound from the skies : 
The angels sing 

A Christmas anthem to their King: 
All the choirs of Heaven ring ! 

And the gold harps play, 

While the angels say: 

" The Prince of Peace was bom to-day /" 

IDA SCOTT TAYLOR. 



CHRISTMAl 



81 



CHRISTMAS BELLS. 



1 O, Christmas bells ! O, Christmas bells ! 

I love your rhythm as it swells, 
When from yon gloomy convent tower 

Ye echo forth with magic j)Ower, 
And over all the silent earth 

Proclaim again the Saviour's birth. 

2 O, Christmas bells ! 0, Christmas bells ! 

A different tale your music tells ; ., 
It tells the world how Jesus came 

To stamp our foreheads with His name, 
To wash our night of sin away, 

And bring us into perfect day. 

3 It tells us too, oh, Christmas bells ! 

A tender something as it swells ; — 
For every elm-tree, pine and larch, 

Is nodding to the Wedding March, 
Hymeneal chimes ring far and near 

And vibrate on the listening ear. 

4 O, Christmas bells ! A saddened strain 

Will mingle in your glad refrain 
To-day; for since you rung last year 

Death's shadowed form has entered here ; 
Ah, pity all the tearful eyes 

That weep o'er broken household ties ! 

5 O, Christmas bells ! Ring soft and low ! 

Ring gently, do not hurry so ! 
Your sound is balm to every pain 

Sad hearts will echo your refrain : 
Ring tenderly, for all their woe! 

Each heart its bitterness doth know, 

6 O, Christmas bells ! O, Christmas bells ! 

You speak the sadness of farewells — 
Of parted friends, of wasted hours ; 

The summer's flight, the withered flowers 
But, ah ! tho' half our life be gone. 

We must take heart and struggle on. 

7 O, Christmas bells! O, Christmas bells! 

Your joy, your woe, your sounding knells, 
All mingled grandly into one 

As sunbeams melt when day is done : 
First, golden-steeped ; in silver made ; — 

And lastly, blending into shade. 

8 Thus softly murmur all your sounds, 

Young Joy is bright and Hope abounds, 
But as the night of life appears 

The shadows melt the sun to tears : 
So flows your music on my soul, 

And sweetness lingers o'er the whole. 

9 Ring on and on, O. Christinas bells ! 

While on the air harmonious swells 
The melody we love to hear 

That flings its cadence far and near ; 
While o'er the hill and dale it dwells, — 

The magic of those Christmas bells! 

IDA SCOTT TAYLOR. 



CHRISTMAS BELLS. 

1 Sweet Christmas bells ! Sweet Christmas bells ! 
•What magic in your music dwells ! 

A strange and wondrous tale it tells 

Of one triumphant morn. 
Again within the eastern sky 
The Star of Bethlehem burns on high, 
And heaven and earth exultant cry, 

" Lo ! Christ, the Lord, is born !" 

2 Chime on, ye bells ! Chime sweetly forth, 
And tell the Saviour's wondrous birth ; 
Proclaim the tidings: "Peace on earth, 

And joy to all that mourn !" 
Ring out, ye bells, the glad refrain ! 
Oh, sweet bells, sound it o'er again! 
"Now peace on earth, good will to men, 

For Christ our Lord is born !" 

3 Sweet Christmas bells, ring out once more ! 
Ring out more joyful than before. 

And you, ye echoes, breathe it o'er 

Forever and for aye ! 
Now let the earth break forth and sing 
Till heaven's wide arches o'er us ring : 
" All honors to our Saviour King, 

For Christ is born to-day !" 

LOUISE W. TIL DEN. 1883. 

CHRISTMAS HYMN. 

1 Thee will I worship, Jesus ! God ! incarnate ! 
Through the still watches of the Christmas night 
Thee will I worship, when the morning breaketh, 
Telling of Thee, the very Light of light. 

2 Thee will I worship, when by sparkling fountains 
'Mid pastures green rejoicing I am led, 

Thee will I worship, when the prospect darkens 
Storm-clouds of sorrow, gathering overhead. 

3 Through all I see Thee, in the manger lying. 
There with Thy holy presents, worship Thee, 
Knowing that Thou the King and Lord of angels, 
Art born indeed, this blessed day for me. 

4 This is the joy, which gives all joy its brightness, 
This the deep peace which charms all grief away : 
Jesus our God, became the son of Mary 

Us to make sons of God, on Christmas day. 

CLANDIA F. HERMANN. 

BRIGHT WAS THE GUIDING STAR. 

1 Bright was the guiding star that led, 

With mild, benignant ray, 

The Gentiles to the lowly shed 

Where the Redeemer lay. 

2 But lo ! a brighter, clearer light 

Now points to his abode ; 
It shines through sin and sorrow's night 
To guide us to our God. 

3 Oh ! gladly tread the narrow path 

AVhile light and grace are given: 

Who meekly follow Christ on earth 

Shall reign with Him in heaven. 

Harriet auber, Died 1862. 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



THE TENDER SHEPHERD. 



Words and Music by MRS. EMMA PITT. 






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Lead me down by the still waters, 
And my helpless soul restore ; 

In Thy loving arms I hide me, 

Be Thou near me evermore. — Chorus. 

Though I walk thro' death's dark valley 

I no evil there shall fear ; 
Me Thy rod and staff shall comfort, 

Thou art with me ever near. — Chorus. 



WHAT THINK YE OF CHRIST? 

1 What think ye of Christ ? 
Ye, in palaces dwelling, 

With flatterers hovering near ; 
Where grandeur and gloom may press, 

With a terrible Czarish-like fear ! 
Tetrarchs, lawgivers, rulers. 

Who sit in a new judgment-seat, 
While the people' now carefully judge, 

The measures ye think fit to mete! 

2 What think ye of Christ ? 
Ye, ye priest, and ye people, 

Who've flirted with science in vain! 
Who, doomed no conclusion to reach, 

Ixion-like must commence over again ! 
Rabbis, pundits, professors, 

Ye men of research and of lore, 
Debating, comparing, in doubt, 

As ye over new data may pore ! 



3 What think ye of Christ ? 
Ye, who've had no opinion, 

Who dare not for Wrong or for Right! 
For once, give your mind to the Truth. 

Letting in, now, the full blaze of Light! 
Ye, who rail at your brethren, 

Who do not with you coincide, 
Destroying the wheat with the tares, 

While fiends, in delight, must deride ! 

4 What think ye of Christ ? 
Ye, in gorgeous 'tiring, 

Whose dress calls for sumptuary laws ; 
Who'd tamper with Heaven's decrees, 

To insert just a small, selfish clause ! 
What care ye for whit robings ? 

To you, what the promise of rest ? 
To you, who have never loved peace, 

Why the wildest excitement is best ! 

5 What think ye of Christ ? 
Ye, who're envious and jealous, 

Of all that is noble and great ; 
Neglecting the good that ye have, 
Till ye think, 'tis a virtue to hate ! 

6 What think ye of Christ? 
Man, whose love for the lucre 

Has caused you to mortgage your soul ! 
The mortgage will soon be foreclosed ; 

O'er Mammon you'll lose your control ! 
Ye who keep Saturnalia, 

With feasting, and presents, and play, 



CHRIST OUR SHEPHERD. 



83 



Forgetting the Holy One's birth, 
As ye keep up your high holiday ! 

7 What think ye of Christ ? 
Ye, of life, the fair blossoms, 

In light of His love, who have grown, 
All heedless of blight and decay, 

And no tempest nor storms ever known ! 
Ye, ye tender and loving 

Who've borne all the shafts of distress ; 
Who toil over rough, rugged heights, [press! 
And have stumbled, 'neath weights which op- 

8 What think ye of Christ? 
Ye, who 'mid plenty and wealth, 

Are deaf to the sighs of God's poor, 
Who proffer your gifts to the rich, 

To your kindred in need close your door! 

9 What think ye of Christ? 
Question 'tis of the ages, 

We're asked at this new Christmas-tide. 
A question that moves thro' the world, 

For all classes of men to decide. 
As ye answer this question, 

This truth, I think, none will deny ; 
Just as ye shall honestly speak, 

So, your standard must be — low or high ! 
What think ye of Christ ? 

GRACE H. HORK, 1883. 

In Episcopal Register. 



CONFIDENCE. 



1 The Lord my Shepherd is, and I 
Shall know no want nor ill ; 

In pastures green He makes me lie 
And leads by waters still. 

2 In love, He doth my soul restore 
From guilt and sin's distress ; 

And for His name's sake leads once more 
In paths of righteousness. 

3 Yea, though death's shadows compass me, 
I yet will fear no ill ; 

For these Thy rod and staff shall be 
My stay and comfort still. 

4 Thou dost with oil anoint my head — 
My cup with joy o'erflows ; 

Thou dost for me a table spread 
In,.»resence of my foes. 

5 Goodness and mercy all my days 
My grateful lips shall tell, 

And joyful in Thy house of praise 
I shall forever dwell. 

LUELLA CLARK. 



HE LEADETH. 



"He leadeth His flock like a shepherd." 
[Tune-Warwick). 

1 He leadeth me, and so I place 

In His my trembling hand. 
And journey onward as I hear, 
Each day, my Lord's command. 

2 The way is straight — He leadeth me 

O'er rocks and pit-falls deep. 
And oft before my vision rise 
Bare hill-tops high and steep. 

3 Sometimes I catch a shining glimpse 

Of cool and crystal stream, 
Which flows near by the broad highway, 
Where wealth and fashion beam ; 

4 Or fragrance from some gay parterre 

A thrill of rapture sends 
Across my soul — then my guide 
Above me gently bends ; 

5 "The narrow path is hard," he says, 

" But yet it leads to life, 
The broad highway with beauty teems. 
Yet still with death 'tis rife." 

6 Sometimes the way is dark — o'erhead 

Black clouds are thickly piled, 
And not a star shines out to show 
My way across the wild; 

7 Yet still He leadeth me, who is 

" The bright and morning Star," 
And tenderly His gracious beams 
Shine 'round me near and far. 

8 I know thro' cloud and night and storm, 

I can not lose my way, 
So long as I my Leader's voice 
And clasping hand, obey. 

9 And so my all to Him resigned, 

No mortal ill I fear ; 
E'en when I reach the end of earth, 
My vessel He will steer, 



10 Across the swelling waves which roll 

Before the golden street, 
And I will not let go His hand 
Until my eager feet, 

11 Shall tread the City's shining courts, 

And find the mansion, where 
He hath prepared my place, — 
He'll lead me safely there. 



84 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



REFUGE OR VALLEY OF THE HEARTS-EASE. 



1 Let me in the valley keep, 
Where the Master leads His sheep, 
Where the stillest waters flow, 
Where the heart's-ease loves to grow. 

2 In the pastures of His choice, 
Following His tender voice 
Never questioning His will, 
Ever drawing closer still. 

3 When the hills with tempest rock, 
When the wolf is in the flock, 

I, so near Him, shall have pressed 
He will catch me to His breast. 

4 Let me in His garden walk, 
Where the ring-doves softly talk, 
Where He notes His sparrows small, 
If they fly, or if they fall ; 

5 Where the lilies low and sweet 
Fain would kiss His sacred feet, 
Where the little violet 
Spinneth not with toil or fret ; 

6 Where the smiling of His face 
Is the sunshine of the place ; 
Far from clamor, strife and pride, 
Let me here with Him abide. 

UNA LOCKE BAILEY. 



"MY SHEEP HEAR MY VOICE." 

1 The shepherd of the Orient 

Leadeth his flock along, 
O'er alpine heights — o'er lowlands fair, 
And ever through the vibrant air 

Soundeth his welcome song. 

2 He goeth onward — upward still, 

Thro' briar and brush and brake — 
Up clamber still the panting sheep, 
Nor question of the rocky steep 

O'er which their path they take. 

3 The lambkins' piteous cry of pain 

Falls on his watchful ear, 
He sees their bleeding, tender feet, 
He listens to the feeble bleat 

And pauses — quick to hear. 

4 He gathers them in loving arms, 

He fold them to his breast, 
And sounding still his shepherd's call, 
Eight cheerfully they follow — all 

Unto a place of rest. 

5 Dear shepherd of thy earthly flock, 

Help us to follow thee ; 
Tho' rough the path, tho' dark and drear, 
Still 'mid the shadows, let us hear 

Thy cheering, " Come to me." 



6 Where'er thou leadest, may we go, 

Till o'er the dizzy heights 
We reach the upper fold at last, 
Securely sheltered from the blast, 

And bask in heaven's own light. 

7 Oh ! joy ineffable, divine — 

Oh ! blessed home above ; 
One fold — one shepherd of the flock, 
Safe in the shadow of the Eock — 

Nor evermore to rove. 



MRS. M. B. SHARPB. 



WATCHING LOVE. 



1 On the city's highest ramparts 

Shines the brightest light, 
That the guarding, tireless watchman 
May discern the ills of night. 

2 So from God's high ramparts burning, 

Shines His love afar, 
And with watching care He turneth 
From our lives the ills that mar. 

9AEAH WILDER PRATT. 

In "Record and Appeal." 

Chicago, 1886. 



Jdr. lima ©Iiiwr. 



Miss Anna Oliver is the daughter of Arthur H. Snowden and Laura 
A. Bogardus, of New York City. Received degree of A.M. from Rut- 
gers College, andB.D. from the School of Theology of Boston Univer- 
sity, in 1876. She has been a very successful pastor of Willoughby 
Avenue M. E. Church, in Brooklyn, New York, for more than four 
years (Nov., 1885). 

Miss Oliver was brought up by an aunt, and uses her aunt's instead of 
her father's name. Has a large number of eminent relatives, both living 
and deceased. Her hymns are quite numerous, and are numbered 
among the best. It is said: " Most of the learned and most spiritual 
and distinguished of the M. B.ministry favor the ordination of women." 

Miss Oliver is also a beautiful designer in art, and frequently illus- 
trates her own hymns and poems and those of others. 

THE CROSS. 

"He that loseth his life for my sake, shall find it." 

1 Jesus, Saviour, at Thy bidding 

Shall we not take up the cross, — 
Make a holy self-surrender, 
Counting even life as loss ; — 

2 Willing, by the world that slew Thee, 

To be e'en misunderstood, 
Suffering, as our blessed Master, 
With our motives misconstrued ! 

3 Lord, our secret spring of action 

To Thy loving thought is known, 
And the lives we lose in service 
We shall find before Thy throne. 

ANNA OLIVER. 

Pastor of the Willoughby Avenue Church, 

Brooklyn, N. Y. 



PASTORAL AND BAPTISMAL HYMN. 



85 



HYMN. 



Dedicated to Rev. Anna OH 
Brooklyn. 



, Pastor of Willoughby Aire. Church, 



1 Lady Shepherd by the sea, 
Pitch thy tent beside the fold 
Take thy lamp and cloak with thee 
For the night is dark and cold. 

2 Know thy sheep and know their need, 
Know the Master's pleasure too ; 
Giving out their daily feed, 

Be a Shepherd kind and true. 

3 In the sultry Summer tide, 
Take the weary tender feet 
Where the peaceful waters glide 
To the meadows cool and sweet. 

4 If upon the flowery lea, 
Truant lambkins lose the track, 
Take thy shepherd's crook with thee, 
Gently, safely, lead them back. 

5 By the, " footsteps of the flock," 
In the paths they trod of old, 
To the Shadow of the Rock, 
Lady Shepherd, lead thy fold. 

6 Soon the Master will appear, 
And demand His own of thee ; 
Mayst thou answer, " I have here 
All the Sheep Thou gavest me." 



BURIED WITH THEE. 

(Tune— Warwick). 
C. M. 

1 Buried with Thee ! my dying Lord, 

Who o'er the sombre tomb 
Hast shed such glory that no more 

My soul need fear its gloom ! 
Whose slumbers were by angels watched 

And guarded, till the day 
When Love Divine the vigil broke 

And rolled the stone away ! 

2 Buried with Thee ! my risen Lord, 

Who burst the iron door, 
And left Thy human nature there, 

As Thou to Heaven didst soar ; 
Who won the victory over death, 

And o'er the waiting grave, 
And livest still above the sky 

Thy followers to save ! 

3 Buried with Thee ! My living Lord! 

And shall not I who wear 
Thy glorious image in my soul, 

Thy risen glory share ? 
Because Thou livest, shall not I, 

Immortal, like Thee, rise, 
And victor over death, become 

An heir of Paradise ? 



4 Buried with Thee ! my blessed Lord. 

With joy the truth I read ; 
"I know that my Redeemer lives," 

He lives my cause to plead ; 
He lives my doubts and fears to quell, 

For me the fight to win, 
He lives to ope the Heavenly gates 

And bid me enter in ! 



SIGNIFICANCE OF BAPTISM. 



1 O Lord, while we confess the worth 

Of this the outward seal, 
Do thou the truths herein set forth 
To every heart reveal. 

2 Death to the world we here avow, 

Death to each fleshly lust ; 
Newness of life our calling now, 
A risen Lord our trust. 

3 And we, Lord, who now partake 

Of resurrection life, 
With every sin, for Thy dear sake, 
Would be at constant strife. 

4 Baptized into the Father's name, 

We'd walk as sons of God : 
Baptized in Thine, we own Thy claim 
As ransomed by thy blood. 

5 Baptized into the Holy Ghost, 

We'd keep his temple pure, 
And make Thy grace our only boast, 
And by thy strength endure. 

MAKT P. BOTVT.Y. 



THINE FOREVER. 

1 Thine forever ! — God of love, 
Hear us from Thy throne above ; 
Thine forever may we be, 
Here and in eternity. 

2 Thme forever ! — Lord of life, 
Shield us through our earthly strife ; 
Thou, the Life, the Truth, the Way, 
Guide us to the realms of day. 

3 Thine forever ! — Saviour, keep 
These Thy frail and trembling sheep ; 
Safe alone beneath Thy care, 

Let us all Thy goodness share ; 

4 Thine forever ! — thou our Guide, 
All our wants by Thee supplied, 
All our sins by Thee foi given, 
Lead us, Lord, from earth to heaven. 

MRS. MAEY F MAUDE 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



TEACH ME THY WAY. 

Ps. xxvii : 11. 

1 On Alpine steep should one essay 
Without a guide to find the way, 
The dotard soon would lose the way, 

Or in some chasm perish. 
Still more presumptuous should one dare 
To thread life's maze without a prayer. 
Who trusts his own conceit and care 

No hope of Heaven need cherish. 

2 Jesus ! through life be thou our guide 
We would but follow at Thy side 
Trusting thy love whate'er betide. 

O tender Shepherd, lead us ! 
We know not how to walk aright, — 
Our steps are feeble — Give us might! 
Into the paths of peace and light 

Oh gentle Shepherd, lead us ! 

3 The darkest path but leads to day 
If we Thy loving voice obey; 
Still ever iu thine own best way, 

Oh tender Shepherd, lead us. 
How can we fear the path to tread 
Which thou hast trod ? Why should we dread 
Aught that can come while by Thee led ? 

In love, dear Shepherd, lead us ! 

4 O'er mountains cold — through deserts bare, 
By cooling streams — through meadows fair, 
Where'er we go still 'tis Thy care — 

Thy loving care that leads us. 
Rough then or smooth the path may be, 
We shall not tire if led by Thee, 
With cheerful heart we trustfully 

Cling to the Hand that leads us. 



SHALL WE WHO TRUST. 
(BAPTISMAL HYMN). 
Tune—" Cross and Crown." 

1 Shall we who trust the Saviour's love, 

And long to see His face. 
Forget the words he spoke on earth — 
The words of truth and grace ? 

2 "Let little children come to me," 

The blessed Jesus said ; 
And then His hand in blessing laid 
Upon each fair, young head 

3 Then deck the altar of our faith 

With blossoms sweet and fair, 
And bring the blossoms fairer still, 
For consecration there. 

4 May each dear bud of promise ope 

Beneath the sky of love, 
And sweet as summer roses be, 
Till called to bloom above. 

REV. PHEBE A. BANAFORD. 

• Jersey City, N. J. 1879. 



CHRISTIAN HUMILITY. 

(Tune— Refuge). 

1 See them crowd around the Saviour, 

Dear disciples, tried and true, 
Gazing lovingly on Jesus ; 
Gazing on each other too. 

2 Ah ! a look of envy mingles, 

With the glance of friendship given, 
As they ask their Lord and Master, 
" Who shall greatest be in heaven ?" 

3 Sorrowfully the Saviour stoopeth, 

Down to where the children play ; 
And from out their number taketh, 
One bright little pet away. 

4 Lifted her above the masses, 

As on her brow the sunbeams lay ; 
Then he preached to them a sermon, 
On the pride they felt that day. 

5 O ! repreach that blessed sermon, 

To our erring hearts of sin ; 
That "we must become like children," 
If like them we'd "enter in." 

ANNIE WILTON. 

BAPTISIMAL HYMN 

Markx : 13-16. 
C. M. 

1 Lord Jesus ! at whose glorious feet, 

The angels worship now ; 
And there before Thy lofty seat, 
In lowly reverence bow ; — 

2 When mothers for their infants sought 

The grace of life divine, 
The yearning heart, the tender thought, 
Found sweet response in thine. 

3 And gently, as the dew is shed 

From evening's balmy air, 
Thine hand, on every infant head, 
Left heavenly blessing there. 

4 O Saviour! changeless in Thy love, 

Our hearts turn now to Thee, 
And still we hear Thee from above 
Say, Bring the babes to me. 

5 Once more, thou Shepherd good and kind! 

The gracious answer speak, 

And grant this little one may find 

The blessing which we seek. 

HISS CARTER. 

From "Spiritual Songs," Edited by Rev. 0. S. Eobinson, D,D. 

MY SHEPHERD. 



1 Thou art my Shepherd, caring in every need, 
Thy little lamb to feed, trusting Thee still ; 
In the green pastures low, while living waters 
Safe by Thy side I go, fearing no ill. 



flow, 




THE CHRISTENING. 
[From a Painting by L. Kaemmerer.] 



BAPTISMAL HYMNS FOR THE LAMBS. 



Or if my way lie where death o erhanging nigh, 
My soul would terrify with sudden chill, — 
Yet I am not afraid ; while softly on my head 
Thy tender hand is laid, I fear no ill. 
If Thou wilt guide me, gladly I'll go with Thee ; — 
No harm can come to me, holding Thy hand ; 
And soon my weary feet, safe in the golden street 
Where all who love Thee meet, Redeemer shall stand. 

MISS M. ELSIE THALHEIMER. 



THEY ARE THINE." 

1 Dear Saviour, if these lambs should stray 

From Thy secure enclosure's bound, 
And, lured by worldly joys away, 

Among the thoughtless crowd be found ; — 

2 Remember still that they are Thine, 

That Thy dear sacred name they bear ; 
Think that the seal of love divine, 

The sign of covenant grace they wear. 

3 In all their erring, sinful years, 

Oh, let them ne'er fogotten be ; 
Remember all the prayers and tears 
Which made them consecrate to Thee. 

4 And when these lips no more can pray, 

These eyes can weep for them no more, 
Turn thou their feet from folly's way ; 
The wanderers to Thy fold restore. 

ANNA BRADLEY HYDE, 
Died 1872. 



SAVIOUR, LIKE A SHEPHERD. 

8s, 7s & i. 

1 Saviour, like a shepherd lead us, 

Much we need Thy tend'rest care, 
In Thy pleasant pastures feed us 

For-our use Thy folds prepare ; 
|| : Blessed Jesus, blessed Jesus, 

Thou hast bought us, Thine we are. :|| 

2 We are Thine, do Thou befriend us, 

Be the Guardian of our way ; 
Keep Thy flock, from sin defend us, 

Seek us when we go astray ; 
|| : Blessed Jesus, blessed Jesus, 

Hear, O hear us, when we pray. : || 

3 Thou hast promised to receive us, 

Poor and sinful though we be ; 
Thou hast mercy to relieve us, 

Grace to cleanse, and power to free ; 
|| : Blessed Jesus, blessed Jesus, 

We will early turn to Thee. :|| 

4 Early let us seek Thy favor, 

Early let us do Thy will ; 
Blessed Lord and only Saviour, 

With Thy love our bosoms fill. 
|| : Blessed Jesus, blessed Jesus, 

Thou hast loved us, love us still. : || 

DOROTHY THRUPP, 



BECAUSE HE LOVED ME SO. 

1 I love to hear the story 

Which angel voices tell, 
How once the king of Glory 

Came down on earth to dwell ; 
I am both weak and sinful, 

But this I surely know, 
The Lord came down to save me, 

Because he loved me so. 

2 I'm glad my blessed Saviour 

Was once a child like me, 
To show how pure and holy 

His little ones might be ; 
And if I try to follow 

His footsteps here below, 
He never will forget me, 

Because he loves me so. 

3 To sing his love and mercy 

My sweetest songs I'll raise, 
And though I can not see him 

I know he hears my praise ! 
For he has kindly promised 

That I shall surely go, 
To sing among His angels, 

Because he loves me so. 

MRS. EMILY HUNTINGTON MILLER. 

YOUTHFUL LOVE. 

"The goodness of God leadeth thee to repentance," 

1 If when the cloudless skies are calm 
When sunlight glows, and airs breath balm, 
If I forget the hand unseen 

That guards my life with safety's screen, 
How, when the firey light'niug's eye 
Burns in the tempest hovering nigh, 
How shall I turn to Him who sought 
My heart with smiles, but found it not ? 

2 If all the morning of my life 

I should with-hold from sacred strife, 
And loiter through life's wasting day, 
Till evening shadows dim its ray. 
How when the darkness of the tomb 
Is gathering o'er earth's fairest bloom, 
Dare I then turn to Him who sought 
My youthful love, but found it not ? 

3 Great God ! shall danger and despair 
Alone have power to break the snare 
That keeps my soul from Thee ? Oh ! may 
Thy goodness lead my heart to pray, 
Then when the hours of peril come, 

My soul shall know a changeless home, 
Nor yield the poor remains to Thee 
Which earth would not accept of me. 

EMILY PUTNAM WILLIAMS, 
Springfield, O, 1352. 



88 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

SWEET WORDS OF JESUS. 



Words and Music by MRS. C. H. SCOTT. 



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chil - dren come to -day; Let thy Spir - it, lov - ing Sav-iour, Rest up - on us now, we pray. 
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gra - cious call o -bey; May the nev - er - fail - ing foun- tain Fill our thirst -y souls to -day. 




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THE SPRINGTIME OF LIFE. 
[From a Painting' by K. Beysehlag.] 



HYMNS FOR THE LAMBS. 



81) 



LITTLE CHILDREN, PRAY. 

1 In the morning early 

Wheii the dew is bright, 
When the flowers are smiling 

In the blessed light; 
When the happy song birds 

Thankful homage pay, — 
Unto God who keeps you, 

Little children, pray, 

2 In the fervid noontide 

When the sun is high ; 
When the flocks are seeking 

Where, the shadows lie ; 
When the brooks are running 

Dreamily away ; 
Then to God who sees you, 

Little children, pray. 

3 In the purple twilight 

When the day is done ; 
And behind the hilltops 

Sinketh low the sun; 
When you pause to rest you, 

Weary of your play, — 
At that pleasant season, 

Little children, pray. 

4 When the night is settling 

O'er the dreary world, 
And the darksome shadows 

All the earth enfold ; 
When the winds are sighing 

'Neath the starry way, 
Unto God who keeps you, 

Little children, pray. 

5 Yes, in times of trouble 

Or in sunny hours, 
Whether in the desert 

Or amid the flowers, 
In the midnight dreary 

Or in times of play ; 
Unto God who keeps you, 

Little children, pray. 



MATTIE PEARSON SMITH. 



A CHILD'S PSALM. 

God made the world so beautiful 

With all the hills so green, 
The noble elms, the sighing pines, 

And flowers that grow between. 
He made the sky, the sun, the moon, 

The sea so deep and blue ; 
He made the rivers broad and grand, 

The babbling brooklets too. 
He clothed the lilies pure and white 

That summer waters throng, 
He gave the music to the breeze, 

And to the bird his song. 



4 He spread the valleys fair and green 

Where peaceful waters flow, 
He reared the mountains, and He clothed 
The peaks with endless snow. 

5 From lofty heights I gaze below 

Where clouds like incense rise ; 
Again from sweetly blooming vales 
I lift my wondering eyes. 

6 And nothing that I gaze upon 

In wood, or held, or sky, 
However small, but God has made, 
And keeps with sleepless eye. 

7 And every little flower that nods 

Its head upon the breeze 
Is just as safe beneath His care 
As are the giant trees. 

8 He knows how many little birds 

Sing low, and o'er my head ; 

And when one tiny voice is stilled 

He knows which bird is dead. 

9 I love to think that He who notes 

The tiny sparrows fall, 
Is my dear friend, and does not fail 
To heed my faintest call. 

10 He understands that I am dust, — 

The soul that He has made ; 
And so in Him I'll ever trust 
What time I am afraid. 

11 I'll try to trust, that, though His ways 

Are not all understood, 

He will not let a sorrow come 

Unless for needful good. 

12 I'll trust that He will give me strength 

All things to overcome ; 
So when I die I shall not fear 
With Him to lead me home. 

MATTIE PEARSON SMITH, 1884. 

GRACIOUS SAVIOUR. 

1 Gracious Saviour, Holy Shepherd, 

Little ones are dear to Thee, 
Gathered with Thine arms, and carried 

In Thy bosom, may they be 
Sweetly, fondly, safely tended, 

From all waste and danger free. 

2 Tender Shepherd, never leave them 

From the fold to go astray, 
By Thy warning love directed, 

May they walk the narrow way ; 
Thus direct them, thus defend them, 

Lest thej r fall an easy prey. 

3 Taught to lisp the holy praises 

Which on earth Thy children sing, 
Both with lips and heart unfeigned, 

Glad thank-offerings may they bring; 
Then with all the saints in glory, 

Join to praise their Lord and King. 

JANE LEESON.. 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Itt«i $*orgiana ft. felot. 

In a letter from Miss M. V. G. Havergal, she says : " Miss Taylor is 
the patron and splendid manager of a Christian Home for young millin- 
ers and lady clerks in Leamington. She is quite one of England's work- 
ers." A reference to her book of hymns willte found elsewhere. Had 
she written nothing but that gem of consecration hymns, "Oh! to be 
nothing," she would have left a sure embalment for her memory. But 
her hymns are many and choice. 



A DAILY DESIRE. 

: thou in the fear of the lord all the day long," (Provb, xxiii; 17.) 

1 In the sweet fear of Jesus 

May I begin the day; 
Fearful lest I should grieve Him, 

Fearful lest I should stray ; 
Fearful lest earthly longings 

Ever my heart should share, 
Taking the throne of Jesus, 

Placing an idol there. 

2 In the sweet fear of Jesus, 

Tenderly, gently led, 
Never disquieting terror, 

Never tormenting dread ; 
Only the fear which, cherished, 

Yieldeth for weary days 
Harvest of restful confidence, 

Harvest of gladsome praise. 

3 In the sweet fear of Jesus, 

Then may I live this day; 
Serving or resting always 

Under its gentle sway, 
All that I say directed, 

All that I plan conceived, 
With the remembrance present, 

" Jesus must not be grieved." 

4 In the sweet fear of Jesus 

Dwelling the whole day long, 
Promptly yielding obedience, 

Patiently suffering wrong ; 
Kept, till the evening closes, 

Still by this strange, sweet fear, 
Blest, with the blessed knowledge, 

Jesus is ever near." 

MISS GEORGIANA M- TAYLOR. 



THE BETTER LAND. 

" I hear thee speak of the better land ; 
Thou call 'st its children a happy band ; 
Mother ! oh, where is that radiant shore ? 
Shall we not seek it, and weep no more ? 
Is it where the flower of the orange blows, 
And the fireflies dance through the myrtle boughs?" 
" Not there, not there, my child ! " 

" Is it where the feathery palm trees rise, 
And the date grows ripe under sunny skies? 
Or 'mid the green islands of glittering seas, 



Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze, 
And strange bright birds, on their starry wings, 
Bear the rich hues of all glorious tilings ? " 

" Not there, not there, my child ! " 
Is it far away, in some region old, 
Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold, 
Where the burning rays of the ruby shine, 
And the diamond lights up the secret mine, 
And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand? 
Is it there, sweet mother, that better land?" 

" Not there, not there, my child ! " 
: Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy ! 
Ear hath not heard its deep sounds of joy ; 
Dreams can not picture a world so fair ; 
Sorrow and death may not enter there ; 
Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom, 
Beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb ; 

It is there, it is there, my child ! " 



MRS. HEMANS. 



ONE DAY I WAS IN TROUBLE 

"After Alice's death her friends found thefollowing lines under her 
pillow, written as a last message to them, thus telling them, even after 
death, "what a dear Saviour she had found.'' Wiil you take them as a 
message from a happy little Christian eleven years old, to yourself, 
whether you are a girl or boy - remembering that what Jesus did for 
Alice He is ready and willing to do for you?'' 

1 "One day I was in trouble, 

And my heart was sore distressed ; 
But Jesus came to me and said — 
' Come, and I will give you rest.' 

2 " I went to Him and told Him, 

I'd a debt I could not pay ; 
He said to me, ' Dost thou not know 

My blood washed it away ? ' 
8 " He took and laid me in His arms, 

With my head upon His breast; 
And now I'm with my Saviour, 

I'm quiet and at rest. 
4 " I pray each day and every night, 

Dear friends, that all of you 
May trust the loving Saviour, 

And be made happy too." 



unit 



flifplicrrj. 



Anne Houlditch was born at Cowes, Isle of Wight. Her father, the 
Rev. H. Houlditch, was the minister of Speen, Berkshire. She married 
a Mr. Shepherd. She wrote several religious books. "Ellen Seymour," 
&c, and also a hymn-book, entitled, "Hymns adapted to the Compre- 
hension of Young Minds." She died at Blackheath. Kenl 



155 



AROUND THE THRONE OF GOD. 
Around the throne of God in heav'n 

Thousands of children stand, 
Children whose sins are all forgiv'n, 
A holy, happy band. 
Singing glory, glory, 

Glory be to God on high. 



• Chi 



HYMNS FOR TEE LAMBS. 



91 



2 In flowing robes of spotless white 

See every one arrayed ; 
Dwelling in everlasting light, 
And joys that never fade, 
Singing, &c. 

3 What brought them to that world above, 

That heav'n so bright and fair, 
Where all is peace, and joy, and love ; — 
How came those children there ? 
Singing, &c. 

4 Because the Saviour shed His blood, 

To wash away their sin : 
Bathed in that pure and precious flood, 
Behold them white and clean ! 
Singing, &c. 
5 On earth they sought the Saviour's grace, 
On earth they loved His name ; 
So now they see His blessed face, 
And stand before the Lamb, 
Singing, &c. 



THE SWEET STORY OF OLD. 



I think when I read that sweet story of old, 

When Jesus was here among men, 
How he called little children as lambs to His fold, 

I should like to have been with them then. 
I wish that His hands had been placed on my head, 

His arm had been thrown around me, [said, 

And that I might have seen His kind look when He 

" Let the little ones come unto Me." 
Yet still to His footstool in prayer I may go, 

And ask for a share in His love ; 
And if I now earnestly seek Him below, 

I shall see Him and hear Him above, 
In that beautiful place He is gone to prepare, 

For all that are washed and forgiven ; 
And many dear children are gathering there, 

" For of such is the kingdom of heaven." 

MBS. JEMIMA LUKE. 



JESUS LOVES ME. 

1 Jesus loves me ! this I know, 
For the Bible tells me so: 
Little ones to Him belong; 
They are weak, but He is strong. 

ChO. — Yes, Jesus loves me ! Yes, Jesus loves me ! 
Yes, Jesus loves me ! The Bible tells me so ! 

2 Jesus from His throne on high, 
Came into this world to die ; 
That I might from sin be free, 
Bled and died upon the tree. 



3 Jesus loves me — He who died 
Heaven's gates to open wide ! 
He will wash away my sin, 
Let His little child come in. 

4 Jesus, take this heart of my mine ; 
Make it pure and wholly Thine : 
Thou has bled and died for me, 

I will henceforth live for Thee. 



SUNDAY SCHOOL ANNIVERSARY. 

1 Wilt Thou hear the voice of praise 
Which the little children raise, 
Thou who art, from endless days, 

Glorious God of all ? 
While the circling year has sped, 
Thou hast heavenly blessings shed, 
Like the dew, upon each head ; 

Still on Thee we call. 

2 Still Thy constant care bestow ; 
Let us each in wisdom grow, 
And in favor while below, 

With God above. 
In our hearts the Spirit mild, 
Which adorned the Saviour-child, 
Gently soothe each impulse wild 

To the sway of love. 

3 Thine example kept in view, 
Jesus, help us to pursue ; 

Lead us all our journey through 

By thy guiding hand; 
And when life on earth is o'er, 
Where the blest dwell evermore, 
May we praise Thee and adore, 

An unbroken band. 

MRS. CAROLINE L. RICE. 

CHILDREN'S HYMN. 

1 Children, loud hosannas singing, 

Hymned Thy praise in olden time, 
Judah's ancient temple filling 
With the melody sublime ; 

Infant voices 
Joined to swell the holy chime. 
Though no more the incarnate Saviour 

We hehold in latter days ; 
Though a temple far less glorious 
Echoes now the songs we raise ; 

Still in glory 
Thou wilt hear our notes of praise. 
3 Loud we '11 swell the pealing anthem, 
All Thy wondrous acts proclaim, 
Till all heaven and earth resounding, 
Echo with Thy glorious name ; 

Hallelujah, 
Hallelujah to the Lamb ! 



92 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



EASTER MORNING. 



AN EASTER SONG. 



1 "Way down within the cold, damp ground 

A tender seed was hidden ; 
It lay within its grave-like mound, 
Nor could it stir unbidden. 

2 When April shed its sunny rains, 

Its heart with hope seemed swelling ; 
A new life ran through all its veins ; 
An impulse strong compelling, 

3 Sent forth two arms which stretched and grew, 

With constant upward tending; 
What lay beyond it never knew, 
It could not guess the ending. 

4 One happy day there came a gleam 

Of light, and without warning 
The cold earth parted in a seam — 
It leaped into the morning. 
****** 

5 Dear Jesus, in my childish heart 

A germ of love is folded ; 
I know it seeks thee where thou art, 
My life by it is molded. 

6 My arms of faith will ever grow, 

For life and light up-reaching ; 
And though the way seems long, I know 
I 've but to mind thy teaching. 

7 Then, when I grow so tired and old, 

E'en pleasures I'll be scorning, 
No longer earth my heart will hold, 
I '11 find my Easter morning ! 

FANNY E. NEWBERRY. 



SAFELY TENDED. 

"He shall father the. lambs with his arm."— Isa. 40: 11. 

1 Gracious Saviour, gentle Shepherd, 

Little ones are dear to Thee ; 
Gathered with Thine arms, and carried 

In Thy bosom may we be ; 
Sweetly, fondly, safely tended, 

From all want and danger free. 

2 Tender Sheherd, never leave us 

From Thy fold to go astray ; 
By Thy look of love directed 

May we walk the narrow way ; 
Thus direct us, and protect us, 

Lest we fall an easy prey. 

3 Taught to lisp the holy praises 

Which on earth Thy children sing, 
Both with lips and hearts unfeigned 

May we our thank-offerings bring ; 
Then with all Thy saints in glory 

Join to praise our Lord and King. 

JANE E. LEESSON AND J. WHITTEMORE. 
Methodist Hymual, Nelson & Phillips. 



1 Wake, little daisy, 

Sweet modesty's .flower ; 
Type of our Saviour, 

Without wealth or dower — 

Though great riches He gave. 
Sing, pretty swallow ! 

Though humble your nest,' 
In cradle as lowly 

Our Saviour found rest 

When the world He would save. 

2 Waft fragrance, lilies ! 

They could not afford 
A perfume so precious 
For our stricken Lord, 

When He lay in the tomb. 
Bloom, royal roses ! 

Fit crown for our King ; 
O'er death He is victor, 
He lives while we sing! — 

For the Conqueror bloom. 

FANNY E. NEWBERRY, 1884. 



DEAR LITTLE HEADS IN THE PEW. 

1 In the morn of the holy Sabbath, 

I like in the church to see 
The dear little children clustered 

Worshipping there with me. 
I am sure that the gentle pastor, 

Whose words are like summer dew, 
Is cheered as he gazes over 

Dear little heads in the pew. 

2 Faces earnest and thoughtful, 

Innocent, grave and sweet, 
They look in the congregation 

Like lilies among the wheat ; 
And I think that the tender Master, 

Whose mercies are ever new, 
Has a special benediction 

For dear little heads in the pew. 

3 Clear in the hymns resounding 

To the organ's swelling chord, 
Mingle the fresh young voices, 

Eager to praise the Lord, 
And I trust that the rising anthem, 

Has a meaning deep and true, 
The thought and the music blended, 

For the dear little heads in the pew. 

4 When they hear " The Lord is my Shepherd, 

Or " Suffer the babes to come," 
They are glad that the loving Jesus 

Has given the lambs a home, 
A place of their own with His people ; 

He cares for me and for you, 
But close in His arms He gathers 

The dear little heads in the pew. 



PRAISE AND COMMUNION. 



93 



So I love in the great assembly, 

On the Sabbath morn, to see 
The dear little children clustered 

And worshipping there with me ; 
For I know that my precious Saviour, 

Whose mercies are ever new, 
Has a special benediction 

For the dear little heads in the pew. 



WILL YOU GO WITH ME, MOTHER? 

Little Jamie S , a Sabbath School scholar, in his dying hour, asked 

his mother to go with him. She told him of the Saviour, who has prom- 
ised to be with His children in the dark valley, and the little fellow was 
comforted. 

1 "O mother, will you go with me now ? 

For the way is dark and dim ; 
I would clasp your hand on the other strand, 

Though I heard the angel hymn ; 
For my ear would long for your evening song, 

It is tender, sweet and low ; 
I should watch and wait at the pearly gate, 

my mother, will you go ? 

2 "O mother, will you go with me now ? 

1 have reached the river's brink, — 
Though the shining shore must be just before, 

From the fearful flood I shrink. 
Could I hear your voice, I should but rejoice, 

It has always cheered me so ; 
And how sweet to roam in our heavenly home, 

O my mother, will you go ? " 

3 " I have told you, darling child, of One 

Who has trod that way before, 
Whose arm would guide, from the river side, 

Through the flood to the brighter shore. 
Then lean on Him — though the way be dim, 

He will guard from every foe ; 
Then watch and wait at the pearly gate 

Till He calleth, and I go." 



HC W SWEET TO BE ALLOWED TO PRAY. 

1 How sweet to be allowed to pray 

To God, the Holy One, 
With filial love and trust to say, 
O God ! Thy will be done. 

2 We in these sacred words can find 

A cure for every ill ; 
They calm and soothe the troubled mind, 
And bid all care be still. 

3 Oh ! could my heart thus ever pray, 

Thus imitate Thy Son. 
Teach me, O God ! with truth to say, 
Thy will, not mine,, be done. 

ELIZA L. FOLLElf, 



GRATEFUL PRAISE. 

1 We bring no glittering treasures, 
No gems from earth's deep mine, 

We come with simple measures, 

To chant Thy love divine. 
Children, Thy favors sharing, 

Their voice of thanks would raise ; 
Father, accept our offering, 

Our song of grateful praise. 

2 The dearest gift of Heaven, 
Love's written word of truth, 

To us is early given, 

To guide our steps in youth. 
We hear the wondrous story, 

The tale of Calvary ; 
We read of homes in glory, 

From sin and sorrow free. 

3 Redeemer, grant Thy blessing ! 
Oh ! teach us how to pray, 

That each, Thy fear possessing, 

May tread life's onward way. 
Then, where the pure are dwelling, 

We hope to meet again, 
And sweeter numbers swelling, 

Forever praise Thy name. 

HARRIET PHILLIPS. 1843. 

Sara $. fatljlmrjj. 

; the many hymns written by American women, though not so 
numerous as the productions of some other writers, perhaps none have 
been more acceptable than those of Mary A. Lathbury. Some of her 
best are found in the "Chatauqua Carols ;" others have been published 
in the "Christian Union " and various religious journals. 

Her volume of eight elegantly illustrated poems, entitled "Out of 
Darkness into Light," is one of the finest works of art, both as regards 
the treatment of the subject matter, and the general make-up and style 
of finish of the book. 

Through the kindness and courtesy of herself and the publishers, 
Messrs. Lothrop & Co., Boston, selections from this rare gem are in- 
serted in this volume. She is also the author of the celebrated Centen- 
nial Hymn— "Lift up thy voice." 

At present she is devoting her time to her art work. 

THE LIVING WORD. 

1 Break Thou the bread of life, 

Dear Lord, to me, 
As Thou didst break the loaves 

Beside the sea ; 
Beyond the sacred page 

I seek Thee, Lord ; 
My spirit pants for Thee, 

O living Word. 

2 Bless Thou the truth, dear Lord, 

To me — to me — 
As Thou didst bless the bread 

By Galilee ; 
Then shall all bondage cease, 

All fetters fall, 
And I shall find my peace, 

My All-in-All. 

MARY A. LATHBURY, 1882. 

Copyright, 1877, by Kev. J. H. Vincent, D.D. 



94 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



COMMUNION. 

1 Lord, may the spirit of this feast — 

The earnest of Thy love — 
Maintain a dwelling in our breast, 
Until we meet above. 

2 The healing sense of pardoned sin, 

The hope that never tires, 
The strength a pilgrim's race to win, 
The joy that heaven inspires : — 

3 Still may their light our duties trace 

In lines of hallowed flame. 
Like that upon the prophet's face, 
When from the mount he came. 

4 But if no more with kindred dear 

The broken bread we share, ' 
Nor at the banquet-board appear, 
To breathe the grateful prayer ; 

5 Forget us not — when on the bed 

Of dire disease we waste, 
Or to the chambers of the dead, 
And bar of judgment haste ! 

6 Forget not, — Thou who bore the woe 

Of Calvary's fatal tree, — 
Those who within these courts below 
Have thus remembered Thee. 

MRS. SIGOTJRNKY. 

CRUMBS. 

L. M. 

1 The Father's house hath bread to spare ; 

At His wide table all find room ; 
But, whether high or humblest there 
He gives it to us crumb by crumb. 

2 He gives us crumbs. The heavenly bread 

He breaks for us as mothers do, — 
The instant's hunger instant fed, 
The asking and the answer too. 

3 For us no fear of failing year. 

Of season's drouth or mildewed grain; 
In His good time there shall appear 
The early and the latter rain. 

4 H ■ may not promise us. indeed, 

rhe sight of wheat-fields harvested. 
He will our years of famine feed — 
But only with His "daily bread." 

5 Give us, dear Lord, our daily bread. 

And give it to us crumb by crumb, 
The little child that's hourly' fed 
Doth never wander far from home. 

ANNA F. BURNHAM. 

"JESU INTERCESSOR." 

The amplification of an Italian prayer seen by the side of a pieta, or dead 
Christ, in the church at Bologna, Italy. 

1 Oh ! blessed feet of Jesus, 
Weary with seeking me, 
Stand at God's bar of judgment 
And intercede for me. 



2 O knees which bent in anguish 

In dark Gethsemane, 
Kneel at the throne of glory 
And intercede for me. 

3 O hands that were extended 

Upon the awful tree ! 
Hold up those precious nail prints 
Which intercede for me. 

4 O side from whence the spear-point 

Brought blood and water free 
For healing and for cleansing, 
Still intercede for me. 

5 O head so deeply pierced 

With thorns which sharpest be, 
Bend low before Thy Father 
And intercede for me. 

6 O sacred heart ! such sorrow 

The world may never see 
As that which gave Thee warrant 
To intercede for me. 

7 O body scarred and wounded 

My sacrifice to be ! 
Present Thy perfect offering 
And intercede for me. 

8 O loving, risen Saviour, 

From death and sorrow free ! 
Though throned in endless glory, 
Still intercede for me ! 



DO THIS IN REMEMBRANCE OF ME. 

(Tune— Lischer). 

1 Again the feast is spread, 

For those who love the Lord ; 
The wine and strengthening bread, 

According to Thy word. 
With reverence, and with holy fear, 
Around Thy board we will appear, 
And pray that Thou wilt meet us here. 

2 Oh ! may no traitor dare 

To touch these emblems sweet, 
Or, Judas-like, appear 

Where true disciples meet. 
Where Thou unto Thy followers few 
Dost give the ' seals of promise ' new, 
Unfolding all Thy love to view. 

3 Oh ! may each trusting heart, 

From care and sorrow free, 
Turn from the world apart, 

And rest awhile with Thee. 
As the disciple, loved the best, 
At supper leaned upon his breast, 
And was the spokesman for the rest. 



COMMUNION. 



95 



4 And us of old Thy voice 

Gave promises oi' peace, 
Oh ! may we still rejoice 

That we have found release 
From the dark bonds of death and sin, 
And that by faith we may begin 
The life that gives us heaven within. 

5 And as Thy death, dear Lord, 

We celebrate this day, 

We take Thee at Thy word : 

Thou art not far away, 

Thy spirit, like a heavenly dove, 

Descends to guide ns safe above, 

Thy banner over us is Love. 

EMILY 



Mm »n It. Starrs. 



WTIXIAMB. 1884. 



iMi* §. SMartcc. 



Mrs. McCartee was the daughter of Mr. Divie Bethune of New 
York City, who came from Scotland at an early age to engage in 
mercantile business. His active philanthropy and unostentatious be- 
nevolence made him and his family known to all classes, rich and poor. 
His daughter, who became the wife of Rev. Dr. McCartee of Goshen, 
Orange County, possessed the desirable characteristics of both her pious 
parents, and although she never published a book, her writings were 
known in the papers and magazines adjacent to her home, and were 
considered meritorious to a high degree. But their author was of a 
very retiring nature and desired only to imprint her poems in the hearts 
of her family and intimate friends, so that the majority of her beau- 
tiful hymns have never met the public eye, which is to be regretted. 
Her grand-mother was the celebrated Isabella Graham, so well beloved 
hi her day, and so distinguished in the religious world, for her unweary- 
ing energy and zeal in the cause of suffering humanity. Of her grand- 
daughter, the subject of this sketch, it was truly said, she stretched out 
her hand to the poor; yea, she reached out her baud to the needy, ' 
while orphan 'children rise up and call her blessed" Dr. Bethune of 
Philadelphia, the poet, orator and divine, was her only brother. Mrs. 
McCartee is said to have dearly loved to sit in her quiet parsonage and 
weave her thoughts into holy hymns of praise to God. 

THE HEAVENLY SONG. 

"Worthy is cue Lamb that was slain."— Rev. v. 22. 

1 All hail to Thee ! All hail to Thee! 

Thou Lamb enthroned in glory ; 
We'll praise Thee through eternity, 
And cast our crowns before Thee. 

2 No more the helpless babe who slept 

In Bethlehem's lowly manger. 
Nor Man of sorrow, He who wept, 
On earth a lonely stranger. 

3 No thorny crown is round Thy brow, 

No more in anguish bleeding, 
Angelic hosts before Thee bow, 

But not for mercy pleading. t 

4 Thy blood-bought flock all safely rest 

Within Thy fold in heaven, 

Their happy souls forever blest, 

Their many sins forgiven. 

5 All hail to Thee ! All hail to Thee ! 

Thou Lamb enthroned in glory, 
We'll praise Thee through eternity, 
And cast our crowns before Thee ! 



CSS" 

Miss Ellen M. Storrs has written a number of stirring hymns and 
temperance songs, which are justly popular. She is an active worker 
in the cause of temperance, and is at present State Superintendent of 
the Press Department of the Missouri W. C. T. XT. 



HEAD OF THE CHURCH. 

Tuiu — Am I a soldier of the cross?" 

Without Thee gain is only loss, 

All labor vainly done : 
The solemn shadow of the cross 

Is better than the sun. 

Through clouds of doubts and human fears 

Help us to look to Thee ; 
As swiftly flit the passing years 

Out toward eternity. 

Head of the Church, Thy blest abode 

Whatever shadows fall. 
Claiming a people kept of God 

Obedient to Thy call. 

Still down the ages come from Thee 

Where'er our footsteps roam ; 
In fond remembrance of Me 

This do until I come. 



MY CROSS. 

1 He lays me on my cross, 

It is my own ; 
I know, alone, 
My suffering, my loss. 

2 He binds it on my heart; 

Its iibres press 
With sore distress, 
From it I never part. 

3 My cross is meted me ; 

Its breadth and length 

Fitteth my strength ; 

Though weighted heavily. 

4 No less than this 

Enough could be 

To chasten me. 

Until the hand I kiss. 

5 Whose love I also feel, 

My cross hath made, 
And sweetly laid, 
The while I softly kneel ; 

6 And find its blessing press — 

O changed cross ! 
Fullness, from loss, — 
Contentment, from distress ! 



. 



96 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



THE BODY OF CHRIST. 



1 Oh ! food for man prepared ! 
Oh ! bread by angels shared ! 

Manna divine ! 
Hungry, my need supply, 
Nor the sweet taste deny 

This heart of mine. 

2 Oh ! crystal fount of love, 
Let me Thy sweetness prove, 

Sweetness which flows 
Fresh from the Saviour's heart, 
This only can impart 
Cure for all woes. 

3 Jesus, Thy visage dear 
Shines on us dimly here, 

Symbol'd in bread ; 
Grant Thou to draw the veil, 
That we, with sight, may hail 
Our living Head. 

THOMAS AQOINAS, 1225-1274, 

Translated by MRS. JULIA P. bollard. 



GETHSEMANE. 



8 " Could you not watch one little hour ? " 

A time so short, so brief. 
But those disciples had not pow'r 
And slept because of grief. 

9 Then once again to weep and pray 

The anguished Saviour kneels, 
The moonbeams on His pale brow play, 
The night winds perfume steals. 

10 The suffering Jesus, kneeling still, 

Cries out in misery, 
"Dear Father, if it be Thy will 
Let this cup pass from me." 

11 The moonbeams in a mellow flood 

Bathed that dear drooping form, 
And on that brow came drops of blood 
By inward anguish drawn. 

12 One great bright drop of agony 

Boiled down upon the ground, 
And in the flower's crushed white heart 
A place of resting found. 

13 And ever since this tiny flower, 

So dear to every heart, 
Has blossomed forth a brilliant red, 
The flower of Bleeding Heart. 



ANNIB A. CARTER, 



1 In a gloomy garden lonely, 

Where moonbeams softly shone 
On a drooping figure lonely 
Kneeling in pray'r alone, 

2 Grew a tiny modest flow'ret, 

Of purest creamy white, 
That lifted up its fragrant breast 
To the cool dews of night. 

3 " Wait here and watch one hour with me,' : 

The gentle Jesus spoke 
Unto those at Gethsemane, 

Where the great Christ-heart broke. 

4 He left them then one little hour, 

And went alone to pray, 
And where He knelt this sunny flow'r 
Grew thick about the way. 

5 The blessed feet unmindful crushed 

The flowerets' leaves apart, 
And they were formed into the shape 
Of a white broken heart. 

6 An hour passed, a bitter hour, 

An hour of grief and pain ; 
He rose from off the crushed flow'r, 
And went to those again 

7 Whom He had left to watch for Him, 

Whom parting caused to weep, 
But when He came to them again 
He found them sound asleep. 



CRUCIFYING AFRESH. 

1 Jesus ! bruised and wounded more 

Than bursted grape, or bread of wheat, 
The life of life within our souls, 
The cup of our salvation sweet; — 

2 We come to show Thy dying hour, 

Thy streaming vein, Thy broken flesh ; 
And still the blood is warm to save, 

And still the fragrant wounds are fresh. 

3 O Heart ! that with a double tide 

Of blood and water maketh pure ; 
O Flesh ! once offered on the cross, 

The gift that makes our pardon sure ; — 

4 Let never more our sinful souls 

The anguish of Thy cross renew ; 
Nor forge again the cruel nails 

That pierced Thy victim body through. 

MRS. C. F. ALEXANDER. 

HOW SURE IT IS. 

How sure it is, ' 
That if we say a true word, instantly 
We feel 'tis God's, not ours, and pass it on 
As bread at sacrament — we taste and pass 
Nor handle for a moment, as indeed 
We dared to set up any claim to such ! 

MRS. BKOWNINO. 



COMMUNION. 



9? 



THE LORD'S SUPPER. 



"Behold I stand at the door and knock ; if any man hear my voice and open the door I will come in to him, and will sup with him and he with i 
"He became poor that ye through His poverty might become rich." 



MRS. C. L. POST. 



MRS. (J. C. SMITH. 



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Elizabeth F. Ellet was born at Sodus Point, Lake Ontario, 1818. 
Author of "The Women of the American Revolution," New York, 1848; 
"The Pioneer "Women of the West;" "WatchingSpirits," and other works. 



ABIDE WITH US. 

1 Abide with us ! the evening hour draws on, 

And pleasant at the daylight's fading close 
The traveller's repose ! 
And, as at morn's approach the shades are gone, 
Thy words, blessed Stranger ! have dispelled 
The midnight gloom in which our souls were held. 

2 Sad were our souls, and quench'd hope's latest ray. 

But Thou to us hast words of comfort given 

Of Him who came from heaven ! 

How burned our hearts within us on the way, 

While Thou the Sacred Scripture did'st unfold, 

And bad'st us trust the promise given of old ! 

3 Abide with us ! let us not lose Thee yet ! 

Lest unto us the cloud of fear return, 



When we are left to mourn 
That Israel's hope — his better sun — is set ! 
Oh, teach us more of what we long to know, 
That new-born joy may chide our faultless woe. 

4 Thus in their sorrow the disciples prayed, 

And knew not He was walking by their side, 
Who on the cross had died ! 
But when He broke the consecrated bread, 
Then saw they who had deigned to bless their board, 
And, in the Stranger, hailed their risen Lord! 

5 Abide with us ! Thus the believer prays, 

Compassed with doubt, and bitterness and dread — 
When, as life from the dead, 
The bow of mercy breaks upon his gaze ; 
He trusts the word, yet fears lest from his heart, 
He whose discourse is peace too soon depart. 

6 Open, thou trembling one, the portal wide, 

And to the inmost chamber of thy breast 
Take home the heavenly Guest ! 
He, for the famished shall a feast provide ; 
And thou shalt taste the bread of life, and see 
The Lord of angels, come to sup with thee. 

ELIZABETH F. ELLET. 



98 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



frames giblfg fnibcrgal. 



Frances Ridley Havergal was born at Astley Rectory, Worcestershire, 
on the fourteenth of December. 1836, and during her childhood, as after- 
wards, was considered by all who knew her, most lovely and engaging. 
She was a very precocious child, and as soon as she was six years old be- 
gan enquiring the way of salvation. It was not until she was fifteen, 
however, that she obtained peace in her believing. But she was not 
long satisfied with her spiritual condition, and after having been a mem- 
ber of the church fifteen years, we find her still shrinking from the 
privileges of the Lord's table, for fear of being again sent empty away, 
without a blessing In this unhappy state she continued until 1873, 
when through various instrumentalities, promineut among which was a 
tiny book— "Allfor Jesus," she finally attained the blessing so long 
Bought, and could indeed say and feel from the deepest recesses of her 
being— "The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin." 

The remaining five years of her life were spent in holy joy and peace, 
which neither financial disappointment, nor physical anguish, nor the 
little cares and worries of every-day life, could for an instant disturb. 
She literally gloried in tribulation, feeling that it had no power to touch 
her; and her labors for the Lord, in which she had always abounded, 
were thenceforward successful to a degree never experienced by those who 
have not in some way either suddenly or gradually received this baptism 
of the Holy Ghost. Her literary work, though that by which she is best 
known, was by no means her only, perhaps not her chief, means of serv- 
ing the Master. She possessed an exquisite voice and a wonderful 
knowledge of music, which made her company valued by the most 
woildly circles:and this power she used exclusively in"siuging for Jesus," 
a very real way of working. She. was a good composer of music, and set 
many of her own hymns and those of others to music. Her sister writes: 
"She was agrand composer of numberless songs, hymn-tunes and chants." 
In social intercourse her consecration was as manifest. One instance 
out of many is given by her sister in an extract from a letter: 

"I meant to rest here, but somehow thereialways seemstobe too much 
to do. Such a very nice 'open door' is set before me that I cannot but 
enter in, and so I have four different Bible classes a week ! Besides 
which, as many cottagers as I can possibly visit are grateful for reading." 

Her private letters to her large circle of young friends were also a 
means of great usefulness. It seems indeed wonderful that with her 
failing health she could have done so much while the demands of her 
publishers on her time were incessant and engrossing. 

Besides the great number of hymns which are so well known in all 
Christian communities, she is the author of the following volumes:— 
"My King and His Service;" "Life Mosaic;" "Life Chords;" "Under 
His Shadow;" "Under the Surface;" "Morning Bells;" "Royal Graceand 
Royal Gifts;" "Kept for the Master's use;" "Royal Commandments;" 
"Royal Bounty;" &c, &c. Her stories for children are especially pleas- 
ing and instructive. On Tuesday, Juue 3d, 1879. at Caswell Bay, she 
passed away while attempting to sing one more hymn to His praise, who 
had indeed made for the inheritance of the saints in light — not visibly 
caught up as Enoch or Elijah, but as really triumphing over death and 
the grave. As she had specially requested, the verse which had been 
for her a stepping-stone into a present Heaven, was carved on her tomb: 
"The blood of Jesus Christ His Son,cleanseth us from all sin." 



UNDER HIS SHADOW. 

A COMMUNION HYMN. 
" I sat under His shadow with great delight."— Cant, ii : 3. 

1 Sit down beneath His shadow, 

And rest with great delight ; 
The faith that now beholds Him 
Is pledge of future sight. 

2 Our Master's love remember, 

Exceeding great and free ; 

Lift up thy heart in gladness, 

For He remembers thee. 

3 Bring every weary burden, 

Thy sin, thy fear, thy grief; 
He calls the heavy-laden 
And gives them kind relief. 



His righteousness " all glorious " 

Thy festal robe shall be ; 
And love that passeth knowledge 

His banner over thee. 
A little while, though parted, 

Remember, wait, and love, 
Until lie comes in glory, 

Until we meet above. 
Till in the Father's kingdom 

The heavenly feast is spread, 
And we behold His beauty, 

Whose blood for us was shed ! 



HAVERGAL. 



THE PLAGUE OF HIS OWN HEART. 

A COMMUNION THOUGHT. 

What prayer and supplication soever be made by any man, or by all 

Thy people Israel, which shall kuow every man the plague of his own 

heart Then hear Thou in heaven, Thy dwelling-place and 

give to every man according to his ways, whose heart Thou knowest 

that they live in the land, which thou gavest unto our fathers. — 
1 Kings, viii : 38, 33, 40. 

1 Each for himself, with brethren, or alone, 
Kneeling before Thine altar or Thy throne, 
The plague of our own hearts each one we bring, 
To spread before Thy pitying eye, our King. 

2 Thou know'st, our Father ! Only Thou canst know 
The strength of agony, the depth of woe, 

The ashen hue of lives left desolate, 

The weary watch-hours of sad hearts that wait ; 

3 Thou know'st the scorching glare of passion's flame, 
The crimson shadow of a tarnished name; 

Thou seest the struggle and the stain of sin ; 
Thou mark'st the faltering steps the crown to win. 

4 And there are plagues our human spirits know, 
Like to Thine own when Thou didst dwell below ; 
Hearts loved and trusted once, changed and grown 

cold ; 
Our actions misconstrued or falsely told ; 

5 Our good to evil turned, our wishes crossed. 
Plans and success long labored for, but lost ; 
Or poverty, it may be, on us laid, 

And the poor flesh falls fainting and dismayed. 

6 Thou seest and knowest all ; no plague can be 
Too great or little, pitying love, for Thee ; 

So here, each bringing each we come to-day, 
The whole sad burden at Thy feet to lay. 

7 Lo ! as our hands we spread in earnest prayer, 
Hear Thou in heaven, Thy dwelling-place, and spare 
For each a pitying glance, a look, a word, 

Which shall to weakness say, '"Thy prayer is heard." 

8 Speak comfort to the mourners ; to the faint 
Give strength ; revive the weary-hearted saint ; 
Give patience to the suff ring ; daily bread 
Like manna for the starving poor outspread. 

9 Come to the lonely-hearted, True and Tried, 
As sunshine in his darkness to abide ; 

On wounded spirits pour Thy healing balm, 
Bid passion's tumult at Thy word grow cairn. 



CHRISTMAS. 



99 



10 Speak to the sinner, Lord, his sin forgive; 
Bid Thou the stricken soul look up and live, 
And pale the crimson flush of conscious shame 
With the sweet healing of Thy gracious name. 

11 Clothe Thou the Christian warrior in his mail, 
And nerve his arm in conflict to prevail. 

In Thy Red Sea his eager foemen drown. 
And to his lagging steps hold out the crown. 

12 Behold us kneeling thus while thus we pray ; 
Upon Thine altar send the fire to-day ! 
"What each heart needeth most in mercy give, 
And in Thy presence bid Thy children live. 

MISS M. E. WINSLOW. 



OUR EXALTED LORD. 

L. M. 

1 To Jesus, our exalted Lord, 

That name in heaven and earth adored, 
Fain would our hearts and voices raise 
A cheerful song of sacred praise. 

2 But all the notes which mortals know, 
Are weak, and languishing, and low ; 
Far, far above our humble songs, 
The theme demands immortal tongues. 

3 Yet whilst around His board we meet, 
And worship at His sacred feet, 

Oh, let our warm affections move, 
In glad returns of grateful love. 

MISS ANNE STEELE. 



PANTING FOR PURITY. 

(Tune- •■Pleyel's Hymn.") 

1 Holy Lamb, who Thee receive, 
Who in Thee begin to live, 
Day and night they cry to Thee, 
"As Thou art, so let us be!" 

2 Jesus, see my panting breast ; 
See, I pant in Thee to rest ; 
Gladly would I now be clean ; 
Cleanse me now from every sin. 

3 Fix, Oh! fix my wavering mind; 
To Thy cross my spirit bind : 
Earthly passion far remove ; 
Swallow up my soul in love. 

4 Dust and ashes though we be, 
Full of sin and misery, 

Thine we are, thou Son of God ; 
Take the purchase of Thy blood ! 

MRS. ANNA S. DOBER. TR. BY J. WESLEY. 



COME, THOU DESIRE OF ALL THY SAINTS 

1 Come, Thou desire of all Thy saints ! 
Our humble strains attend. 
While with our praises and complaints, 
Low at Thy feet we bend. 



2 How should our songs, like those above, 

With warm devotion rise ! 
How should our souls, on wings of love, 
Mount upward to the skies ! 

3 Come, Lord ! Thy love alone can raise 

In us the heavenly flame ; 
Then shall our lips resound Thy praise, 
Our hearts adore Thy name. 

4 Dear Saviour, let Thy glory shine, 

And fill Thy dwellings here, 

Till life, and love, and joy divine 

A heaven on earth appear. 

5 Then shall our hearts enraptured say, 

Come, great Redeemer ! come, 
And bring the bright, the glorious day, 
That calls Thy children home. 



JOYFULLY RING OUT THE TIDINGS. 

(Tune— "Saviour, like a Shephird.") 

1 Joyfully ring out the tidings, 

From the heavenly Father's home. 
For the marriage feast is ready, 

And the Lord has bid us come. 
Cho. — Praise the Lord, oh, praise Him ever, 

And his wondrous love proclaim ; 
Praise the Lord, oh, praise Him ever, 

Glory, honor to His name. 

2 Come ye to the feast of plenty, 

And His loving kindness prove ; 
Freely, freely, it is offered, 

From the store house of His love. 

3 Give me, Lord, a wedding garment, 

That Thy praises I may sing. 
At the royal feast of Canaan, 
This glad marriage of our King. 

ELIZA 31. SHERMAN. 

Copyrighted 1879, by David C. Cook, in S. S. S. Quarterly. 

HYMN ON THE PASSION OF OUR LORD. 

1 Let heaven highest praises bring, 
And earth her songs of gladness sing, 
To magnify our Saviour king, 

Who bought us by His blood. 

2 May all the suffering Thou hast borne, 
The bleeding side, the cruel thorn, 
Our hearts to Thee in sorrow turn. 

And lead us home to God. 

3 By scourgings, spittings, stripes, and scars, 
Jesus, the maker of the stars. 

The gates of heaven to us unbars, 
And bids us enter in. 

4 Fill us, O Saviour, with Thy love ; 
Grant us eternal joys above ; 

Oh ! faithful to Thy promise prove, 
And cleanse us from our sin. 



100 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



COMMUNION. 

c. M. 

(Tune— " Cambridge.") 

'In the Spirit on the Lord's Day."— Rev. i: 10. 

1 Oh, joyous feast-day of the soul, 

Again we hail thy dawn, 
Sweet foretaste of the heavenly goal, 
The resurrection morn ! 

2 Now leaving every anxious care, 

From week-day labor freed, 

"We seek our spirits to prepare 

That we may feast indeed ; 

3 That we may sit at Christ's dear feet, 

Remembering His grace ; • 
His love our wine, His word our meat, 
As we His beauty trace. 

4 And as He breaks to us the bread, 

'T will multiply for those 

For whom a table too is spread 

Of food His love bestows. 

5 For those who, weary, faint, and poor, 

Are seeking Him to-day, 
May we with joy His welcome sure 
To their sad hearts convey. 

GEORGIANA M. TAYLOR. 

WEEP NOT FOR ME. 

1 Toiling up the hillside, see the Saviour go ! 
Feeble are His footsteps, weary and so slow ; 

All the night his foes had sought Him to condemn, 
All the night in meekness He had borne with them. 

2 Borne the cruel mocking, and the thorny crown, 
And the sad desertion of his loved, his own. 
One disciple to Him gave a traitor's kiss — 

From the crowd that's near Him, all their forms we 



3 He who vowed that for Him he would live and die, 
Hides away in silence, weeping bitterly. 
Like the sheep all scattered by the ruthless storm, 
Have the flock forsaken the stricken Shepherd's form. 

5 Oh! the weight of sorrow bowing down His head, 
As the strange procession up the hill He led. 
Haughty Roman soldier, Jewish scribe and priest, 
Strangers who have gathered to the sacred feast ; 

6 Crowd with cruel murmurs up to Calvary's brow 
Where the heavy crosses stretch their bare arms now. 
But the gentle Saviour, self-forgetting still, 

Turns with gentle accents, which the soft air thrill. 

7 To a weeping band of women following there, 
They who oft to Him have ministered with care — 
"Daughters of Jerusalem," he said, "weep not for 

me, 
"Daughters of Jerusalem, weep ye not for me." 

EMILY V. WILLIAMS, 1884. 



Fanny J. Crosby, a blind hymnologist, has for years been known 
as Mrs. Van Alstyne. Her productions are said to be re-printed in every 
Christian land, and are valued for the sweet spirit of consecration and 
conteut.which they breathe forth. 

It is safe to assert that she has written over two thousand, five hun- 
dred hymns. For the Publishing House of Biglow and Main, alone, she 
has written nineteen hundred, besides Cantatas, Services, &c, on which 
her name does not appear. She is the author of "Proud world, I'm going 
home;" '"All together again;" "Rosalie the prairie flower;" "Hazel Dell;" 
"They have sold me down the river;" "There's music in the air;" "Fare 
thee well, Kitty dear;" "The honeysuckle glen;" and "Never forget 
the dear ones." Hundreds of persons have sung these pieces for years, 
without knowing the true author. She resides in New York City. 

MORE LIKE JESUS. 

1 More like Jesus would I be, 
Let my Saviour dwell with me ; 
Fill my soul with peace and love — 
Make me gentle as a dove ; 

More like Jesus while I go, 
Pilgrim in this world below ; 
Poor in spirit would I be, 
Let my Saviour dwell in me. 

2 If He hears the raven's cry, 
If His ever-watchful eye 

Marks the sparrows when they fall, 
Surely He will hear my call. 
He will teach me how to live, 
All my simple thoughts forgive ; 
Pure in heart I still would be — 
Let my Saviour dwell in me. 

3 More like Jesus when I pray, 
More like Jesus clay by day, 
May I rest me by His side, 
Where the tranquil waters glide. 
Born of Him through grace renewed, 
By His love my will subdued, 

Rich in faith I still would be — 
Let my Saviour dwell in me. 

Copyrighted, 1870, by W. H. Doane. fanny ,i. crosby. 
Used by per. Biglow & Main. 

COMMUNION OF THE THREE PASTORS OF 

ZURICH, APRIL, 1525. 
1 No sacred altar there, no mystic rite, 

No holy wafer, which the form should shroud 

Of Him they worshipped ; not within a cloud 

Of perfumed incense ; but with faith's pure light 

Beaming above the gloom of Papal night, 

That noble band their new allegiance vowed, 

As round the table of their Lord they bowed, 

"2 By faith communing — asking not for sight. 

No cup of burnished gold received the wine, 
Or silver platter held the symbol bread ; 

They meekly took the elements divine, 
Their board with wooden plate and goblet spread, 

And there, in living union with their Vine, 
Sweet peace and holy joy on all were shed. 



101 



LIFE A PROBLEM. 

1 A little smiling, mingled oft with tears, 
A little hoping, linked with many fears, 

A little trusting, chased by doubt and dread, 
A little light unto much darkness wed — 
This call we life— to breathe, to love, to die ! 
"Who shall for us unfold the great sad mystery ? 

2 Heaven's radiance makes rainbows through the tears, 
Humility's sweet flower springeth from the fears, 
The holy shield of faith, tempers in fires of grief, 
The seed in weeping sown, returns a golden sheaf. 

glorious life in death ! no more, no more to die ! 
One hath dissolved for us the deep, sweet mystery ! 

MRS. HERRICK JOHNSON. 

Chicago, 1882. 

BE STILL AND KNOW THAT I AM GOD. 

1 Be still ! Just now be still ! 
Something thy soul hath never heard, 
Something unknown to any song of bird, 
Something unknown to wind, or wave, or star, 
A message from the fatherland afar, 

That with sweet joy the homesick soul shall thrill, 
Cometh to thee, if thou canst but be still. 

2 Be still ! Just now be still ! 

And know that I that speaketh am thy God 
The lonely vale of sorrow I have trod ; 

1 know it all ; I know it and can feel 
Thy spirit's pain, but I that pain can heal. 
Thou never yet hast proved my wondrous skill ' 
Hush ! I will speak if thou wilt but be still. 

3 Be still ! Just now be still ! 
There come a Presence very mild and sweet, 
"White are the sandals on His noiseless feet ; 
It is the Comforter whom Jesus sent 

To teach thee all the words He uttered meant. 

The waiting, willing spirit He doth fill : 

If thou wouldst hear His message, soul, be still ! 

MRS. S. M. I. HENRY. 

Iii Union Signal, 1883. 

ANTIPAS. 

" My faithful martyr."— Rev. ii : 13. 

1 Go search the dusty archives of the ages, 

And while on earth's vast biographies you scan, 
Ask why. with all her poets, scribes, and sages, 
She knows so little of so great a man ? 

2 Earth answers, " He whose voice of trumpet shrill- 

ness 
Once shook Patmos' wild and lonely shore. 
Told, in an exile's ear, 'mid Sabbath stillness, 
The martyr's story, and I ask no more." 

3 Enough ! he held aloft heaven's blood-bought charter 

'Mong those who deemed the faith of Christ a crime; 
Those thrilling, tender words, "My faithful martyr," 
Tell of a life that death had made sublime. 

4 Blazon it not on monument colossal ; 

Rocks with their chiseled records shall decay ; 
God wrote it by the hand of His Apostle, 

To live when heaven and earth have passed away. 

KATE M'NEILL. 



UNSEARCHABLENESS. 

Job xi : 7, 8. 

1 "What finite power, with ceaseless toil, 

Can fathom the eternal Mind ? 

Or who the almighty Three in One 

By searching, to perfection find. 

2 Angels and men in vain may raise, 

Harmonious, their adoring songs ; 

The laboring tho't sinks down, opprest, 

And praises die upon their tongues. 

3 Yet would I lift my trembling voice, 

A portion of His ways to sing ; 
And mingling with His meanest works, 
My humble, grateful tribute bring. 



IT PASSETH KNOWLEDGE. 

"The loye of Christ which passeth knowledge." -Eph. iii: 13. 

1 It passeth knowledge ; that dear love of Thine ! 
My Jesus ! Saviour ! Yet this soul of mine 
"Would of that love, in all its depth and length, 
Its height, and breadth, and everlasting strength, 

Know more and more. 

2 It passeth telling ! that dear love of Thine, 
My Jesus ! Saviour ! Yet these lips of mine 
"Would fain proclaim to sinners, far and near, 
A love which can remove all guilty fear. 

And love beget. 

3 It passeth praises ! that dear love of Thine, 
My Jesus ! Saviour ! Yet this heart of mine 
"Would sing a love so rich, so full, so free, 
"Which brought au undone sinner, such as me, 

Right home to God. 

4 But ah ! I cannot tell, or sing, or know, 
The fulness of that love, whilst here below : 
Yet my poor vessel I may freely bring. — 

O Thou who art of love the living spring, 
My vessel fill. 

5 I am au empty vessel ! scarce one thought 
Or look of love to Thee I've ever brought ! 
Yet, I may come, and come again to Thee 
"With this — the contrite sinner's truthful plea — 

" Thou lovest me ! s ' 

6 Oh ! fill me, Jesus ! Saviour ! with Thy love ! 
May woes but drive me to the fount above ! 
Thither may I in childlike faith draw nigh, 
And never to another fountain fly, 

But unto Thee ! 

7 And when, my Jesus ! Thy dear face I see, 
"When at Thy lofty throne I bend the knee, 
Then of Thy love — in all its breadth and length, 
Its height, and depth, and everlasting strength — 

My soul shall sing. 

MARY SHEKLETON, 

Died Nov., 1863. 
Set to Music by Ira D. Saxkeit. 



102 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

COME UNTO ME. 



Mrs. G. W. Baxter has written a number of hymns, and considerable music, Among her best songs, words and music both by herself, are '" Golden 
Ringlets " and ' ' In dreams I see my boy again." She has passed through some of the severest trials known to mortals, and her productions have a pathos 
and sweetness that win their way to the heart at once. She was born in Aurora, Ohio, in 1839. Her maiden name was Charlotte Randall. 



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103 



IF WE KNEW. 

1 If we knew when walking thoughtless 

Thro' the crowded, noisy way, 
That some pearl of wondrous whiteness 

Close beside our pathway lay, 
We would pause where now we hasten, 

We would often look around, 
Lest our careless feet should trample 

Some rare jewel in the ground. 

2 If we knew what forms were fainting 

For the shade that we should fling, 
If we knew what lips were parching 

For the water we should bring, 
We would haste with eager footsteps, 

We would work with willing hands, 
Bearing cups of cooling water. 

Planting rows of shading palms. 

3 If we knew when friends around us 

Closely press to say " good bye," 
Which among the lips that kiss us 

First should 'neath the daisies lie, 
We would clasp our arms around them, 

Looking on them through our tears, 
Tender words of love eternal 

We would whisper in their ears. 

4 If we knew what lives were darken'd 

By some thoughtless word of ours, 
Which had ever lam upon them, 

Like the frost upon the flowers, 
Oh! with what sincere repentings, 

With what anguish of regret, 
While our eyes were overflowing, 

We would cry, "forgive," "forget." 

5 If we knew ! Alas ! and do we 

Ever care or seek to know, 
Whether bitter herbs or roses 

In our neighbors' gardens grow ? 
God forgive us ! lest hereafter 

Our hearts break to hear Him say : 
" Careless child, I never knew you, 

From my presence flee away." 



H. GATES, 1863 

By permission 



THE MYSTERY OF LIFE 

1 Oh ! life is strange and full of change, 

But it brings little sorrow ; 
For I came here but yesterday, 
And shall go hence to-morrow : 

2 Go to the rest of the ever-blest, 

To the New Jerusalem ; 
Children of light there walk in white, 
And the Saviour leadeth them. 



TELL ME THE SECRET. 

1 Tell me the secret, Lord ; in loving fear 

I claim the promise Thou hast freely given ; 
Reveal Thyself — in all Thy charms appear — 
Grant to Thy child a sweet foretaste of heaven. 

2 I am Thy child, but, ignorant and weak, 

I cannot for myself the lesson read ; 
Be Thou my teacher — to my dullness speak 
Learning of Thee I shall be wise indeed. 

3 Tell me the secret ; for of Thee is born 

This questioning heart that will not be denied ; 
What mean the mangled feet, the hands so torn, 
The thorn-crowned head, the wouuded, bleeding 
side ? 

4 The secret is with me, but my dim eyes 

Are holden, and I cannot clearly see 
The whole sweet meaning. Wilt Thou not arise, 
And in Thy love explain it unto me ? 

CECIL DREEME. 



ili^betl] Jrcnfos. 



JDLIA WARD HOWE. 



Elizabeth Prentiss, daughter of Dr. Edward Payson, was born in 
Portland, Maine. She was always delicate, and at the age of 22 years 
said she had never known what is was to feel well. Notwithstanding 
herfeeble constitution, she had been a constant, good and great writer in 
prose and verse. "Stepping Heavenward," first appeared as a' serial in 
The Advance, and was issued in book form in 1869. She herself said 
of it— "Every word of that book was a prayer, and seemed to come of 
itself." 

Besides her many excellent hymns and poems, she has published nine 
or more prose volumes, and many sketches and stories, which, like 
"Heavenward" have been a balm and benediction to huiidreds of thou- 
sands of woman. But more have been so universally liked as 'Heaven- 
ward." One English mother wrote her that she had read that book 
through many times, and always with good results to her soul. Her body 
rests in sweet seclusion in Maplewood Cemetery, Dorset, to await the 
resurrection morning. She died in 1878. 

THE MYSTERY OF LIFE IN CHRIST. 

1 I walk along the crowded streets, and mark 

The eager, anxious, troubled faces ; [craves, 

Wondering what this man seeks, what that heart 
In earthly places. 

2 Do I want anything that they are wanting ? 

Is each of them my brother ? 
Could we hold fellowship, speak heart to heart, 
Each to the other ? 

3 Nay, but I know not ! only this I know, 

That sometimes merely crossing 
Another's path, where life's tumultuous waves 
Are ever tossing, 

4 He, as He passes, whispers in mine ear 

One magic sentence only, 
And in the awful loneliness of crowds 
I am not lonely. 

5 Ah, what a life is theirs who live in Christ ; 

How vast the mystery ! 
Reaching in height to heaven, and in its depth 
The unfathomed sea. 

MRS. E. PRENTISS. 
Author of "Stepping Heavenward." 



104 



WOMAN IN S ACRED SONG. 



PROVIDENCE. 

1 Lord, how mysterious are Thy ways ! 
How blind are we, how mean our praise ! 
Thy steps no mortal eyes explore ; 

'Tis ours to wonder and adore. 

2 Great God ! I do not ask to see 
What in futurity shall be ; 

Let light and bliss attend my days. 
And then my future hours be praise. 

3 Are darkness and distress my share ? 
Give me to trust Thy guardian care ; 
Enough for me, if love divine 

At length through every cloud shall shine. 

4 Yet this my soul desires to know, 
Be this, my only wish below ; 

That Christ is mine ! — this great request, 
Grant, bounteous God, and I am blest. 

ANNE STEELE. 

'MANY THINGS ARE GROWING CLEAR." 



1 Come ! the summer night is calling, 
Through the elm tree shadows falling, 
And the silver moonbeams gleaming, 

On the snowy window-screen. 
These but hints, I murmur lowly, 
And I raise the curtain slowly, 
Till a Hood of -splendor streaming 

Renders clear the enchanted scene. 

2 Soul ! all nature calleth to thee, 

From the bounds of earth would woo tnee ; 
Morn, with fragrant breezes blowing 

Fresh from the celestial hills ; 
Eve in purple robes of glory 
Sweetly tells her mystic story, 
Such diviner state foreshowing 

That the soul with rapture thrills. 

3 Take, oh, take these sweet suggestions, 
Ask no unbelieving questions ; 
Wafting thee to fields Elysian, 

Death shall surely raise the screen ; 
With celestial Euphrasy 
He shall touch the inner eye, 
Till thou chant with raptured vision 

" Many things are clearly seen ! " 

4 Thus said Schiller, in his gladness, 
While each bowed the head in sadness 
Round his dying couch at even, 

Closed his eyes on scenes once dear ; 
On the flood of crimson glory 
Bathing rock an castle hoary ; 
Yet while earthly ties were riven 

Many things were growing clear. 

5 Sweeter than the carols ringing, 
Whilst the lark her flight is winging, 
Are these words of Schiller, ever 

Singing, singing through the soul, 



Prelude of diviner pleasures, 

Where no more in mournful measures 

Sing the souls who sorrow never, 

Who have safely reached the goal. 
What though chilling mists enshroud us, 
When these vapors that becloud us, 
Gazed upon from bights celestial 

Golden "mirrors " shall appear ; 
Courage ! then, nor wish to alter 
One of God's decrees, nor falter 
Through the fear of ills terrestrial ; 

Many things are growing clear. 

ANNIE LENTHAL SMITH, 1882. 

From the "Scarlet Oak, ' by ; 



WITH BOOKS. 

"But where shall wisdom be found?'— Job xxvi:i: 12. 

1 I stretch my hands as blind men do, 
And grope for paths that lead to God ; 
But men less blind these ways have trod, 
And found but " figures of the true !" 

2 Far down the misty aisles of 'eld 
With all the wise and good I walk, 
And in their silent language talk, 
And question of the hopes they held ; 

3 Of old philosophies, long dead, 
Whose shuttles, plying in the shade, 
A dark and tangled web have made, 
With no upleading golden thread ; 

4 Of preacher and apologist, 

Who change their cruel creeds at will, 
Till infinite good and endless ill 
Upbraid each other in the mist. 

5 Like a tired insect, overborne 

With honied weights that are not food, 
I turn to Thee " Thou unseen Good," 
And wait and wonder till the morn. 

MARY A. LATHBURY, 1883. 

From "Out of Darkness into light." 

Published by Messrs. D. Lothrop & Co. 

WORLD WITHOUT END. 



World without end ! 
Is it where blossoms open, fade, and fall, 
While sun and dew yet plead with mournful call ? 
Is it where sparkling fountains cease to play — 
Where beds of wasted rivers cross our way ? 

World without end ! 
Is it where islands sink beneath the main ? 
Where bowing hiils become a weary plain ? 
Where mountains by the roots are overturned, 
Rolled from the rocks, and in His anger burned ? 

World without end ! 
Is it where proudest cities lie a waste ; 
To build whose walls the " sons of strangers " haste? 
Where fretting waters leap and laugh to scorn 
The prostrate marble of the centuries born? 



MYSTERY AND REFUGE. 



105 



4 World without end ! 

Is it where monarchs at a touch turn pale 

And pass alone into the silent vale ? 

"Where rulers faint, where statesmen drop from sight, 

And all are hidden in swift coming night ? 

5 World without end ! 

Is it where like a simple parchment scroll 
The very heavens together He shall roll ? 
Where suns are darkened, moons to hlood are turned, 
With fervent heat the elements are burned ? 

6 World without end ! 

Where is it '( Who can find so strange a land ? 
Where the foundations evermore shall stand ? 
Where change is kept forever from the door ? 
Where hope shall cheat the trusting ones no more ? 

7 World without end ! 

Where rosy morning ne'er shall yield to night, 
Where perfect blossoms never know a blight ? 
Where silence never takes her solemn seat, 
Forbidding sundered souls with joy to meet ? 

8 World without end ! 

Look up, ye seekers for a world like this, 
For, just before you lies the realm of bliss. 
The little child you to your bosom pressed,. 
Perchance is now in that fair world a guest ; 
The aged mother, bowed beneath the load 
Of grief and care along the weary road, 
Has seen the golden hinges swiftly turned, 
And, entering, all its hidden glory learned. 

9 World without end ! 

Each pilgrim, weary of a changing life, 

Who ceases battling with its constant strife ; 

Who turns to Him by whom all things are made, 

Shall never be confounded nor afraid ! 

Let sun and dew quick withering flowers bewail, 

Let cities crumble and let monarchs fail, 

Let mountains vanish, systems pass away — 

Let change and sorrow have a moment's sway, 

If, beyond these, an everlasting Friend 

Shall hold our bliss secure — world without end! 

.TULIA P. BALLARD, 1882. 

From "The Scarlet Oak," by permission. 



WE SHALL KNOW. 

When the mists have rolled in splendor 

From the beauty of the hills, 
And the sunshine, warm and tender, 

Falls in splendor on the rills, 
We may read love's shining letter 

In the rainbow of the spray ; 
We shall know each other better 

Wheu the mists have cleared away. 
We shall know as we are known, 
Nevermore to walk alone, 
In the dawning of the morning, 

When the mists have cleared away. 

Mrs. Annie Herbert Barker, the Kift°d song writer, is Territorial Chairman < 



2 If we err in human blindness, 

And forget that we are dust, 
If we miss the law of kindness 

When we struggle to be just, 
Snowy wings of peace shall cover 

All the pain that clouds our day, 
When the weary watch is over, 

And the mists have cleared away. 
We shall know as we are known, 
Nevermore to walk alone, 
In the dawning of the morning, 

When the mists have cleared away. 

3 When the silvery mists have veiled us 

From the faces of our own, 
Oft we deem their love has failed us, 

And we tread our path alone ; 
We should see them near and truly, 
We should trust them day by day, 
Neither love nor blame unduly, 
If the mists were cleared away. 
We shall know as we are known, 
Nevermore to walk alone, 
In the dawning of the morning, 
When the mists have cleared away. 

4 When the mists have risen above us, 

As our Father knows His own, 
Face to face with them that love us, 

We shall know as we are known. 
Love beyond the orient meadows, 

Floats the golden fringe of day ; 
Heart to heart we bide the shadows, 

Till the mists have cleared away. 
We shall know as we are known, 
Nevermore to walk alone, 
When the day of light is dawning, 

And the mists have cleared away. 



ANNIE HERBER1. : 



FLEE AS A BIRD. 

Flee as a bird to your mountain, 

Thou who art weary of sin ; 
Go to the clear flowing fountain, 

Where you may wash and be clean. 
Fly, for th avenger is near thee ; 
Call, and the Saviour will hear thee, 
He on His bosom will bear thee, 

Thou who art weary of sin. 

He will protect thee forever, 

Wipe every falling tear ; 
He will forsake thee, oh, never, 

Sheltered so tenderly there. 
Haste, then, the hours are flying, 
Spend not the moments in sighing, 
Cease from your sorrow and crying, 

The Saviour will wipe every tear. 

MRS. M. S. B. DANA. 

;ic for the W. C T. U. and resides at Townsend, Montana, 1888. 



106 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



COME UNTO ME. 



CATHERINE WATERMAN. 1829. 



MATE L. RICKEY. 1865. 
per. Dr. H. R. PALMER. 



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SEEKING AND INVITATION. 



107 



THE SEARCH. 

I gaze at morn where rosy light 

The eastern portal faintly tinges, 
I scan at noon the far-off height, 
At sunset where the golden light 

With arrowy rays the azure fringes. 
Oh ! could I pierce the clear deep blue ! 

I fix my hungry gaze upon it : 
Its open face, so pure, so true, 
I would look through, I would look through, 

And seize my treasure just beyond it ! 
Unpitying sky, be thou my chart, 

And yield the secret to my vision ! 
Within your hold is half my heart, 
Why keep me from myself apart? 

Why hold my yearning in derision ? 
" Is it for Me this watch you keep ?" 

Asked a low voice of tenderest sweetness ; 
" For Me you wake while others sleep ? 
To Me your yearning heart would leap ? 

Seek you in Me your soul's completeness ? 
" For you my soul was darkly tried — 

And once you melted at the story — 
For you my hands, my feet, my side, 
Now bear these scars. For you I died, 

That gloom and grief might end in glory. 
" I am the Way — look up to Me, 

Nor longer blind thine eyes with weeping ; 
You soon without a veil shall see 
What watch, from human weakness free, 

Your Shepherd o'er His flock is keeping." 
Enough ! No more I search the blue, 

When death would hide the hearts that love me, 
To Him I look whose voice I knew, 
Whose pierced hand is still in view 

Holding a harp and crown above me. 

JULIA P. BALLARD. 

KNOCKING, KNOCKING, WHO IS THERE? 

1 Knocking, knocking, who is there ? 
Waiting, waiting, oh, how fair ! 
'Tis a pilgrim strange and kingly, 

Never such was seen before. 
Oh ! my soul, for such a wonder, 
Wilt thou not unbar the door ? 

2 Knocking, knocking, still He's there, 
Waiting, waiting, wondrous fair ; 
But the door is hard to open, 

For the weeds and ivy-vine, 
Witli their dark and clinging tendrils, 
Ever round the hinges twine. 

3 Knocking, knocking — what ! still there ? 
Waiting, waiting, grand and fair ; 

Yes, the pierced hand still knocketh, 

And beneath the crowned hair 
Beam the patient eyes, so tender, 

Of thy Saviour, waiting there. 

MBS. H. B. STOTTB. 
Arr. from an extended poem, and set to music by Geo. F. Root, Mus. Doc. 
By per. Messrs. John Church & Co., owners of the copyright. 



7 



GIVE ME THAT HEART OF FLESH. 

L. M. 
Ez.: xi 19. 

(Tune— "Retreat") 

1 Give me that "heart of flesh," my Lord, 
Which Thou hast promised in Thy word, 
And take away this heart of stone, 

So strange and hard and callous grown. 

2 This heart, this cruel heart, my Lord, 
That lists not to Thy pleading word, 
But lets Thee knock and knock again, 
Till midnight darkness shrouds the plain. 

3 Thy garments with the dew are wet, 
And Thy fair locks are dripping, yet 
This heart of mine, this heart of sin, 
Will not arise and let Thee in ! 

4 O break, dear Lord, this stubborn thing, 
And let Thy loving-kindness bring 

Me to such sweet repenting and 
Adoring love to Thee, my hand 

5 Shall quick unbar the iron door, 
And bid Thee in to go no more, — 
All that I have — the dearest, best, 
Too poor for Thee, my heavenly guest. 



A MESSAGE. 

1 Is there one who is weary and lonely and sad ? 

Oh! list to the message I bring; 
'Tis a message of love from the dear blessed Book, 

A message from Jesus thy King : 
"Ye believe in the Father who ruleth above, 

Believe," says the Saviour, " in me ; 
And be ye not troubled, I go to prepare 

Bright mansions in heaven for thee." 
Refrain. 

I come with a message for each weary heart, 

A message both tender and true, 
A message of love from the dear blessed Book, 

A message that always is new. 

2 Is there one tempted soul who is missing the way 

That leads to eternal delight ? 
Here's a message to guide from the desert of sin 

Clear up to God's marvelous light : 
"I was tempted," says Jesus, "in all things like you, 

Was tempted, and yet without sin. 
Oh ! turn from thy wand'ring and follow my steps, 

I died thy salvation to win." 

3 Is there one heavy-laden with sorrow and care, 

Oppressed with a burden of woe ? 
Here's a message from Christ, and it points unto 
peace, 

Oh ! follow the way it doth show : 
Then " Come unto me," says the Saviour, in love, 

" And ye shall find rest to your soul ; " 
Learn meekly to bring every grief to the cross, 

And wait for the crown at the goal. 



108 



WOMAN IN SACRED SO NO. 



" FOLLOW ME." 



"If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his 
daily, and follow Me." 

1 The Master's voice was sweet — 

" I gave My life for thee : 
Bear thou this cross, through pain and loss : 

Arise and follow Me ! " 
I grasped the cross in hand : 

" O Thou that diedst for me, 
The day is bright, my step is light, 

'Tis sweet to follow Thee." 

2 Through the long summer day 

I followed lovingly, — 
'Twas bliss to hear His voice so near, 

His blessed face to see. 
Down where the lilies pale 

Fringed the bright river's brim, 
His steps were seen in pastures green, — 

'Twas sweet to follow Him. 

3 Oh ! sweet to follow Him ! — 

" Lord, let us here abide ! " 
The flowers were fair, I lingered there ; — 

I laid His cross aside ; 
I heard His voice no more 

By that bright river's brim ; 
Before me lay the desert grey — 

'Twas hard to follow Him. 

4 Yes ; hard to follow Him 

Into that dreary land ; 
I was alone — His cross had grown 

Too heavy for my hand. 
I heard His voice afar 

Sound through the night air chill, 
My tired feet refused to meet 

His coming o'er the hill. 

5 The Master's voice was sad — 

"O'er hills of Galilee 
I bore Thy cross, through pam and loss : 

Thou hast not followed Me." 
"So fair the lilied banks, 

So bleak the desert way ; 
The night is dark ; I could not mark 

Where Thy blest footsteps lay." 

6 " Fairer the lilied banks, 

Softer the grassy lea, 
The endless rest of those who best 

Have learned to follow Me. 
Arise and follow Me ! 

These weary feet of Mine 
Have stained red the pathway dread 

In search for thee and thine." 

7 O Lord ! O love divine ! 

Once more I follow Thee : 

Let me abide so near Thy side, 

That I Thy face may see. 



I clasp Thy pierced hand, 
O Thou that diedst for me ; 

'Midst woe and loss I'll bear Thy cross, 
So I may cling to Thee. 



ISABELLA L. BIRD. 
Edinburgh. 



GOD CALLETH THEE. 

" It is the voice of God, and not of man." 
(Tune—" I need Thee.") 

1 God calls thee, every one, 

O sinful man, 
Atonement by His Son 

Is His own plan. 
Then haste thee, dying mortal, 

While still for thee there's room, 
Ere closed be mercy's portal 

And sealed thy doom. 

2 God calls thee, every one, 

O sinful man ; 
All things ready, all done 

Since life began. 
Hast thou a friend, had ever, 

Who in thy stead would die ? 
Whose love nothing could sever, 

Always was nigh ? 

3 God calls thee, every one, 

O sinful man, 
All earthly good thou'st won, 

Which mortals can. 
Of what avail would this be, 

If lost thy soul at last ? 
Christ's love from this would save thee, 

His life it cost. 



INVITATION. 

1 The Saviour calls ! let every ear 

Attend the heavenly sound : 
Ye doubting souls, dismiss your fear ; 
Hope smiles reviving round. 

2 For every thirsty, longing heart 

Here streams of bounty flow ; 
And life, and health, and bliss impart 
To banish mortal woe. 

3 Here springs of sacred pleasure rise 

To ease your every pain — 
Immortal fountain ! full supplies! — 
Nor shall you thirst in vain. 

4 Dear Saviour, draw reluctant hearts ! 

To Thee let sinners fly, 
And take the bliss Thy love imparts, 
And drink and never die. 



ANNE STEELE. 



INVITATION. 



109 



GOD CALLING YET. 

1 God calling yet ! shall I not hear ? 
Earth's pleasures shall I still hold dear ? 
Shall life's swift passing years all fly, 
And still my soul m slumber lie ? 

2 God calling yet ! shall I not rise ? 
Can I his loving voice despise, 
And basely his kind care repay ? 
He calls me still ; can I delay ? 

3 God calling yet ! and shall I give 
No heed, but still in bondage live ? 
I wait, but He does not forsake ; 

He calls me still. My heart, awake ! 

4 God calling yet ! I cannot stay ; 
My heart I yield without delay ; 

Vain world, farewell \ from thee I part ; 
The voice of God hath reached my heart. 

MISS JANE UORTHWICK. 



" Come unto Me." The way 's not long ; 

His hands are stretched to meet thee ; 
Now still thy sobbing, list the song 

Which everywhere shall greet thee. 
Here at His feet your burden lay ; 
Why 'neath it bend another day, 
Since One so loving calls to thee : 
" O heavy-laden, come to Me ! " 
A sweeter song than e'er was sung 

By poet, priest or sages — 
A song which thro' all Heaven has rung, 

And down thro' all the ages. 
How can we turn from such a strain, 
Or longer wait to ease our pain ! 
Oh! draw us closer, Lord, that we 
May find our sweetest rest in Thee. 



MAUDE SI'i-i 



COME, WEARY SOULS. 



WHOSOEVER WILL. 

1 Come, said Jesus' sacred voice, 

Come, and make my paths your choice : 
I will guide you to your home, 
Weary pilgrim, hither come ! 

2 Thou who, houseless, sole, forlorn, 
Long hast borne the proud world's scorn, 
Long hast roamed the barren waste, 
Weary pilgrim, hither haste. 

3 Ye who, tossed on beds of pain, 
Seek for ease, but seek in vain; 
Ye, by fiercer anguish torn, 

In remorse for guilt who mourn ; — 

4 Hither come ! for here is found 
Balm that flows for every wound, 
Peace that ever shall endure, 
Rest eternal, sacred, sure. 

ANN LETITIA BARBAULD. 



THE SWEETEST SONG. 

1 Sweeter song than e'er was sung 

By poet, priest or sages, 
A song which thro' all Heaven has rung, 

And down thro' all the ages ; 
A precious strain of sweet accord, 
A note of cheer from Christ our Lord ; 
List, as it vibrates full and free, 
O grieving heart : " Come unto Me." 

2 O wise provision, sweet command. 

Vouchsafed the weak and weary ; 
A Friend to find on either hand, 

A sight for prospects dreary. 
A Friend who knows our bitter need, 
Of each endeavor taking heed : 
Who calls to every soul oppressed, 
'• Come unto Me, I '11 give von rest ! " 



1 Come, weary souls, with sins distressed, 
Come, and accept the promised rest ; 
The Saviour's gracious call obey, 

And cast your gloomy fears avray. 

2 Oppressed with guilt, — a painful load, — 
Oh ! come and bow before your God ! 
Divine compassion, mighty love, 

Will all that painful load remove. 

3 Here mercy's boundless ocean flows, 

To cleanse your guilt and heal your woes, 
Pardon, and life, and endless peace — 
How rich the gift, how free the grace ; 

4 Dear Saviour ! let thy powerful love 
Confirm our faith, our fears remove ; 
Oh ! sweetly reign in every breast, 
And guide us to eternal rest. 

ANNE STEELE. 1760. 

INVITATION. 

Matt, xi: 28. 

1 With tearful eyes I look around ; 
Life seems a dark and stormy sea ; 
Yet, 'mid the gloom, I hear a sound, 
A heavenly whisper, " Come to Me." 

2 It tells me of a place of rest ; 

It tells me where my soul may flee : 
Oh ! to the weary, faint, oppressed. 
How sweet the bidding, " Come to Me ! " 

3 " Come, for all else must fail and die ! 
Earth is no resting-place for thee ; 
To heaven direct thy weeping eye, 

I am thy portion ; " Come to me ! " 

4 O voice of mercy ! voice of love ! 
In conflict, grief, and agony, 
Support me, cheer me from above ! 
And gently whisper, " Come to me." 

CHAKLOTTE ELLIOTT. 



110 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



THE PRODIGAL CHILD. 



"I will 



aud go to my father."— Luke xv : 18. 



1 Come home ! come home ! 
You are weary at heart, 
For the way has been dark, 
And so lonely and wild. 

O prodigal child ! 
Come home, Oh ! come home ! 
Cho. — Come home ! Come, Oh ! come home ! 

Come home ! Come, Oh ! come home, come home! 

2 Come home ! come home ! 
For we watch and wait, 
And we stand at the gate, 
While the shadows are piled. 

prodigal child ! 
Come home ! Oh ! come home ! 

3 Come home ! come home ! 
From the sorrow and blame, 
From the sin and the shame, 
And the tempter that smiled, 

prodigal child ! 
Come home, Oh ! come home ! 

4 Come home ! come home ! 
There is bread and to spare, 
And a warm welcome there, 
Then, to friends reconciled, 

O prodigal child ! 
Come home, Oh ! come home ! 

MRS. ELLEN H. GATES. 

Copyright, 1870. Set to music by W. H. Doane. 
Used by per. Biglow & Main, 

OH I COME TO CHRIST. 

"If any man will come after me, let him deny hiinself,"-Matt. xri: M. 

1 Oh ! come to Christ ! a single glance 

Would melt your doubts away ; 
One glance would flood you with His light, 
In an eternal day. 
Cho. — Oh ! come without delay, Oh ! come to-day ! 
Oh ! come, Oh ! come, Oh ! come without delay, 
Oh! come to Christ ! a single glance 
Would melt your doubts away. 

2 Oh ! come to Christ ! He waits for you : 

Long has He waiting stood ; 
He stoops to ask you for your heart ; 
He yearns to do you good. 

3 Oh ! come to Christ ! the world has proved 

To thee a broken reed ; 
Thou canst not trust what always fails 
In times of sorest need. 

4 Oh ! come to Christ for peace, for rest, 

For all thy heart can crave ; 
For triumph over pain and loss, 
The death-bed and the grave. 

MRS. E. PRENTISS, 1871. 

Copyright, 1871, and used by per. Biglow & Main. 



CLOSER TO ME. 

1 Press close, my child, to Me, 

Closer to Me. 
Earth hath no resting-place 

Ready for thee ; 
Straight to my bosom flee ; 
Press close, my child, to Me, 
Closer, closer, closer to Me. 

2 Love, pleasure, riches, fame, 

All may be thine, 
And thy immortal soul 

Still will repine ; 
I must be all to thee : 
Press close, my child, to Me, 
Closer, closer, closer to Me. 

3 Life may for thee contend, 

Hard toil and care 
Strive to divide from Me, 

Crowd everywhere ; 
Let them my servants be ; 
Press thou, my child, to Me, 
Closer, closer, closer to Me. 

4 Grief of thy heart may make 

A desert drear. 
Yet there my sufferers learn 

My voice to hear ; 
Calling, with earnest plea, 
Press close, my child, to Me , 
Closer, closer, closer to Me. 

5 Come, then, my child, to Me, 

Make thyself mine ; 
I give Myself to thee, 

I will be thine ; 
Joy, grief, and care shall be 
Ties binding thee to Me, 
Closer, closer, closer to Me. 



THE TENDER LOVE OF GOD 

1 In every line of breaking beauty seen, 
In every foamy crest or concave green, 

O'er blue expanse, where sky and ocean meet, 
The tender love of God is brooding sweet. 

2 Written in wavy tracery on the sand, 
Spoke by the echoing rocks' encircling band, 
Breathed in the pure and healing winds that fly, 
The tender love of God is hovering nigh. 

3 Painted on every fair and pearly cloud, 
Sung by the sea's grand monotone aloud, 
Whispered within each convoluted shell, 
The tender love of God so close doth dwell. 

4 In quickened pulse by His own finger stirred, 
In grateful heart responsive to His word, 

In burning soul that worships at His feet, 
The tender love of God abides most sweet. 



WARNING AND INVITATION. 



Ill 



IMMORTAL MIND. 

1 Ah ! why should this immortal mind, 
Enslav'd by sense, be thus confined, 

And never, never rise ? 
Why, thus amused with empty toys, 
And soothed with visionary joys, 

Forget her native skies ? 

2 The mind was formed to mount sublime 
Beyond the narrow bounds of time, 

To everlasting things ; 
But earthly vapors cloud her sight, 
And hang with cold, oppressive weight 

Upon her drooping wings. 

3 The world employs its various snares, 
Of hopes and pleasures, pains and cares, 

And chained to earth I lie : 
"When shall my fettered powers be free, 
And leave these seats of vanity, 

And upward learn to fly ? 

4 Bright scenes of bliss, unclouded skies, 
Invite my soul ; Oh ! could I rise, 

Nor leave a thought below, 
I'd bid farewell to anxious care, 
And say to every tempting snare, 
Heaven calls, — and I must go. 

5 Heaven calls, — and can I yet delay ? 
Can aught on earth engage my stay ? 

Ah! wretched, lingering heart ! 
Come, Lord, with strength, and life, and light, 
Assist and guide my upward flight, 

And bid the world depart. 

ANNE STEELE. 



A LITTLE WHILE. 

(Mi/cpov) — "A little."— John xvi: 16. 

1 "A little while," dear cHldren, 

Ye see Me not again ; 
Three days of lonely watching, 
Then resurrection gain ! 

2 "A little," — And the Saviour 

Unto his own appears ; 
(This time with Easter glory) 
He husheth all their fears. 

3 "A little while " He tarries, 

Their hands and hearts to nerve 
For his great gospel-mission, 
Wherein He bids them serve. 

4 "A little," — Then with promise 

Of power from on high, 
He left them whilst He blessed them- 
Two angels standing by ! 

5 "A little while " — that promise 

He to his own fulfilled : 
With Pentecostal power 

Their hearts the Spirit filled. 



6 "A little " — Ere those servants 

Their lives for Him laid down, 
They counted earthly honors 
But nought to win His crown. 

7 "A little " — still He whispers 

To those whose race is run, 
Ye are not yet made perfect 
Till all my work is done. 

8 "A little while," — dear stragglers, 

Still on earth's battle-fields, 
Courage ! 'tis but a little while 
Satan his weapon wields ! 

9 "A little while," dear mourners, — 

Ye weep in darkness now ; 
Look up ! for in the low'ring cloud 
God plants His bright'ning bow ! 

10 "A little while," dear toilers, 

Sow on with patient care ; 
He cometh — then the harvest, 

When ye His sheaves shall share. 

11 "A little," — Jesus knocketh, 

O ye who hear His call, 
Open to Him your heart's door, 
There's room enough for all ! 

12 "A little," — ah ! how little, 

May be God's waiting-time : 

O brethren, dear, dear brethren 

Heed now the gospel chime. 

13 "A little," — and heaven's glory 

Christ's faithful ones shall crown ; 
Their joy be perfect in His love, 
His smile their cares shall drown ! 

CECILIA HAVERGAL. 

(Niece of Frances R. Havergal. 



REVIVE THY WORK. 

1 O Lord, Thy work revive, 

In Zion's gloomy hour. 
And make her dying graces live 
By Thy restoring power. 

2 Awake Thy chosen few 

To fervent, earnest prayer ; 
Again may they their vows renew, 
Thy blessed presence share. 

3 Thy Spirit then will speak 

Through lips of feeble clay, 
And hearts of adamant will break, 
And rebels will obey. 

4 Lord, lend Thy gracious ear ; 

Oli ! listen to our cry ; 
Oh ! come and bring salvation here : 
Our- hopes on Thee rely. 



112 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



EVEN ME. NO. 1. 



EVEN ME. NO. 2. 



In the year 1868 or '9 the following note was read at cne of the large 
union prayer meetings in the First Presbyterian church, (O. S.) Eoehester, 
at one of E. P. Hammond's meetings. 

Mr. H:— Thank you for singing that hymn, "Even Me," for it was 
the singing of that hymn that has saved me. I was a lost woman, a 
wicked mother. I have stolen, and lied, and been so bad to my dear 
little innocent children. I have no friend. Ihaveattendedyourinquiry 
meetings, but no one came, to me on account of the crowd, so I went 
away always wretched — lost. But Saturday afternoon, at the First 
Presbyterian Church, when they all sung those beautiful words, "Let 
some droppiugs fall on me, in blessing others, O bless me, even me," 
it seemed to reach my very soul. I thought Jesus can accept me, "even 
ME," a bad, wicked, passionate mother; and it brought me to His feet, 
and I feel my burden of sin removed. Jesus has accepted ME, EVEN ME. 
Can you wonder that I love those words, or Hove to hear them sung? 
Ah ! may I too sing them when He shall take me before His throne at 
the last and accept even me. God bless you. Yours truly. 

A Convert. 



1 Lord, T hear of showers of blessing 

Thou art scattering full and free ; 
Showers the thirsty land refreshing, 

Let some droppings fall on me — Even me. 

2 Pass me not, O God, my Father, 

Sinful though my heart may be, 
Thou might'st leave me, but the rather, 
Let Thy mercy light on me — Even me. 

3 Pass me not, O gracious Saviour, 

Let me live and cling to Thee ; 
Fain I'm longing for Thy favor ; 

Whilst Thou'rt calling, call for me — Even me. 

4 Pass me not, O mighty Spirit, 

Thou canst make the blind to see ; 
Witnesses of Jesus' merit, 

Speak the word of power to me — Even me. 

5 Love of God, so pure and changeless, 

Blood of Christ, so rich and free ; 

Grace of God, so rich and boundless, 

Magnify it all in me — Even me. 

6 Pass me not, Thy lost one bringing ; 

Bind my heart, O Lord, to Thee ; 
Whilst the streams of life are springing, 
Blessing others, Oh ! bless me — Even me. 

ELIZABETH CODNB*. 



' He hath put a new song in my mouth, even praise unto our God."— P. zl : 3. 
(Tune—" Lard, I hear of showers of blessing.") 



1 Lord ! to Thee my heart ascending, 
For Thy mercy full and free, 
Sings its thanks for grace transcending, 
Grace vouchsafed to sinful me — Even me. 



2 Holy Father ! who with yearning 
Of eternal love, didst see 
This poor blind one's evil turning, 

Thou didst give Thy Son for me — Even me. 



3 Precious Saviour ! great Redeemer ! 
Praise, eternal praise to Thee ! 
Though so long a wandering sinner, 

Thou hast kindly welcomed me. — Even me. 



4 And to Thee, O mighty Spirit, 
Blessing shall forever be ; 
Witnessing of Jesus' merit, 

Thou hast brought sweet peace to me — Even me. 



5 But I'm lost in joyful wondering, 
And I say — Oh ! can it be, 
That there will be no more sundering 

'Twixt my blessed Lord and me ? — Even me. 



&lx$nkt\ Cflkor. 



Can it be that I, an alien, 
Now a child shall ever be ? 

Can it be that, all forgiven, 

Glory is prepared for me ? — Even 



7 Yes ! for Jesus liveth ever, 

And His blood hath made me free ; 
From His love no foe can sever, 

For He gave Himself for me — Even me. 



While in Weston super Mary, England, it was my privilege to meet with 
Mrs. Codner, the esteemed author of the well-known hymn, "Even Me." 
She was grateful to God when she learned how much it had been blessed 
in the United States'. She very kindly gave me, at that time, the follow- 
ing hymn, never before in print, which will be found expressive of the 
joyful feelings of those who in sorrow have sung " Even Me." 

E. P. Hammond. 



Lord ! I thank Thee for salvation, 
Grace so mighty and so free ; 

Take my all in consecration, 

Glorify Thyself in me — Even me. 



ELIZABETH CODNER, 1867. 



PR A YER FOR REVIVALS. 



113 



PENITENCE. 



Hosea xiv: 1. 



1 Thou, whose tender mercy hears 

Contrition's humble sigh ; 
Whose hand indulgent wipes the tears 
From sorrow's weeping eye ; — 

2 See, Lord, before Thy throne of grace, 

A wretched wanderer mourn : 
Hast Thou not bid me seek Thy face ? 
Hast Thou not said — " Return ?" 

3 And shall my guilty fears prevail 

To drive me from Thy feet ? 
Oh ! let not this dear refuge fail, 
This only safe retreat ! 

4 Oh ! shine on this benighted heart, 

With beams of mercy shine ! 
And let Thy healing voice impart 
The sense of joy divine. 

ANNE STEELE. 

JESUS MY ALL. 

1 Lord, at Thy mercy-seat 

Humbly I fall ; 
Pleading Thy promise sweet, 

Lord, hear my call ; 
Now let Thy work begin, 
Oh ! make me pure within, 
Cleanse me from every sin, — 

Jesus, my all. 

2 Hark ! how the words of love 

Tenderly fall, 
E'en to the realms above, 

Heard is my call ; 
Now every doubt has flown, 
Broken my heart of stone, 
Lord, I am Thine alone, 

Jesus, my all. 

3 Still at Thy mercy-seat 

Humbly* I fall ; 
Pleading Thy promise sweet, 

Heard is my call. 
Faith wings my soul to Thee ; 
This all my hope shall be, 
Jesus has died for me, 

Jesus, my all. 

FANNY C. VAN ALSTYNE. 
By per. Messrs. Biglow & Main. 



2 Wilt thou not cease to grieve 

The Spirit from thy breast, 
Till He thy wretched soul shall leave 
With all thy sins oppressed? 

3 To-day, a pardoning God 

Will hear the suppliant pray ; 
To-day, a Saviour's cleansing blood 
Will wash thy guilt away. 



THE CHURCH AND HER FOE. 

1 Where art thou, O thou church of God ? 

Thou hast at ease lain down, 
Thy sword grown rusty in its sheath, 
Yet dreaming of thy crown 1 

2 Thou sleepest, but a sleepless foe 

Defiant o'er thee stands ; 
Fresh from the fray, thy brothers' blood 
Is red upon his hands. 

3 His tortured captives are thy sons, 

They cry out for release ; 
What ails thee, O thou church of God, 
That thou shoulds't hold thy peace ? 

4 Thy holy Sabbaths are his jest, 

Thy Christ his lips blaspheme ; 
On a deaf ear his curses fall, 
They do not break thy dream. 

5 The helmet from thy brow is loosed, 

Thine arm unnerved and weak ; 
Thy very voice is hushed ; thou art 
Like one afraid to speak. 

6 Or, if thy lips have moved, thy words 

Have power and fervor lacked ; 
Sin fears no threat, God hears no prayer 
Of men who dare not act. 

7 Awake ! awake, O church of God ! 

At last thy danger see ! 
Fight as thou hast not fought before, 
And God will fight for thee ! 

8 In all the fearlessness of faith, 

Tread thine opponents down ; 
But think not with a sheathed sword 
To win a conqueror's crown ! 

MARIAN DOUGLAS. 



AWAKE, MY SOUL. 



LOVE DIVINE. 

1 And canst thou, sinner '. slight 
The call of love divine ? 
Shall God, with tenderness, invite, 
And gain no thought of thine ? 



(Tune.-" Duke Street.") 

1 Awake, my soul ! lift up thine eyes ; 
See where thy foes against thee rise, 
In long array, a numerous host ; . 
Awake, my soul ! or thou art lost. 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



2 See where rebellious passions rage, 
And fierce desires and lusts engage ; 
The meanest foe of all the train 

Has thousands and ten thousands slain. 

3 Thou treadest on enchanted ground : 
Perils and snares beset thee round ; 
Beware of all, guard every part — 
But most the traitor in thy heart. 

4 The terror and the charm repel, 

The powers of earth, and powers of hell ; 
The Man of Calvary triumphed here : 
"Why should His faithful followers fear ? 

5 Come then, my soul ! now learn to wield 
The weight of thine immortal shield ; 
Put on the armor, from above, 

Of heavenly truth, and heavenly love. 

ANN L. BARBAULD. 

SOUL LONGING. 

1 I come to Thee, O God, 

All weariness and sin, 
From underneath Thy chastening rod — 
Oh ! make me pure within. 

2 Father of light and love ; 

Unworthy though I be ; 
Send from Thy heavenly home above, 
Some blessing now on me. 

3 Longer I cannot live, 

At this poor dying rate ; 
A blessing now, I pray Thee give, 
My longing soul to sate. 

4 Only Thy love divine 

Can joy and peace impart, 
Let me be Thine ; entirely Thine, 
And joy shall fill my heart. 

MISS MARTHA M. FITCH. 
Boru April 18, 1810, Green, N. T. 
Olean, New York, Dec. 17. 1882. 

HEAVENLY ASPIRATIONS. 

2 Cor. iv: 18. 
C. M. 

1 Oh ! could our thoughts and wishes fly, 

Above these gloomy shades, 
To those bright worlds, beyond the sky, 
Which sorrow ne'er invades ! — 

2 There joys unseen by mortal eyes, 

Or reason's feeble ray, 
In ever-blooming prospects rise, 
Unconscious of decay, 

3 Lord ! send a beam of light divine, 

To guide our upward aim ; 
"With one reviving touch of Thine, 
Our languid hearts inflame. 

4 Oh ! then, on faith's sublimest wing, 

Our ardent hope shall rise 
To those bright scenes, where pleasures spring 
Immortal in the skies. 

ANMB STE ELE. 



THE STREAM IN 



THE DESERT. 

people together, and I 



"The Lord spake unto Moses. Gather tli 
will give them water. 

" Then Israel sang this song. Spring up, O well : sing ye unto 
it."— Numbers xxi: 16, 17. 

1 From the parched bosom of the desert bursting, 

Spring forth, O stream, to bless us on our way ; 
Revive our fainting spirits, cheer the thirsting, 
Spring forth ! and let thy crystal waters play. 

2 Flow on rejoicing, through the deep wilds wending, 

Till the green herb shall blossom on thy brink, 
And wild gazelles o'er thy bright bosom bending, 
Shall quaff from thee their cool refreshing drink. 

3 Roll on ! not long we pitch our tents beside thee, 

Pure fountain for our fainting spirits made ! 
Yet He who bade thee flow can fill and guide thee, 
When far from thee our pilgrim feet have strayed, 

4 Still on thy waters may the sunshine quiver, 

And the mild moon shed down her silver light, 
Till with the billows of some ancient river 
Thy sparkling treasures mingle and unite. 

5 Thus spake the Hebrews, in the desert singing, 

Asking in faith what God design'd to give, 
And the glad water from the dry sands springing 
Burst forth, and bade the dying pilgrims live. 



CONSECRATION. 

1 Jesus, source of light divine, 

Cleanse ! Oh, cleanse this heart of mine : 

Purify from every sin, 

Make thy dwelling here within. 

2 Give me light from heaven to see 
All that Thou would have me be; 
Make me know the heavenly way — 
Never let me from Thee stray. 

3 May Thy truth me purify, 
Teach me how to live and die : 
From all bondage set me free, 
Let me find my all in Thee. 

MRS. WINSLOW, 

NOT YOUR OWN. 

1 " Not your own," but His ye are, 

Who hath paid a price untold 
For your life, exceeding far 

All earth's store of gems and gold. 
With the precious blood of Christ, 
Ransom-treasure all unpriced, 
Full redemption is procured, 
Free salvation is assured. 

2 " Not your own," but His by right, 

His peculiar treasure now, 
Fair and precious in His sight, 

Purchased jewels for His brow. 
He will keep what thus He sought, 
Safely guard the dearly bought, 
Cherish that which He did choose, 
Always love and never lose. 



RENUNCIATION OF THE WORLD. 



115 



3 " Not your own," but His, the King 

His, the Lord of earth and sky ; 
His to whom archangels bring 

Homage deep and praises high. 
What can royal birth bestow, 
Or the prouclest titles show ? 
Can such dignity be known 
As the glorious name, " His Own ? " 

4 " Not your own," to Him ye owe 

All your life and all your love. 
Live that ye His praise may show, 

Who is yet all praise above. 
Every day and every hour, 
Every gift and every power 
Consecrate to Him alone, 
Who hath claimed you for His own. 

5 Teach us, Master, how to give 

All we have and are to Thee ; 
Grant us, Saviour, while we live, 

Wholly, only, Thine to be. 
Henceforth be our calling high, 
Thee to serve and glorify ; 
Ours no longer, but Thine own, 
Thine forever, Thine alone. 



FRANCES KIDLEY HAVEKGAL. 



TAKE THINE OWN WAY. 

1 Take Thine own way with me, dear Lord, 

Thou canst not otherwise than bless ; 
I launch me forth upon a sea 

Of boundless love and tenderness. 

2 I would not choose a larger bliss 

Than to be wholly Thine ; and mine 
A will whose highest joy is this, 
So ceaselessly unclasp in Thine. 

3 I will not fear Thee, O my God ; 

The days to come can only bring 
Their perfect sequences of love, 
Thy larger, deeper comforting. 

4 Then may Thy perfect, glorious will 

Be evermore fulfilled in me, 
And make my life an answering chord 

Of glad, responsive harmony, 
o We fear this wondrous rule of Thine, 

Because we have not reached Thy heart, 
Not venturing our all on Thee 

We may not know how good Thou art. 



JEAN SOPHIA PIGOTT. 



PURER 



IN HEART. 

6s and 4s. d. 
(Tune.— " Nearer, my God, to Thee.") 

Purer in heart, O God, 

Help me to be ; 
May I devote my life 

Wholly to Thee. 
Watch Thou my wayward feet, 
Guide me with counsel sweet ; 

Purer in heart 
Help me to be. 



Purer in heart, O God, 

Help me to be ; 
Teach me to do Thy will 

Most lovingly. 
Be Thou my Friend and Guide, 
Let me with Thee abide ; 

Purer in heart 
Help me to be. 
Purer in heart, O God, 

Help me to be ; 
That I Thy holy face 

One day may see. 
Keep me from secret sin, 
Keign Thou my soul within ; 

Purer in heart 
Help me to be. 



MRS. A. L. DAVISON. 



SET APART. 

1 Set apart for Jesus ! 

Is not this enough, 
Though this desert prospect 

Open wild and rough? 
Set apart for His delight, 

Chosen for His holy pleasure, 

Sealed to be His special treasure ; 

Could we choose a nobler joy ? 
And would we if we might ? 

2 Set apart to love Him, 

And His love to know ; 
Not to waste affection 

On a passing show. 
Called to give Him life and heart, 

Called to pour the hidden treasure, 

That none other claims to measure 

Into His beloved hand ! 
Thrice blessed " set apart." 

MISS F. it. HAVERGAI* 

TO THEE, O GOD, MY PRAYER ASCENDS. 

1 To Thee, O God, my prayer ascends, 

But not for golden stores ; 
Nor covet I the brightest gems 
.That shine on eastern shores ; 

2 Nor that deluding, empty joy, 

Men call a mighty name ; 
Nor greatness, with its pride and state, 
My restless thoughts inflame : 

3 Nor pleasure's fascinating charms 

My fond desires allure ; 
But nobler things than these from Thee 
My wishes would secure. 

4 The faith and hope of things unseen 

My best affections move — 
Thy light, Thy favor, and Thy smiles, 
Thine everlasting love. 

ELIZABETH ROWH. 

England. 



116 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



RENOUNCING THE WORLD. 

The mind was formed to mount sublime, 
Beyond the narrow bounds of time, 

To everlasting things ; 
But earthly vapors dim her sight, 
And hang, with cold oppressive weight, 

Upon her drooping wings. 
Bright scenes of bliss, — unclouded skies, 
Invite my soul ; — Oh ! could 1 rise, 

Nor leave a thought below, 
I'd bid farewell to anxious care, 
And say, to every tempting snare, — 

Heaven calls, and I must go : — 
Heaven calls, — and can I yet delay ? 
Can aught on earth engage my stay ? 

Ah ! wretched, lingering heart ! 
Come, Lord ! with strength, and life, and light, 
Assist and guide my upward flight, 

And bid the world depart. 



LOVE NOT THE WORLD. 



4 Low at Thy feet my soul would lie, 

Here safety dwells, and peace divine ; 
Still let me live beneath Thine eye, 
For life, eternal life, is Thine. 



i profited if he shall ga 
lose his own soul ? 



the whole world, and 



1 Why should we covet the joy of a day, 
Things that will fade in a moment away ; 
Toiling for wealth and its honors to gain, 
Why are we living for trifles so vain ? 

Cho. — Trust not the world in its beauty arrayed, 
Though at our feet all its treasures be laid ; 
What would it profit its wealth to control ; 
What can we give in exchange for the soul ? 

2 We have no promise that fame will endure ; 

Splendor will never our pardon secure ; 
Gold cannot brighten the gloom of the grave ; 
Only the merits of Jesus can save. 

3 Blessed are they who are lowly in heart , 
They who, like Mary, have chosen their part ; 
Learning of Jesus, their Master above, 
Lessons of patience, of meekness, and love. 

MRS. VAN ALSTYNE. 

By permission Philip Phillips. 

CHRIST ALL IN ALL. ' 

1 Thou only Sovereign of my heart, 

My Refuge, my almighty Friend, 
How can my soul from Thee depart, 
On whom alone my hopes depend ? 

2 Whither, ah! whither shall I go, 

A wretched wand'rer from my Lord ? 
Can this dark world of sin and woe 
One glimpse of happiness afford ? 

3 Thy name my inmost powers adore, 

Thou art my life, my joy, my care ; 
Depart from Thee ! — 'tis death — 'tis more — 
'Tis endless ruin — deep despair! 



ANNE STEELt 



RESIGNATION. 

1 Father ! whate'er of earthly bliss 

Thy sov'reign will denies ; 
Accepted at Thy throne of grace, 
Let this petition rise : 

2 Give me a calm, a thankful heart, 

From ev'ry murmur free ; 
The blessings of Thy grace impart, 
And let me live to Thee. 

3 Let the sweet hope that Thou art mine, 

My life and death attend, 
Thy presence through my journey shine, 
And crown my journey's end. 

ANNE STEELE. 

THY WILL BE DONE. 

1 My God, my Father, while I stray, 
Far from my home, in life's rough way, 
Oh ! teach me from my heart to say. — 

" Thy will be done." 

2 Though dark my path, and sad my lot, 
Let me " be still " and murmur not ; 
Or breathe the prayer, divinely taught, 

" Thy will be done." 

3 What though in lonely grief I sigh 
For friends beloved, no longer nigh ? 
Submissive still, I would reply, 

" Thy will be done." 

4 If Thou shouldst call me to resign 
What most I prize, it ne'er was mine : 
I only yield Thee what was Thine ; 

" Thy will be done." 

5 Should pining sickness waste away 
My life in premature decay, 

My Father ! still I strive to say, 
" Thy will be done." 

6 If but my fainting heart be blest 
With Thy sweet Spirit for its guest, 
My God ! to Thee I leave the rest, 

"Thy will be done." 

7 Renew my will from day to day ; 
Blend it with Thine, and take away 
All that now makes it hard to say, 

" Thy will be done." 

8 Then when on earth I breathe no more 
The prayer half mixed with tears before, 
I'll sing upon a happier shore, 

" Thy will be done." 

CHARLOTTE ELLIOT. 




ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS 





MRS. A. D. T. WHITNEY. 




MRS. a. E. FISCHER, 




LUCY LARCOM. 



HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. 



RENUNCIATION OF THE WORLD. 



117 



Jtona fwtitia Waring. 



Harriet geezer Stoto*. 



Anna Laetitia Waring is the author of many hymns and a volume 
entitled, "Hymns and Meditations," published in 1850. The following 
piece, taken from this volume, will be known wherever English Hymns 
circulate. 

MY TIMES ARE IN THY HAND. 

I 

1 Father, I know that all my life 

Is portioned out for me, 
And the changes that are sure to come 

I do not fear to see ; 
But I ask Thee for a patient mind, 

Intent on pleasing Thee. 

2 I ask Thee for a thoughtful love. 

Through constant watching wise, 
To meet the glad with joyful smiles, 

And wipe the weeping eyes ; 
And a heart at leisure from itself, 

To soothe and sympathize. 
S I would not have the restless will 

That hurries to and fro, 
Seeking for some great thing to do, 

Or secret thing to know ; 
I would be treated as a child, 

And guided where I go. 

4 Wherever in the world I am, 

In whatsoe'er estate, 
T have a fellowship with hearts 

To keep and cultivate, 
And a work of lowly love to do 

For the Lord on whom I wait. 

5 So I ask Thee for the daily strength, 

To none that ask denied, 
And a mind to blend with outward life 

While keeping at Thy side ; 
Content to fill a little space, 

If Thou be glorified. 

6 And if some things I do not ask 

In my cup of blessing be, 
I would have my spirit filled the more 

With grateful love to Thee ; 
And careful — less to serve Thee much 

Than to please Thee perfectly. 

II 

1 There are briars besetting every path, 

That call for patient care ; 
There is a cross in every lot, 

And an earnest need for prayer ; 
But the lowly heart that leans on Thee 

Is happy everywhere. 

2 In a service which Thy will appoints, 

There are no bonds for me ; 
For my inmost heart is taught " the truth," 

That makes Thy children "free," 
And a life of self-renouncing love 

Is a life of liberty. 

ANNA L. WARING. 



Harriet Elizabeth Beecher was born at Litchfield, Conn., June 14, 
1811. She is the daughter of the Rev. Lyman Beecher, who, it is claimed, 
inaugurated the temperance reform. He was a man of great energy and 
moral courage, and his daughter, the author of the world-renowned 
"Uncle Tom's Cabin," inherited these characteristics, together with the 
remarkably keen intellect and suave, charitable disposition of her accom- 
plished Christian mother. At the age of 12 years, she wrote an essay on 
tne sunject— " Can the immortality of the soul be proved by the light of 
nature?" In 1836 she was married to Calvin E. Stowe, Professor of Bibli- 
cal Criticism and Oriental Literature in Lane, and later in Andover, 
Seminary. 

She has written various books, among which are "House and Home 
Papers," setting forth the practical, domestic, womanly nature of this 
.talented woman, "The Minister's Wooing," "Jfina Gordon," "Agnes of 
Sorrento," "Old Town Folks," "The Pearl of Orr's Island," &c , &c„ but 
none seem to have taken such a hold upon the public heart as "Uncle 
Tom's Cabin," which has been published in 19 different languages. So 
well was this work known in Europe that on the occasion of her visit 
abroad in 1853, it obtained for her an enthusiastic reception in Great 
Britain. On her return to America she wrote a charming chronicle— 
"Sunny Memories of Foreign Lands." Later came a volume of religious 
poems and hymns, 'full of pure aspiration and unfaltering faith." 

Her well-known "Knocking! Knocking! Who is there?" is one of the most 
tender and touching of hymns by American woman. "Poganuc People" 
is her latest work. Of herself she says:— "lam seventy-two years 
old, and am now more interested in the other side of Jordan than this, 
though earth still has its pleasures." 



ABIDE IN ME, AND I IN YOU. 

1 That mystic word of Thine, O sovereign Lord ! 

Is all too pure, too high, too deep for me ; 
Weary of striving, and with longing faint, 
I breathe it back again in prayer to Thee. 

2 Abide in me, I pray, and I in Thee ; 

From this good hour, Oh ! leave me nevermore ! 
Then shall the discord cease, the wound be healed, 
The life-long bleeding of the soul be o'er. 

3 Abide in me ; o'ershadow by Thy love 

Each half-formed purpose and dark thought of sin ,; 
Quench ere it rise each selfish, low desire, 

And keep my soul as Thine, calm and divine. 

4 As some rare perfume, in a vase of clay, 

Pervades it with a fragrance not its own, 
So, when Thou dwellest in a mortal soul, 

All heaven's own sweetness seems around it thrown. 

5 The soul alone, like a neglected harp, 

Grows out of tune, and needs that Hand divine ; 
Dwell Thou within it, tune and touch the chords, 
Till every note and string shall answer Thine. 

6 Abide in me : there have been moments pure 

When I have seen Thy face and felt Thy power ; 
Then evil lost its grasp, and passion, hushed, 
Owned the divine enchantment of the hour. 

7 These were but seasons, beautiful and rare; 

Abide in me, and they shall ever be : 
I pray Thee now, fulfil my earnest prayer — 
Come and abide in me, and I in Thee. 

HARRIET BEECHER 3TOWI. 



118 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



PERFECT PEACE. 

1 Prince of peace, control my will ; 
Bid this struggling heart be still ; 
Bid my fears and doubtings cease, 
Hush my spirit into peace. 

2 Thou hast bought me with Thy blood, 
Opened wide the gate to God : 
Peace I ask — but peace must be, 
Lord, in being one with Thee. 

3 May Thy will, not mine, be done ; 
May Thy will and mine be one : 
Chase these doubtings from my heart ; 
Now Thy perfect peace impart. 

4 Saviour, at Thy feet I fall ; 
Thou my Life, my God, my All ! 
Let Thy happy servant be 

One for evermore with Thee ! 



COMFORT IN THE PROMISES. 

1 O God, to Thee we raise our eyes ; 

Calm resignation we implore ; 
Oh ! let no murmuring thought arise, 
But humbly let us still adore. 

2 With meek submission may we bear 

Each needful cross Thou shalt ordain : 
Nor think our trials too severe, 
Nor dare Thy justice to arraign. 

3 For though mysterious now Thy ways 

To erring mortals may appear, 
Hereafter we Thy name shall praise, 
For all our keenest sufferings here. 

4 Thy needful help, O God, afford, 

Nor let us sink in deep despair ; 
Aid us to trust Thy sacred word, 

And find our sweetest comfort there. 

CHARLOTTE RICH A R 

PRAYER FOR THE HOLY SPIRIT. 

1 Teach me, O Life Divine, to live 

So that my soul may be 
A fair, sweet chamber, ready made 

Thy dwelling-place to be ; 
Furnished with pure and holy thoughts, 
Like draperies white and clean, 
"With love to Thee and love to man, 

With hope and peace serene. 

2 So let my life be blent with Thine, 

In one sweet bundle bound, 
That joy may flow thro' every vein 

And heal each aching wound. 
So let Thy presence fill my soul. 
That thro' my silent hours 
Celestial harmonies may roll, 

Caught from the upper bowers. 



So breath into my very Life 

The effluence divine, 
That holiness and truth and good, 

May thro' my being shine ; 
Thus shall I live and move in Thee, 
With Thee Thy being share, 
Till one with Thee, the only Life, 

My soul Thine image bear. 



Irs. *§mi %. I fstntt. 

Mrs. Leavitt was born in 1829, at Vernon, Ind. Although she has 
written quite extensively on a variety of topics, she is most happy and 
effectivein Missionary and Temperance literature . In these departments 
of this volume, she is well represented. She is an indomitable worker 
in the reform movements of to-day, and one of the acknowledged lead- 
ers in Temperance and Missionary work. 

ELISHA AT DOTHAN. 

2d Kings vi : 8-18. 

1 Though all around Heaven's guards are set, 

When powers of unbelief assail, 
Hid are their shining cohorts yet, 
Till faith illumes or lifts the vail. 

2 We see, around our Dothan wall, 

No heaven-sent convoy sweeping down, 
But only helmed archers tall 

And marshaled might of Syria's crown ! 

3 To doubt's dull ear, no help seems near, 

Tho' all the air thrills with the sound 
Of wafted wings, which earthward bear 
The angel hosts encamping round ! 

4 O tear-dimmed eye, that cannot see, 

From out fear's frowning mountain side, 
How love beams back its light to thee 
'Till all the mount is glorified. 

5 O fearful one, to you is lost 

The fiery chariot's wondrous light ! 
To you, the gleaming, mighty host 

Shining 'neath shadows of your night! 

6 Oh ! that some golden morning's beam 

Might chase the night so chill and grey ! 
Might o'er life's misty mountains gleam 
With faith's and hope's revealing ray ! 

7 Elisha's prayer for th' servant's need 

Echoes its pleading voice in me ; 
Elisha's vision let me read ! 
Open my eyes that I may see ! 

8 Show to my longing, inner sight, 

The ministry which Thou hast sent ; — 
Adown life's barren, rugged height, 
The angels of Thy Providence ! 

9 Oh ! lead the Syrian foe away — 

The doubts that darken all my air ! 
Come, flame-lit guard ! Come, morning ray ! 
Let Dothan's gloom thy glory wear ! 



RENUNCIATION OF THE WORLD. 



119 



firs. %m\ <§. lib. 

Mrs. Sarah E. Miles was born in Boston, Mass., March 28, 1807. Her 
parents were Nathaniel W. Appletou and Sarah (Tilden) Appleton of that 
city. In 1833 she was married to Solomon P. Miles, at tbat time princi- 
pal of the Boston High School. He died in 1842. Mrs. Miles, during 
the greater part of her life, resided in or near Boston, but her latter 
years were passed in Brattlebnro, Vt. She died January 23, 1877. The 
few of her hymns which have been published were sent to the publisher 
by her father, who did not fail to discover their rare merit; and they 
were mostly composed by the writer while she was yet at a very early age. 
Whether produced at an earlier or a later period of life, they reveal a 
gift of song, a degree of culture, a depth of experience, and a spirit of 
Christian faith and love, which assign her a place among our best hymn- 



LOOKING UNTO JESUS. 

Thou, who did'st stoop below 

To drain the cup of woe, 
Wearing the form of frail mortality ; 

Thy blessed labors done, 

Thy crown of victory won, 
Hast passed from earth, passed to Thy home on high. 

Our eyes behold Thee not, 

Yet hast Thou not forgot 
Those who have placed their hope, their trust, in 
Thee ; 

Before Thy Father's face 

Thou hast prepared a place, 
That where Thou art, there they may also be. 

It was no path of flowers, 

Which, through this world of ours, 
Beloved of the Father, Thou didst tread ; 

And shall we in dismay 

Shrink from the narrow way, 
AVhen clouds and darkness are around it spread ? 

O Thou, who art our life, 

Be with us through the strife ; 
Thy holy head by earth's fierce storms was bowed ; 

Raise Thou our eyes above, 

To see a Father's love 
Beam like the bow of promise through the cloud. 

And, Oh ! if thoughts of gloom 

Should lower o'er the tomb, 
That light of love our guiding star shall be ; 

Our spirits shall not dread 

The shadowy way to tread, 
Friend, Guardian, Saviour, which doth lead to Thee. 



COME AND SEE. 
I 
1 Master, where abidest Thou ? 

Lamb of God, 'tis Thee we seek ; 
For the wants which press us now 

Other aid is all too weak. 
Canst Thou take our sins away ? 
May we find repose in Thee ? 
From the gracious lips to-day, 

As of old, breathes, " Come and see. : 



2 Master, where abidest Thou ? 

We would leave the past behind ; 
We would scale the mountain's brow, 

Learning more Thy heavenly mind. 
Still, a look is all our lore, 

The transforming look to Thee ; 
From the living Truth once more 

Breathes the answer, " Come and see. 

3 Master, where abidest Thou ? 

How shall we Thine image best 
Bear in light upon our brow, 

Stamp in love upon our breast ? 
Still, a look is all our might ; 

Looking draws the heart to Thee, 
Sends us from the absorbing sight 

With the message, " Come and see." 



II. 



1 Master, where abidest Thou ? 

All the springs of life are low, 
Sin and grief our spirits bow, 

And we wait Thy call to go. 
From the depths of happy rest 

Where the just abide with Thee 
From the Voice which makes them blest 

Falls the summons, " Come and see." 

2 Christian, tell it to thy brother, 

From life's dawning to its end ; 
Every hand may clasp another, 

And the loneliest bring a friend ; 
Till the veil is drawn aside, 

And from where her home shall be 
Bursts upon the enfranchised Bride 

The triumphant " Come and see ! " 



MKS. CHABLES. 



HYMN TO THE HOLY SPIRIT. 

1 Come,. ever blessed Spirit, 
Thy joy let us inherit, 

Thy light within us dart. 
Come, Father of the poorest ; 
Come, with rich gifts the surest ; 

Come, light of every heart. 

2 Thou Comforter, excelling, 
Sweet guest within us dwelling, 

Our consolation sweet ; 
In toil, Thou art our resting ; 
Our help when tempests breasting ; 

For tears, our solace meet. 

3 O light, with radiance glowing, 
Fill us to overflowing 

With Thy most precious love ; 
Without Thy saving power, 
Nothing has man for dower, 

All else shall worthless prove. 



120 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



4 Wash me, with foulness striving, 
That which is parched reviving ; 

Pain of all wounds abate. 
Make soft whate'er is rigid, 
Warm Thou the spirit frigid, 

Make Thou the crooked straight. 

5 Thy faithfulness bestowing, 
Thy goodness in us showing, 

Reveal the sacred seven. 
Give grace, on Thee relying, 
Give victory in dying, 

Give endless bliss in heaven. 

ROBERT II., OT FRANCE, 971—1031. 
Translated by julia p. ballard.. 



OH I HOW HE LOVES! 

"There is a Friend that sticketh closer than a brother." 
Prov. xviii ; 24. 

1 One there is above all others, 

Oh ! how He loves ! 
His is love beyond a brother's, 

Oh ! how He loves ! 
Earthly friends may fail or leave us, 
One day soothe, the next day grieve us, 
But this Friend will never leave us, 

Oh ! how He loves. 

2 'Tis eternal life to know Him, 

Oh ! how He loves ! 
Think, Oh ! think how much we owe Him, 

Oh ! how He loves ! 
With His precious blood He bought us, 
In the wilderness He sought us, 
To His fold he safely brought us, 

Oh ! how He loves. 

3 Thro' his name we are forgiven, 

Oh ! how He loves ! 
Backward shall our foes be driven, 

Oh ! how He loves ! 
Best of blessing He'll provide us, 
Nought but good shall e'er betide us, 
Safe to glory He will guide us, 

Oh ! how He loves. 

MARIANNE NUNN. 

LOVE DIVINE. 

1 Love divine ! we see and wonder 

How so pure a thing can be ; 
Love divine ! we read and ponder 
On its wealth at Calvary. 

Cho. — Love divine, love divine ; 

'Tis this love divine that beckons 
From the cross of Calvary. 

2 Love divine, that saves the sinner, 

All uumeasured in its flow, 
Reaching out beyond the human. 
Heights above, and depths below: 



3 'Tis this love constrains and quickens 
What is true and good in me ; 
'Tis this love divine that beckons 
From the cross of Calvary. 

CLARA B. HEATH. 1882, 
From "Songs of Delight," by ] 



BEFORE THE THRONE OF GOD. 

(Tune— " Malvern,") 

L. M. 

Heb. vii:25. 

1 Before the throne of God above 

I have a strong, a perfect plea — 
A great High Priest, whose name is Love, 
Who ever lives and pleads for me. 

2 My name is graven on his hands, 

My name is written on his heart ; 
I know that while in heaven he stands, 
No tongue can bid me thence depart. 

3 When Satan tempts me to despair, 

And tells me of the guilt within, 

Upward I look, and see Him there 

Who made an end of all my sin. 

4 Because the sinless Saviour died, 

My sinful soul is counted free; 
For God, the just, is satisfied 
To look on him, and pardon me. 

5 One with himself, I cannot die, 

My soul is purchased by his blood ; 
My life is hid with Christ on high, 

With Christ, my Saviour and my God. 

MRS. BANCRO: 

From " Spiritual Songs," edited by Rev. Chas. S. Robinson, D. 



O THOU WHO HEAREST. 

1 Thou who hearest every cry, 

Each humble prayer, 
May we on Thy strong arm rely, 
And rest us there. 

2 No fears, no cruel doubts perplex, 

And tempt us there. 
No earthly cares or trials vex, 
When Thou art near. 

3 Riches may vanish like the night 

Before the sun ; 
Friendships may fade, as fades the light 
When day is done ; 

4 Loved ones may droop and swiftly pass 

Away from earth, 
Removing from our homes, alas ! 
All joy, all mirth. 

5 Thy wondrous love, that wealth untold, 

Shall never end ; 
Ever to lonely hearts, Thou wilt 
Be Brother, Friend. 

ORENA LEE. 

By per. Dr. H. R. Palmer. 



CHRIST'S SUFFICIENCY. 



121 



JESUS IS MINE. 

'And they shall be miue in that day when I make up my jewels." 

1 Fade, fade each earthly joy, 

Jesus is mine ! 
Break every tender tie, 

Jesus is mine ! 
Dark is the wilderness, 
Earth has no resting-place, 
Jesus alone can bless, 

Jesus is mine ! 

2 Tempt not my soul away, 

Jesus is mine ! 
Here would I ever stay, 

Jesus is mine ! 
Perishing things of clay, 
Born but for one brief day, 
Pass from my heart away, 

Jesus is mine ! 

3 Farewell mortality, 

Jesus is mine ! 
"Welcome eternity, 

Jesus is mine ! 
Welcome, O loved and blest, 
Welcome, sweet scenes of rest, 
"Welcome, my Saviour's breast, 

Jesus is mine ! 

MRS. CATHERINE J. BONAR. 1843, 

Wife of Rev. H. Bonar. 

NONE BUT CHRIST. 

1 Lend me a harp, celestial choir 1 
It is not meet that earthly lyre 

Should strike a theme divine : 
Kindle my soul with sacred fire, 
Eternal spirit ! me inspire ; 
With vital breath impel desire 

Through every burning line ! 

2 Christ — none but Christ ! to Him I sing ; 
To Christ the contrite spirit bring, 

In humble, grateful lays : 
To Him, most near, least understood, 
Who waits, when fails all other good, 
To take that lqye which, bought with blood, 

The soul reluctant pays. 

3 Oh ! sick of disappointment's pain, 
Of friendship false, ambition slain, 

Of pleasure's vain control : 
Weary and worn, to Him apply ; 
Learn from the Meek and Lowly why 
There's none but Christ can satisfy 
The restless, longing soul ! 

4 In none but Christ all fulness dwells — 
The love that evermore upwells 

From its pure source unspent : 
The mortal feels immortal might ; 
Opposing natures yet unite ; 
The finite claims the Infinite, 

With none but Christ content. 



5 Oh ! none but Christ remains the same, 
While faints and flickers every flame 

By human passion fed : 
He living food alone supplies ; 
The heart, a-hungered, eager tries 
Earth's nourishment — grows sick and dies : 

Christ only is true bread. 

6 Grow strong, my soul, on Christ alone ! 
Shine in the likeness of His own ; 

Filled with His fulness be ; 
Cherish no hope, no love, no aim, 
That is not blended with His name ; 
His glory be thy only fame : 

None, none but Christ for me ! 

ELIZABETH C. KINNEY. 

February, 1860. 



THE NAME 

1 The Saviour ! Oh ! what endless charms 

Dwell in the blissful sound ! 
Its influence every fear disarms, 
And spreads sweet comfort round. 

2 The almighty Former of the skies 

Stooped to our vile abode ; 
While angels viewed with wondering eyes 
And hailed the incarnate God. 

3 Oh ! the rich depths of love divine ! 

Of bliss a boundless store ! 
Dear Saviour, let me call Thee mine ; 
I cannot wish for more. 

4 On Thee alone my hope relies, 

Beneath Thy cross I fall ; 
My Lord, My Life, my Sacrifice, 
My Saviour, and my All ! 



NONE BUT CHRIST 

1 None but Christ : His merit hides me, 

He was faultless — I am fair ; 
None but Christ : His wisdom guides me, 
He was out-cast — I am His care. 

2 None but Christ : His spirit seals me, . 

Gives me freedom, with control ; 
None but Christ : His bruising heals me, 
And His sorrows soothe my soul. 

3 None but Christ : His life sustains me, 

Strength and song to me He is, 
None but Christ : His love constrains me, 
He is mine and I am His : 

4 His while living — His when dying — 

His at judgment's solemn tryst ; 
Even in heaven on Him relying, 
I will boast of " none but Christ. 

MRS. COUSIN. 

Author of "Glory, glory dwelleth in Immanuel's land." 



A 



122 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



BLEST COMFORTER DIVINE. 



1 Blest Comforter Divine, 

Whose rays of heavenly love 
Amid our gloom and darkness shine, 
And point our souls above ; 

2 Thou, whose inspiring breath 

Can make the cloud of care, 
And e'en the gloomy vale of death 
A smile of glory wear ; 

3 Thou, who dost fill the heart 

With love to all our race — 
Blest Comforter, to us impart 
The blessings of Thy grace. 



SIGOURNEY. 



JESUS IS MY FRIEND. 

1 Since Jesus is my friend, 

And I to Him belong, 
It matters not what foes intend, 
However fierce and strong. 

2 He whispers in my breast 

Sweet words of holy cheer, 
How they who seek in God their rest 
Shall ever find Him near ; — 

3 How God hath built above 

A city fair and new, 
Where eye and heart shall see and prove 
What faith has counted true. 

4 My heart for gladness springs ; 

It cannot more be sad ; 
For very joy it smiles and sings, — 
Sees naught but sunshine glad. 

5 The sun that lights mine eyes 

Is Christ, the Lord 1 love ; 
I sing for joy of that which lies 
Stored up for me above. 

CATHERINE WINKWORTH. TR. 



THE PROMISE. 

C. M. 

1 Our blest Redeemer, ere He breathed 

His tender, last farewell, 
A Guide, a Comforter bequeathed, 
With us on earth to dwell. 

2 He came in tongues of living flame, 

To teach, convince, subdue ; 
All powerful as the wind He came, 
And all as viewless, too. 

3 He came sweet influence to impart, 

A gracious, willing Guest, 
While He can find one humble heart 
Wherein to fix His rest. 



4 And every virtue we possess, 

And every victory won, 
And every thought of holiness, 
Is His and His alone. 

5 Spirit of purity and grace ! 

Our weakness pitying see ; 
Oh ! make our hearts Thy dwelling-place, 
Purer and worthier Thee ! 



Stomsa jmmetfa. 

[Written by Louisa Henrietta, Electress of Brandenburg, ancestress 
of the present Emperor William of Germany, born 1C27, died 1667. 
Translated by Lady Von Grunewalt, of Reval, Russia.] 

JESU MEINE ZUVERSICHT. 

1 Jesus, on whom my soul relies, 
To whom it now for safety flies ; 
Can I not trust myself with Thee, 

When death's long night seems dark to me? 

2 Christ is risen, and I shall rise, 

I shall behold Him' with mine eyes — 
For He, the living, glorious '• Head," 
Leaves not His members with the dead. 
Safety in Christ, my Lord, I've found, 
To Him by faith and hope I'm bound, 
Not death itself the bands can sever 
That bind my soul to Him forever. 

4 My body, that must turn to dust, 
To Him forever I will trust ; 

I know that it will rise again, 

Will soar above, with Christ will reign. 

5 The seed in weakness here is sown, 
A glorious body there 'twill own ; 
The mortal flesh that slumbering lies, 
Immortal from the grave will rise. 

6 Rejoice, believers, and be glad, 
Not yours to be cast down and sad ; 
If ye must die, 'tis but to rise 

And dwell with Christ above the skies. 

7 Yet, of His joys would ye partake, 
And in your Saviour's likeness wake, 
The longing heart must go before, 
The soul whilst here its Lord adore. 



THE SOURCE OF TRUE DELIGHT. 

1 Thou lovely Source of true delight, 

Whom I unseen adore ! 
Unvail Thy beauties to my sight, 
That I may love Thee more. 

2 Thy glory o'er creation shines ; 

But in Thy sacred word 

I read in fairer, brighter lines, 

My bleeding, dying Lord. 



123 



3 'Tis here, whene'er my comforts droop, 

And sins and sorrows rise, 
Thy love with cheerful beams of hope, 
My fainting heart supplies. 

4 Jesus, my Lord, my Life, my Light, 

Oh ! come with blissful ray ; 
Break radiant thro' the shade of night 
And chase my fears away. 

5 Then shall my soul with rapture trace 

The wonders of Thy love ; 
But the full glories of Thy face 
Are only known above. 



ANNE STEELS. 



THOU. 



1 Father, O Father ! surrounded with ills, 

Dangers beset me, and evils betide, 
Yet through the valleys, and over the hills 
Thou art my guide. 

2 When through the stormy and perilous night, 

Feebly, with faltering footsteps, I grope ; 
Having no refuge, nor shelter, nor light ; 
Thou art my hope ! 

3 Life hath no beauty my heart to ensnare, 

Death hath no terror my soul to appall ; 
Hid in Thy love's overshadowing care, 
Thou art my all. 

MARY F. TUCKEK. 

From a poem entitled "Thou," 

CONSTANCY OF CHRIST. 

Isa. xlix : 14. 

1 A mother may forgetful be, 

For human love is frail ; 
But thy Creator's love to thee, # 

O Zion, cannot fail. 

2 No, thy dear name engraven stands, 

In characters of love, 
On thy almighty Father's hands ; 
And never shall remove. 

3 Before His ever-watchful eye 

Thy mournful state appears, 
And every groan, and every sigh, 
Divine compassion hears. 

4 O Zion, learn to doubt no more, 

Be every fear suppressed ; 
Unchanging truth, and love, and power, 
Dwell in thy Saviour's breast. 

ANNE STEELE. 



FROM A POEM ENTITLED 

I MUST PRAY. 
1 I am weary of this turmoil, din and strife, 

I am weary of earth's jostling, selfish way ; 

I am weary of my sinning, of my groaning, of my life, 

Then, O closet still and holy, 

Open to me : bending lowly 

I would enter, I would pray. 



2 Oh ! -to enter, but with Jesus, where 'tis still, 

There to pour out unreproved my pent-up tears ; 
In that hush to list His praying, " Righteous Father, 
keep from ill ; " 

Then, O closet still and holy, 
Sacred closet, bending lowly, 
Take me where the Father hears. 

AMELIA SWANSON QUINTON. 

Philadelphia, 1885. 

REFUGE. 

1 Dear Refuge of my weary soul, 

On Thee, when sorrows rise, 
On Thee, when waves of trouble roll, 
My fainting hope relies. 

2 To Thee I tell each rising grief, 

For Thou alone canst heal ; 
Thy word can bring a sweet relief 
For every pain I feel. 

3 But Oh ! when gloomy doubts prevail, 

I fear to call Thee mine. 
The springs of comfort seem to fail, 
And all my hopes decline. 

4 Yet, gracious God, where shall I flee ? 

Thou art my only trust; 
And still my soul would cleave to Thee, 
Though prostrate in the dust. 

5 Thy mercy-seat is open still, 

Here let my soul retreat, 
With humble hope attend Thy will, 
And wait beneath Thy feet. 



REFLECTIONS AFTER READING THE 
FORTY-FIRST PSALM. 

1 " God is our refuge," when a gale 

Of trouble round us wildly blows, 
Till hope and faith and courage fail, 

And we, reviled by cruel foes, 
Eagerly look for some safe place 

Wherein to hide from foe and storm, 
Oh ! then the thought is grandly sweet, 

God is our refuge and retreat. 

2 God is strength when pain and grief 

Have tortured us till strength is gone, 
And life appears a dismal night, 

Without a star, without a dawn, * 

Then like a sunbeam, warm and clear, 

Dispelling all our doubt and gloom, 
Gilding our pathway's breadth and length 

Comes the blest thought, God is our strength. 

3 God is our very present help, 

In time of trouble and of need, 
Oh ! blessed anchor for our trust, 

Oh ! safe foundation for our creed. 
Let toil, perplexity and pain, 

Heart-ache and tears our portion prove, 
All will but make us more and more 

Our Refuge, Strength and Help adore. 



124 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Irs. ifrrtbt J. gnfon. 



Pu Mm ©lifer. 



Mrs. Phoebe H. Brown was born in 1783. "The origin of the fol- 
lowing hymn is interesting. It was Mrs. Brown's habit to retire 
some distance from her house every day at a certain hour for meditation 
and prayer. The well-beaten path to the grove was discovered, and she 
was ridiculed by some thoughtless neighbor. Her son (a clergyman) 
relates the fact that this beautiful hymn was then written, expressive of 
her love of the hour and the place of prayer. Mrs. Brown died in 111., 
in 1861." (American Collection.) 



Miss Ellen Oliver has written hymns of rare sweetness and power. 
A stranger recently visiting New York City, heard her "Prayer of the 
Wanderer" sang at a morning service. Attending a different place of 
worship in the evening he listened to its sweet strains from another choir, 
and the congregation were visibly affected by the rendition. After ser- 
vice he ventured to go forward and ask the organist the name of the 
piece which had so touched the hearts of singers and hearers. The fol- 
lowing is the hymn referred to. 



RETIREMENT. 

1 I love to steal awhile away 

From every cumbering care, 
And spend the hours of setting day 
In humble, grateful prayer. 

2 I love in solitude to shed 

The penitential tear, 
And all His promises to plead, 
"Where none but God can hear. 

3 I love to think on mercies past, 

And future good implore, 
And all my cares and sorrows cast 
On Him whom I adore. 

4 I love by faith to take a view 

Of brighter scenes in heaven ; 
The prospect doth my strength renew. 
While here by tempests driven. 

5 Thus, when life's toilsome day is o'er, 

May its departing ray 
Be calm as this impressive hour, 
And lead to endless day. 

MRS. PHOEBE HINSDALE BROWN. 

THE VALLEY OF BLESSING. 

1 I have entered the valley of blessing so sweet, 

And Jesus abides with me there ; 
And His Spirit and blood make my cleansing complete 
And His perfect love casteth out fear. 

Cho. — Oh ! come to this valley of blessing so sweet, 
Where Jesus will fullness bestow — 
And believe, and receive, and confess him, 
That all His salvation may known. 

2 There is peace in the valley of blessing so sweet, 

And plenty the land doth impart ; 
And there's rest for the weary worn traveller's feet, 
And joy for the sorrowing heart. 

3 There is love in the valley of blessing so sweet, . 

Such as none but the blood-washed may feel ; 
When heaven comes down redeemed spirits to greet, 
And Christ sets His covenant seal. 

4 There's a song in the valley of blessing so sweet, 

That angels would fain join the strain — 
As, with rapturous praises, we bow at His feet, 
Crying "Worthy the Lamb that was slain ! " 

ANNIE TVITTENMYER. 



PRAYER OF THE WANDERER. 

1 Saviour, I am weary, weary 

Of my wanderings from Thee. 
All my days are dreary, dreary : 

Only darkness do I see. 
Take me in Thy arms, O Jesus ! 

I would fain become Thy child. 
Let me feel Thy loving kindness : 

Soothe me with Thine accents mild. 
Yes, my child, I know how dreary 

Thou hast found the path of sin, 
I have watched thee growing weary, 

And have yearned thy soul to win. 
Come to me, and I will give thee 

Rest from all this bitter strife. 
Come to me for strength and guidance : 

I'm the Way, the Truth, the Life. 
I'm the Way. 

2 Far from Thee I'm straying, straying, 

In a wilderness of sin. 
Dost Thou hear me, praying, praying, 

Thy blest Fold to enter ir. ? 
Take my hand in Thine, O Saviour ! 

Lead me far from doubt and strife, 
Keep my feet from straying ever ; 

Guide them in the path of life. 
Yes, my child, I hear thee praying, 

Hear thy cry of sore distress. 
Ever near thee I've been staying, 

Waiting all thy life to bless. 
Lay thy hand in mine, O wanderer, 

Let thy care and doubting cease ; 
Only trust and I will lead thee 

Safe to rest and home and peace. 
Rest and home. 

3 Death is drawing nearer, nearer : 

Life is ebbing day by day. 
Let Thy love grow dearer, dearer : 

Make it brighten all the way. 
Grant me grace, O gentle Saviour ! 

For each coming hour of need ; 
Let me feel Thy presence ever, 

Till I see Thy face indeed. 
Fear not, child, tho' foes may rally, 

I'll disarm their threatening power. 
Fear thou not. though death's dark valley 

Shadow e'en the present ! 



125 



Lean on me, my grace sufficient, 

Shall support thee all the way. 
I will comfort, love and guide thee 

Through the night to perfect day. 
Perfect day. 

ELLEN OLIVER. 

Troy, Pa., 1878. 

Set to music, and copyrighted 1878, by S. L. Condd. 



PRAYER. 

1 When watching those we love and prize 

Till all of life and hope be fled ; 
When we have gazed on sightless eyes, 

And gently stay'd the falling head : 
Then what can soothe the stricken heart, 

What solace overcome despair ; 
What earthly breathing can impart 

Such healing balm as lonely prayer ? 

2 When fears and perils thicken fast, 

And many dangers gather round ; 
When human aid is vain and past, 

No mortal refuge to be found ; 
Then can we firmly lean on Heaven, 

And gather strength to meet and bear : 
No matter where the storm has driven, 

A saving anchor lies in prayer. 

3 O God ! how beautiful the thought, 

How merciful the blessed decree, 
That grace can e'er be found when sought, 

And nought shut out the soul from Thee. 
The cell may cramp, the fetters gall, 

The flame may scorch, the rack may tear ; 
But torture-stake or prison wall 

Can be endured with faith and prayer. 

i In deserts wild, in midnight gloom ; 

In grateful joy, in trying pain ; 
In laughing youth or nigh the tomb ; 

Oh ! where is prayer unheard or vain ? 
The Infinite, the King of kings, 

Will never need the when or where ; 
He'll ne'er reject the heart that brings 

The offering of fervent prayer. 

ELIZA COOK. 



THE HOUR OF PRAYER. 



3 Then is my strength by Thee renewed ; 
Then are my sins by Thee forgiven ; 
Then dost Thou cheer my solitude 

With clear and beauteous hopes of heaven. 

4 No words can tell what sweet relief 
There for my every want I find ; 

What strength for warfare, balm for grief," 
What deep and cheerful peace of mind ! 

5 Lord, till I reach the blissful shore, 
No privilege so dear shall be. 

As thus my inmost soul to pour 
In faithful, filial prayer to Thee ! 

CHARLOTTE ELLIOTT, 1854. 



MY PRAYER. 



1 Hold me closer, closer, Jesus, 

Draw me nearer to Thy breast : 
Could I feel Thine arms around me 
All my fears were hushed to rest. 

2 Could I ever hear Thee whisper, 

" Child, I love thee — thou art Mine," 
My poor lips would surely answer, 
" Lord, my heart is wholly Thine." 

3 Could I trust my Heavenly Father 

Like a clinging little child ; 
Resting, " leaning hard " upon Him, 
Tho' the storm blew fierce and wild, 

4 Then my peace were like a river 

When its waves lie fast asleep, 
Not one woe could swell my bosom, 
Not one grief could make me weep. 

5 But I know thou'lt not reject me, 

Tho' my faith be weak and small ; 
Tho' earth's shadows sometimes blind me, 
Thy dear blood shall cover all. 

MARIE BELL. 



1 My God, is any hour so sweet, 
From blush of morn to evening star, 
As that which calls me to Thy feet, 
The calm and holy hour of prayer ? 

2 Blest is the tranquil break of morn, 
And blest the hush of solemn eve, 
When on the wings of prayer upborne, 
This fair, but transient, world I leave. 



A LITTLE TALK WITH JESUS. 

A little talk with Jesus, how it soothes the rugged 

road ! 
How it seems to help me onward when I faint beneath 

my load ! 
When my heart is crushed with sorrow, and my eyes 

with tears are dim, 
There's naught can yield me comfort, like a little talk 

with Him. 



126 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



LET NOT THE SUN GO DOWN UPON 
YOUR WRATH. 

1 "Father, forgive us," is our daily prayer, 

"When the worn spirit feels its helpless dearth ; 
Yet, in our lowly greatness, do we dare 

To seek from Heaven what we refuse on earth. 
Too often will the bosom, sternly proud, 

Bear shafts of vengeance on its graveward path ; 
Deaf to the teaching that has cried aloud, 

" Let not the sun go down upon your wrath." 

2 We ask for mercy from the God above, 

In morning worship and in vesper song ; 
And let us kindly shed the balm of love, 

To heal and soothe a brother's deed of wrong. 
If ye would crush the bitter thorns of strife, 

And strew the bloom of peace around your 
path — 
If ye would drink the sweetest streams of life, 

" Let not the sun go down upon your wrath." 

8 Were this remember'd, many a human lot 

Would find more blessing in our home below ; 
The chequer'd world would lose its darkest blot, 

And mortal record tell much less of woe. 
The sacred counsels of the Wise impart 

No holier words in all that language hath ; 
For light divine is kindled where the heart 

Lets not the sun go down upon its wrath. 

ELIZA COOK. 



FORGIVENESS. 



"Forgive us our sius, for we also forgive every oue that is indebted 
us."— Luke xi. 12. Revised version. 

1 Forgive us, Lord, because we have forgiven, 

Not as we have forgiven, is our prayer ; 
Earth is so lower far than highest heaven, 

Man is not even as the angels are, 
And thou to angels art as sun to star. 

2 Measure thy pity, not in our poor scale, 

But in thine own which weighs eternities ; 
We do our little part, we strive, we fail ; 

Our wine of charity has bitter lees, 
Our best unselfishness seeks self to please. 

3 Our purest gold with base alloy is dim, 

Our fairest fruit hangs tainted on the tree, 
Our sweetest song heard by the seraphim, 

Would all discordant and unlovely be 
Save for the charity they learn from thee. 

4 But thou canst pour forgiveness with a word 

O'er countless worlds, an all-embracing ray 
Beyond our hopes, our best deserving, Lord, 

Forgive us, then, and we in our poor way 
Shall catch Thy higher meaning as we pray. 



"SUSAN 

Sunday School Times. 1883. 



PRAYER OF FORGIVENESS AND 
ACCEPTANCE. 



BE PITIFUL, O GOD. 



1 What'er I've done 

Father, forgive ; 
What'er I've done aright, 
Father, receive. 

2 Forgive my vanity, 

Self-love and pride, 
And my forgetfulness 
Of Him who died. 

3 Accept my love and trust, 

My sighs and tears ; 

Whisper forgiving love, 

Quelling my fears. 

4 Shine on my trembling soul, 

Light of all lights ; 
Scatter, with warmth divine, 
All that affrights. 

5 Oh ! make me truly Thine ; 

Take Sin away ; 
Let the blest dawn appear, 
Of perfect day. 



CAKKIE L. POST. 

Springfield, 111., 1883. 



1 O Son of God, in glory crowned, 

The Judge ordained of quick and dead ! 
O Son of man, so pitying found 
For all the tears thy people shed ! 

2 Be with us in this darkened place, — 

This weary, restless, dangerous night ; 
And teach, Oh ! teach us, by thy grace, 
To struggle onward into light ! 

3 And since, in God's recording book, 

Our sins are written, every one, — 
The crime, the wrath, the wandering look, 
The good we knew, and left undone ; — 

4 Lord, ere the last dread trump be heard, 

And ere before Thy face we stand, 
Look Thou on each accusing word, 
And blot it with Thy bleeding hand. 

MRS. CECIL PRANCES ALEXANDER. 
Bnrn 1823. 



RENUNCIATION OF TEE WORLD. 

SEULEMENT POUR TOI. 



127 



A few of Miss Havergal's hymns, written in the French language, hav- 
ing been kindly sent by her sister, it has been decided to insert a portion 
of them, at least. There are some French Indies in America who may 
enjoy singing them, and there are not a few of our own women who are 



familiar with that language, and may while away a pleasant hour with 
them. The rhythm and movement will be found charmingly smooth and 
graceful. 



I 



Paroles Et Musique Par FRANCES R. HAVERGAL. 



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2 Le peche, Tu l'as porte 

Seul, seul pour moi ; 
Et Ton sang Tu l'as Verse 

Seul, seul pour moi. 
Toute gloire, toute joie 

Sera pour Toi : 
Et l'esperance et la foi 

Seront en Toi, 
Seulernent en Toi. 

3 Aujourd'hui, rnon cher Seigneur, 

Accepte-moi ! 
Toi seul es mon grand Sauveur 

Toi seul mon Roi. 
Tous mes moments, tous mes jours 

Seront pour Toi !. 
Jesus, garde-moi toujours 

Seulernent pour Toi, 
Seulernent pour Toi. 

4 Que je chante, et que je pleure, 

Seulernent pour Toi ! 
Que je vive et que je meure 

Seulernent pour Toi ! 
Jesus, qui m'as tant aime 

Mourant pour moi, 
Toute mon eWnite 

Sera pour Toi, 

Seulernent pour Toi! 



0! 



VENEZ. 



: pour les rebelles. 



1 Venez, car Jesus est la vie ! 

C'est pour vous qu'il voulut mourir ; 
Son Esprit descendra dans votre ame ravie 
Venez a lui ! - . . • Pourquoi perir ? 

2 Venez, car une paix profonde 
De sa croix decoule vers nous ; 

Son sang fut repandu pour le peche du monde . . • 
Cette paix, la possedez-vous ? 

3 Venez, car 1' existence est dure, 
Pleine de labeur et de fiel ; 

Le repos qu'il vous offre est un repos qui dure, 
Dans sa grace, puis dans son ciel. 

4 Venez, car il donne la joie 
Acquise au prix de ses douleurs, 

Pur rayon de soleil que d'en haut il envoie, 
Resplendissant parmi nos pleurs. 

5 Venez, car il est 1' amour meme, 
Un fleuve, un ocean-d' amour ; 

ne le f uyez point ! Comme il m'aime il vous aime 
Approchez-v'ous a votre tour ! 

6 Venez, car il met toute chose 
Dans la main vide de la foi ; 

Sur sa fidelite que chacun se repose .... 
N'a-t-il pas dit : " Venez a moi ! " 

FRANCES It. 



128 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



PER PACEM AD LUCEM. 



1 I do not ask, Lord ! that life may be 

A pleasant road ; 
I do not ask that Thou wouldst take from me 

Aught of its load ; 
I do not ask that flowers should always spring 

Beneath nry feet ; 
I know too well the poison and the sting 

Of things too sweet. 
For one thing only. Lord, dear Lord ! I plead : 

Lead me aright — 
Though strength should falter, and though heart 
should bleed — 

Through Peace to Light. 

2 I do not ask, Lord, that Thou shouldst shed 

Full radiance here : 
Give but a ray of peace, that I may tread 

Without a fear. 
I do not ask my cross to understand, 

My way to see, — 
Better in darkness just to feel Thy hand 

And follow Thee. 
Jpy is like restless day, but peace divine 

Like quiet night. 
Lead me, O Lord, till perfect day shall shine 

Through Peace to Light. 



2 We have heard Thy footsteps near — 

Pass not by ! 
Pause, behold the pleading tear, 
Listen to the longing sigh ; 
Jesus, Saviour, come at last, 
Lest, in blessing, we be passed ; 
When Thy Spirit is so nigh, 

Pass not by ! 

3 Prostrate in Thy path we lie, 

Pass not by ! 
Lest our very faith should die, — 
Lord, we perish, pass not by ! 
To Thy garments we will cling, 
All our need before Thee bring; 
Son of David, hear our cry — 

Pass not by ! 

4 Lord, we cannot let Thee go, 

Pass not by ! 
In our midst Thy presence show, 
Till Thou bless us we will cry ; 
Breathe, Oh ! breathe on us, we pray ! 
Tarry not, Lord, come to-day, 
While we wait, and watch, and cry. 

Pass not by ! 



lit, N. J., 1883. 



LET ME BE WITH THEE. 



JESUS, THOU DIVINE COMPASSION. 

1 Jesus, Thou divine compassion, 

Still dost Thou for others feel ; 
When our hearts are pierced and riven, 
Stdl before Thy feet we kneel. 

2 Thou did'st pity, Thou did'st love us, 

When on earth Thy footsteps trod ; 
Take our hearts, so trieii and tempted, 
Take and bear them on to God. 

3 Be the tie which holds together 

Man and God, below, above ; 
Thou divinely human Master, 

Sweet Compassion ! Perfect Love. 

HARRIET TYNG GRISWOLD, 1883. 



1 Let me be with Thee where Thou art, 

My Saviour, my eternal Rest ; 
Then only will this longing heart 
Be fully and forever blest. 

2 Let me be with Thee where Thou art, 

Thy unveiled glory to behold ; 
Then only will this wandering heart 
Cease to be treacherous, faithless, cold. 

3 Let me be with Thee where Thou art, 

Where spotless saints Thy name adore ; 
Then only will this sinful heart 
Be evil and defiled no more. 

4 Let me be with Thee where Thou art ; 

Where none can die, where none remove ; 
There neither death nor life will part 
Me from Thy presence and Thy love. 

CHARLOTTE ELLIOT. 1837, 



CRY OF THE CHURCH. 



O THOU, THE CONTRITE SINNER'S FRIEND 



Jesus, Saviour ! pass not by — 

Pass not by ! 
Lo ! we join, as one, to cry, 
"Bless us also, pass not by ! " 
Lord, fulfill Thy promise now, 
Pour Thy Spirit while we bow ; 
Turn to us, as one we cry, 

" Pass not by ! " 



1 O Thou, the contrite sinner's Friend, 
Who, loving, lovest them to the end, 
On this alone my hopes depend, — 

That Thou wilt plead for me. 

2 When weary in the Christian race, 
Far off appears mv resting-place, 
And, fainting, I mistrust Thy grace, 

Then, Saviour, plead for me. 



129 



3 When I have erred and gone astray, 
Afar from Thine and wisdom's way, 
And see no glimmering, guiding raj r , 

Still, Saviour, plead for me. 

4 When Satan, by my sins made bold, 
Strives from Thy cross to loose my hold, 
Then with Thy pitying arms enfold, 

And plead, Oh ! plead for me ! 

5 And when my dying hour draws near, 
Darkened with anguish, guilt and fear, 
Then to my fainting sight appear, 

Pleading in heaven for me. 

6 When the full light of heavenly day 
Reveals my sins in dread array, 

Say Thou hast washed them all away ; 
Oh ! say Thou plead'st for me. 



CHARLOTTE ELLIOT, 1837. 



&li}n Cook. 



Eliza Cook was born in Southwark, Eng., in 1817. She obtained poet- 
ical celebrity by contributions which appeared in various periodicals and 
newspapers. Her poetry was afterwards collected in a volume, which 
appeared in 1810 in London. A magazine entitled "Eliza Cook's Jour- 
nal," was established by her in September, 1849, appearing for some years. 
A pension of $500 a year from the Government was conferred upon her 
in recognition of her literary talents. Some of her poetical productions 
have obtained a world-wide renown, and all English and American 
hymnology is enriched by her songs of Submission, Faith and Trust. She 
is still living (1884) in Surrey, England, and although the effects of age 
are noticeable, she yet contributes to various magazines. 



THY KINGDOM COME. 

1 'Tis human lot to meet and bear 

The common ills of human life ; 
There's not a breast but hath its share 

O. l/itter pain and vexing strife. 
The peasant in his lowly shed, 

The noble 'neath a gilded dome, 
Each will at some time bow his head, 

And ask and hope, " Thy kingdom come ! " 

2 Wnen some deep sorrow, surely slow, 

Despoils the cheek and eats the heart, 
Laying our busy projects low, 

And bidding all earth's dreams depart — 
Do we not smile, and calmly turn 

From the wide world's tumultuous hum, 
And feel the immortal essence yearn, 

Rich with the thought, "Thy Kingdom come?' 

3 The waves of care may darkly bound 

And buffet, till, our strength outworn, 
We stagger as they gather round, 

All shattered, weak, and tempest-torn : 
But there's a lighthouse for the soul, 

That beacons to a stormless home ; 
It safely guides through roughest tides — 

It shines, it saves ! " Thy kingdom come ! " 



4 To gaze upon the loved in death, 

To mark the closing, beamless eye, 
To press dear lips and find no breath — 

This, this is life's worst agony 
But God, too merciful, too wise 

To leave the lone one in despair, 
Whispers, while snatching those we prize, 

" My kingdom come ! — ye'll meet them there ! ' 



ELIZA COOK. 



THE BRIDGE OF PRAYER. 

1 The bridge of prayer, from heavenly heights sus- 

pended, 
Unites the earth with spirit-realms in space. 
The interests of these separate worlds are blended 
For those whose feet turn often toward that place. 

2 In troubled nights of sorrow and repining, 

When joy and hope seem sunk in dark despair, 
We still may see, above the shadows shining. 
The gleaming archway of the bridge of prayer. 

3 From that fair height, our souls may lean and listen 

To sounds of music from the farther shore, 
And through the vapors, sometimes dear eyes glisten 
Of loved ones who have hastened on before. 

4 And angels come from their celestial city 

And meet us half-way on the bridge of prayer. 
God sends them forth full of divinest pity, 
To strengthen us for burdens we must bear. 

5 O you whose feet walk in some shadowed by-way 

Far from the scenes of pleasure and delight, 

Still free to you hangs this suspended highway, 

Where heavenly glories dawn upon the sight. 

6 And common paths glow with a grace supernal, 

And happiness walks hand in hand with care, 
And faith becomes a knowledge fixed, eternal, 
For those who often seek the Bridge of Prayer. 



SAVIOUR OF MEN. 

6s and 4s. 

1 Oh ! bring me near to Thee, 
Thou who art dear to me, 
Jesus, appear to me, 

Saviour of men ! 
Oh ! hear my humble cry, 
Thou who art passing by, 
Thou who did'st bleed and die, 

Saviour of men ! 

2 Thou, who the raven hears, 
List to my doubts and fears, 
Dry up my falling tears, 

Saviour of men ! 
On Thee my soul relies, 
Thou who art good and wise,, 
Thou art my sacrifice 

Saviour of men ! 



130 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Take all my sins away, 
Give me Thy love, I pray. 
Lead me to open day, 

Saviour of men ! 
Low at Thy feet I lie, 
Fain would I rise and fly, 
Thine through eternity, 
Saviour of men ! 



$im dip Srburjkr. 



MRS. M. A. KIDDER. 

iiisio by S. Wesley Martin. 



idu'm jjflirans. 



Felicia Hemans was born in Liverpool, England, in 1793, and educated 
in Wales, that region of mountainous scenery. At the age of thirteen, 
her first poems were published. At nineteen, she was married to Capt. 
Hemans, but the union was unhappy, and they separated. She died in 
Dublin, at the house of her brother, in 1835. Her poems are full of 
pathos, tenderness, and beauty, 

THE HOUR OF PRAYER. 

1 Child, amid the flowers at play, 
While the red light fades away ; 
Mother, with thine earnest eye, 
Ever following silently ; 
Father, by the breeze at eve 
Call'd thy harvest work to leave ; 
Pray ! Ere yet the dark hours be, 
Lift the heart, and bend the knee. 

2 Traveler, in the stranger's land, 
Far from thine own household band ; 
Mourner, haunted by the tone 

Of a voice from this world gone ; 
Captive, in whose narrow cell 
Sunshine hath not leave to dwell ; 
Sailor, on the darkening sea ; 
Lift the heart, and bend the knee. 

3 Warrior, that from battle won, 
Breathest now at set of sun ; 
Woman, o'er the lowly slain, 
Weeping on his burial plain ; 
Ye that triumph, ye that sigh, 
Kindred by one holy tie ; 
Heaven's first star alike ye see, 
Lift the heart and bend the knee. 



FELICIA HEMANS. 



SUPPLICATIONS. 



1 Almighty Father ! keep my heart, 
And never, never let me part 

With all the joy Thy love doth give, 
While in this mortal frame I live. 

2 Help me to lift my heart to Thee, 
When doubt or trial vexes me ; 
And, Oh ! my Saviour ! much in need 
Thy pardon for my sins I plead. 

•3 O Holy Spirit ! fill with grace 

This longing heart, — I seek Thy face, 
My Father ! Saviour ! and adore ; 
Be Thou my strength forevermore. 



Ann Eliza Schuyler was born in New York, in 1752. She was married 
to J. J. Bleecker in 1769, and lived in Poughkeepsie, from which place she 
afterwards removed to Tomhanick, and spent several years amidst the 
wild scenes of that romantic spot. In 1777 the approach of Burgoyne's 
army from Canada spread terror and dismay through that section, and 
sadly disturbed the peaceful happiness of her home in the wilderness. 

Her husband hastened to Albany to prepare a refuge for his family, 
and no sooner had he gone, than the news came that the enemy was 
within two miles, burning and killing all before them . She immediately 
started oft on foot, with a daughter clinging to each side, and attended 
only by a young mulatto girl, left her house and everything a prey to the 
savages. Finding shelter when night came on, she was again, at early 
morn, on her way, when she met her husband returning for the family. 
They set sail down the Hudson, after reaching Albany, intending to 
seek safety from the enemy at Redhook. But the poor woman was over- 
taken by a fierce affliction, from the sword and flame of which there 
was no escaping. Her younger daughter was taken ill and died. Mrs. 
Bleecker never rscovered from the blow, which came upon her when her 
nervous system was already quite prostrated by the ordeals through 
which she had just passed. After the capture of Burgoyne, she returned 
to her former home, but never regained her wonted cheerfulness. One 
day in August a party of the enemy seized her husband and two of 
his men while at work iu the harvest field, and carried them off prisoners. 
After an absence of six days, during which his wife endured the most 
sickening anguish of the most frightful suspense and conjecture, he was 
retaken by some Americans and returned home. She visited her native 
city after peace was restored; but the havoc war had made among the 
scenes of her early days weighed heavily upon her spirits, and she soon 
sank under the weight. She returned to her home at Tomhanick, and 
died in Nov. 1783, aged thirty-one. Friends published her poems in 
1793. They have no very marked characteristics, but are sweet and 
generally mournful; yet the events of her life confera degree of interest 
upon her productions. A delicate woman cultivating the elegant arts 
of refined society, while dwelling in regions of savage wildness, among 
scenes of alarm and bloodshed, is a spectacle too striking not to claim 
attention. One hymn is given below, as a specimen of her religious 
poems, and one stanza of the poem entitled: 

RETURN TO TOMHANICK. 

Hail, happy shades ! though clad with heavy snows, 
At sight of you, with joy my bosom glows ; 
Ye arching pines, that bow with every breeze, 
Ye poplars, elms, all hail ! my well-known trees ! 
And now my peaceful mansion strikes my eye, 
And now the tinkling rivulet I spy ; 
My little garden, Flora, hast thou kept, 
And watched my pinks and lilies while I wept. 

REGARD MY ANGUISH. 

(Tune,— "Refuge or Martyn.) 

1 Jesus Christ ! regard my anguish, 

Oh ! commiserate my pain ; 

Bid my soul no longer languish, 

Bid my spirit not complain. 

2 'Tis my comfort Thou'rt omniscient, 

All my griefs are known to Thee, 
Saviour ! Thou art all sufficient, 
To relieve a wretch like me. 

3 Now Thy clemency discover, 

Give my wounded soul repose, 
E'er my transient life is over, 
E'er my sorrowing eyelids close. 

4 By thy passion, I conjure thee , 

By thy painful sweat of blood ; 
Let my sighing come before Thee, 
Seal my pardon, now, with God. 

ANN ELIZA 



131 



HOW SHALL I PRAY? 



THE MERCY-SEAT. 



Father, how can I thus he bold to pray 

That Thou shalt grant me that, or spare me this ? 
How should my ignorance not go astray, 

How should my foolish lips not speak amiss 

And ask for woe when fain they would ask bliss ? 
How shall I dare to prompt Thee, the All-wise, 

To show me kindness ? — Thou art ever kind. 
What is my feeble craving in Thine eyes 
Which view the centuries vast before, behind, 

And sweep unnumbered worlds like viewless wind ? 
Thy goodness ordereth what thing shall be, 

Thy wisdom knoweth even my inmost want ; 
Why should I raise a needless prayer to Thee, 
Or importune Omnipotence to grant 

My wishes, dim, short-sighted, ignoran* ' 
And yet I come, — for Thou hast bidden and said. 

But not to weary Thee, or specify 
A wish, but rather with this prayer instead : 
" O Lord, Thou knowest — give it or deny, 

Fill up the cup of joy, or pass me by." 
Just as Thou wilt is just what I would will ; 

Give me but this, the heart to be content, 
And if my wish is thwarted, to lie still, 
Waiting till puzzle and till pain are spent, 

And the sweet thing made plain which the Lord 
meant. 

"SUSAN COOLIDGE.' 

In Sunday School Times. 
New Ipswich, N. H., 1883. 



SAVIOUR, I COME TO THEE. 

Saviour, I come to Thee, 
A weary child, with pain and care opprest ; 
Oh ! let me lean this aching, burden'd heart 

Upon Thy loving breast ! 

The way is very dark ; 
I cannot see it, Lord, through these my tears ! 
Take Thou my hand and draw me up to Thee 

Through all the lonely years. 

I have no strength, dear Lord ; 
Oh ! let me lie where I can kiss Thy feet, 
And look up from the dust into Thine eyes 

That are so true and sweet ! 

Speak to me soft and low, 
My spirit yearneth for one little word 
To cheer the still, sad silence of my life ; 

One word from Thee, O Lord ! 

O, Saviour, speak to me ; 
And, as the river falls into the sea, 
And sinks to sleep, so this my wearied heart 

Shall find its rest in Thee. 



1 Dear Father, to Thy mercy-seat 

My soul for shelter Hies : 
*Tis here I find a safe retreat 
When storms and tempests rise. 

2 My cheerful hope can never die, 

If Thou, my God, are near ; 
Thy grace can raise my comforts high, 
And banish every fear. 

3 My great Protector, and my Lord ! 

Thy constant aid impart ; 
Oh ! let Thy kind, Thy gracious word , 
Sustain my trembling heart. 

4 Oh ! never let my soul remove 

From this divine retreat ; 
Still let me trust Thy power and love, 
And dwell beneath Thy feet. 



ANNE STEELS. 



PRAYER FOR SUBMISSION. 

Father, Oh ! hear me now ! 

Father divine ! 
Thou, only Thou, canst see 
The heart's deep agony, 
Help me to say to Thee 

" Thy will, not mine ! " 
O Lord ! be Thou my stay 

In this dark hour ; 
Kindly each sorrow hear, 
Hush Thou each trembling fear, 
Thee let me still revere, 

Still own Thy pow'r. 
In Thee alone, I trust, 

Thou Holy One ! 
Humbly to Thee I pray 
That, through each troubled day 
Of life, I still may say, 

" Thy will be done." 



O THOU, BEFORE WHOSE RADI \NT SHRINE. 

1 O Thou, before whose radiant shrine, 

Entranced, adoring seraphs bend ; 
Eternal Source of light divine ! 
Wilt Thou Thy hallowed ear incline, 

And mortal prayer attend ! 
Yes, Father ! yes, benignant Power ! 

Around Thee beams fair mercy's purest ray ; 
No awful terrors 'round Thee lower, 
Save when in judgment's dreaded hour 

Thou bid'st creation tremble and obey. 



132 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



2 Then, rob'd in darkness and in clouds, 
That solemn veil Thy glory shrouds, 

Chaos and night Thy dark pavilion form : 
Thy Spirit on the whirlwind rides, 
Impels the unresisting tides, 

Glares in the lightning, rushes in the storm ; 
But Thou wilt meet the suppliant eye, 
And Thou wilt mark the lowly sigh, 
And Thou the holy tear wilt see, 
Which penitence devotes to Thee ; 

That sigh Thy breezes waft to heaven, 

That holy tear is grateful incense given. 
Low, humble, sad to Thee I bend, 

Oh ! listen from Thy blest abode, 
And though celestial hymns ascend, 
Oh ! deign a mortal's prayer attend, 

My Father and my God. 

3 Teach me, if hope, if joy be mine, 
To bless Thy bounteous hand divine ; 
And still with trembling homage raise 
A grateful paean of exalted praise. 

4 When deep affliction wounds my soul, 
Still let me own Thy mild control ; 
Teach me, submissive and resigned, 
To calm the tempest of the mind ; 
To lift the meek adoring eye, 
Suppress the tear, and hush the sigh ; 
Gaze on one bright unclouded star, 
And hail the " Dayspring " from afar ; 
Bid angel-faith dispel surrounding gloom, 
And soar on cherub wing beyond the tomb. 

MBS. HEMANS. 



ADOPTION. 



1 My God, my Father, blissful name ! 

Oh ! may I call Thee mine ? 
May I with sweet assurance claim 
A portion so divine ? 

2 Whate'er Thy providence denies 

I calmly would resign, 
For Thou art good and just and wise i 
Oh ! bend my will to Thine ! 

3 Whate'er Thy sacred will ordains, 

Oh ! give me strength to bear ! 
And let me know my Father reigns, 
And trust His tender care. 

4 Thy sovereign ways are all unknown 

To my weak, erring sight ; 
Yet let my soul adoring own 
That all Thy ways are right. 



ANNE STEELE. 



SUBMISSION. 

Mark xiv : 36. 

1 My Jesus, as Thou wilt ! 

Oh ! may Thy will be mine ; 
Into Thy hand of love 

I would my all resign ; 
Through sorrow, or through joy, 

Conduct me as Thine own, 
And help me still to say, 

My Lord, Thy will be done ! 

2 My Jesus, as Thou wilt ! 

Though seen through many a tear, 
Let not my star of hope 

Grow dim or disappear : 
Since Thou on earth hast wept, 

And sorrowed oft alone, 
If I must weep with Thee, 

My Lord, Thy will be done ! 

3 My Jesus, as Thou wilt ! 

All shall be well for me ; 
Each changing future scene 

I gladly trust with Thee : 
Straight to my home above 

I travel calmly on, 
And sing, in life or death, 

My Lord, Thy will be done ! 

JANE BOKTHWICK. 

Bom 1825. 
Tr. from the German of Schmolk. 

PRAYER FOR GRACE AND MERCY. 

•' For we have not a high priest which carj not be touched with the 
feeling of our infirmities. " 

1 Lord, we hear the heavenly call, 
At Thy throne we humbly fall, 
Boldly seek Thy promised grace, 
And the favor of Thy face. 

2 For we have not an high priest 
Far from us, as west from east, 
Whom we cannot touch or find; 
Christ is near, and Christ is kind. 

3 If our hearts have opened been, 
He hath passed the portals in, 
Supped with us, and we with Him ; 
He will guide our pathway dim. 

4 Humbly then our hearts we lay 
At Thy feet, and meekly pray 
Grace to help in time of need, 
Mercy for each thought and deed. 



LET ME LEAN ON THEE. 
1 When my way is hedged about me, 
Hedged with thorns of care : 
When the cross I loved so dearly 

Seems too hard to bear ; 
When my heart is bowed in sorrow, 

And no light I see, 
Lord, Thy tender mercy pleading, 
Let me lean on Thee. 



PRAYER FOR SUBMISSION. 



13? 



2 Oh ! for faith to cast behind me 

Every sad complaint ; 
Faith to run and not be weary, 

Walk and never faint ; 
Thou dost know and feel my weakness ; 

Saviour, look on me ; 
Now Thy tender mercy pleading, 

Let me lean on Thee. 

3 Closer let Thine arms enfold me, 

Closer to Thy breast 
Draw my weary, trembling spirit, 

Calm its doubts to rest ; 
Give me strength for every burden 

Thou hast borne for me ; " 
Lord, Thy tender mercy pleading, 

Let me lean on Thee. 

FANNY CROSBY VAN ALSTYNB. 

Copyright, 1877, by Biglow & Maiu, and used by per. 

Irs. Isaton «. gdfai. 



Mrs. Isidore G. Jeffery (nee Gilbert) has written many poems of a 
high order for many of the most prominent papers of the religious press. 
She has for years been a constant contributor to "The Advance," and 
fills a responsible position in the office of that popular and valuable 
religious weekly. 



THY WILL BE DONE. 

1 O Father ! teach me how to pray this prayer 

With my whole wayward soul ; 
Teach me of true submission to Thy care, 
Thy merciful control. 

2 I say it' but back thro' the empty air 

Fall echoes, nothing more ; 
Brain, heart and soul conflict, faith strives with fear ; 
I doubt, and still adore. 

3 This conflict is not prayer, bid it depart ; 

Fold all my life in thine ; 
Teach me to bow the head, to hush the heart ; 
Fulfill Thy will in mine. 

4 Divided nature, strange deflected will, 

God only can control, 
And hush thee into harmony, to fill 
The yearning of thy soul. 

5 Where is the answer that's so long delayed ? 

O God of righteousness ! 
What hidden purpose hath the blessing stay'd ? 
Teach me to trust in this. 

6 I'll give up all ! Thy will be done, how, where ; 

Thou seest best and right ; 
Only reveal Thy shining presence, near ; 
'Twill brighten all the night. 

7 Here lies the open secret of all joy, 

The conquest of all pain ; — 
Christ, the New Testament Shekinah, nigh, 
God manifest to men ! 



$u\m f inbaJis $m\tx. 



Faunie Lindsley Fancher's hymns and sacred poems have brought 
comfort to sad hearts, and have received appreciation and commenda- 
tion from a large circle of friends and acquaintances. The sweet spirit 
of consecration and submission expressed in her hymns, finds an echo 
in many hearts who have shared the same experiences 



SUBMISSION. 

(Tune,— Ware.) 

1 Dear Father, when we ask of Thee, 
An earnest plea, an anxious plea, 
Help us to ask of Thee divine : 

Thy will not mine, 
Not mine but Thine. 

2 Too prone are we to plead this way, 
Give that, O Lord, not this, I pray, 
And that we yearn for, pray for, gain ; 

Gives naught but pain, 
Severest pain. 

3 Thy will may lead through thorny maze, 
May fill with sorrow here our days ; 
Then take our hand, we groping see 

Our way to Thee, 
Draw us to Thee. 

4 Thou, only Thou, each heart can read, 
Can only feel, and give its need; 

Oh ! if through crosses we must live, 
Submission give, 
Submission give. 

FANNY L. FANCHER. '. 



ASPIRATION. 

1 How oft I see it in my dreams ! 

A sunny table-land of calm, 
With broidery of silver streams, 

And gentle breezes sweet with balm. 

2 The storms that fiercely rage below, 

Ne'er cloud its clear horizon-bars ; 
In purer air its blossoms grow, 

And all its nights are lit with stars. 

3 My eager feet would climb at will 

This upward path of toil and care, 
Yet, slipping, bleeding, falling still, 
Almost I yield me to despair. 

5 O Father ! take me by the hand, 

Bid all my weary stumblings cease, 

And guide me to the promised land — 

The Beulah of Thy perfect peace ! 

MARY A. P. STANSBURY. 
Appleton,' Wis., 1883. 



134 



WOMAN IN SACKED SONG. 



TAKE MY HAND. 

1 Take my hand, my Father, 

Hold it fast in Thine, 
I am weak and sinful, 

Thou art all divine ; 
I am so unworthy 

Journeying here below, 
Take my hand, my Father, 

Never let it go. 

2 Take my hand, my Father, 

For the way is dark, 
And the waves of sorrow 

Rock my fragile barque 
Keep me close beside Thee, 

Never let me stray, 
Take my hand, my Father, 

Lead me all the way. 

3 Take my hand, my Father, 

I am poor and blind, 
I am groping, help me 

Heaven and The'e to find ! 
Keep my feet from falling 

To the depths below ; 
Take my hand, my Father, 

Never let it go. 



ETERNITY. 

L. M. 

1 Eternity is just at hand ; 

And shall I waste my ebbing sand, 
And careless view departing day, 
And throw my inch of time away ? 

2 Eternity without a bound, 

To guilty souls a dreadful sound ! 

But Oh ! if Christ and heaven be mine, 

How sweet the accents ! how divine ! • 

3 Be this my chief, my only care, 
My high pursuit, my ardent prayer, 
An interest in the Saviour's blood, 
My pardon sealed, and peace with God. 

4 But should my highest hopes be vain, 
The rising doubt, how sharp the pain ! 
My fears, O gracious God, remove, 
Confirm my title to Thy love. 

5 Search, Lord, Oh ! search my inmost heart, 
And light, and hope, and joy impart ; 
From guilt and error set me free, 

And guide me safe to heaven and Thee. 



DEAR SAVIOUR, HELP US. 

1 Death will soon come. But why should we grieve, 
Earth, with its sorrows and trials, to leave ? 
Ah ! may we rise o'er the bubbles of time, 
Rise to the light of that glory sublime ? 



2 Say, may we triumph o'er sorrow and sin, 
Art and its snares and temptations within ? 
View with these eyes the great Fountain of Light, 
In his bright presence find faith turned to sight ? 
O Saviour, help us ! that when we shall go 

Up from the scenes that surround us below, 
Radiant with joy, we together may stand, 

3 Holy and happy, at God's own right hand. 
Earth is our trial ; Oh ! help us each day, 
Let us not falter not faint by the way, 
Putting our trust in thy power alone. 

4 Up lead us ever, Oh ! make us thine own ; 
Still lead us on, till we meet at Thy throne. 



ANNA HOLYOKE HOWARD. 



law tkglor. 



Jane Taylor was one of thewell-knowu Taylors of Ongar, a family who 
eeem to have had a hereditary taste for literature. Their works are record- 
ed in a volume, entitled " The Family Pen," edited by her grandfather, 
the Rev. Isaac Taylor, Incumbent of St. Mathias, Bethnal Green. She 
was born in London, September 23, 1783. Her father, Isaac Taylor, 
author of " Scenes in Europe," &c., was originally a line engraver, but 
afterwards became a minister of an Independent congregation at Col- 
chester, in Essex. He gave his children a good education and careful 
training uuder his own superintendence. Jane began to scribble verses 
when she was nine years of age. Along with her sister Ann (afterwards 
Mrs. Gilbert), she published "Original Poems," and "Hymns for Infant 
Minds, "which are deservedly popular. She is also the author of "Essays 
in Rhyme," " Display," &c, &c. She died at Ongar. in Essex, April 12, 
1824. Isaac Taylor, author of the "Natural History of Enthusiasm," 
and many otherprose works, is a brother of Jane Taylor. 
(See "Practical Devotions," page 401. 



GUIDANCE THROUGH LIFE. 
I 

1 Thou who didst for Peter's faith 

Kindly condescend to pray ; 

Thou whose loving kindness hath 

Kept me to the present day. 

Kind Conductor, 
Still direct my devious way ! 

2 When a tempting world in view 

Gains upon my yielding heart, 
When its pleasures I pursue, 
Then one look of pity dart, — 

Teach me pleasures, 

Which the world can ne'er impart. 

B When with horrid thoughts profane 

Satan would my soul invade, 

When he calls religion vain, 

Mighty Victor ! be my aid ! 

Send Thy Spirit ; 
Bid me conflict undismayed. 
4 When my unbelieving fear 

Makes me think myself too vile, 
When the legal curse I hear, 
Cheer me with a gospel smile : 

Or, if hiding, 
Hide Thee only for a while. 



PRAYER FOR SUBMISSION. 



135 



II 

1 When I listen to Thy Word 

In Thy temple cold and dead, 
When I cannot see my Lord, 
All faith's little daylight fled, 

Sun of glory, 
Beam again around my head. 

2 When Thy statutes I forsake, 

When Thy graces dimly shine, 
When the covenant I break, 
Jesus, then remember Thine : 

Check my wanderings 
By a look of love divine. 

3 Then if heavenly dews distil, 

And my views are bright and clear, 
While I sit on Zion's hill, 
Temper joy with holy fear ; 

Keep me watchful, 
Safe alone, while Thou art near. 



Ill 

1 When afflictions cloud my sky, 

When the tide of sorrow flows, 
When the rod is lifted high, 
Let me on Thy love repose ; 

Stay Thy rough wind 
When Thy chilling east wind blows. 

2 Kind Forerunner, soothe my fears, 

Light me through the darksome way : 
When the vale of death appears, 
Fainf and cold this mortal clay, 

Break the shadows, 
Usher in eternal day. 

3 Starting from this dying state, 

Upward bid my soul aspire ; 
Open Thou the- crystal gate, 
To Thy praise attune my lyre ; 

Dwell forever, 
Dwell on each immortal wire. 

4 From the sparkling turrets there, 

Oft I'll trace my pilgrim way, 
Often bless Thy guardian care, 
Fire by night and cloud by day ; 

While my triumphs 
At my Leader's feet I lay. 

5 And when mighty trumpets blown 

Shall the judgment dawn proclaim 
From the central burning throne, 
'Mid creation's final flame, 

With the ransomed, 
Judge and Saviour, own my name ! 

ANN TAYLOR GILBERT. 

THE YOUNG BELIEVER'S PRAYER. 

1 O God ! may I look up to Thee ? 
I would address Thee if I may ; 
And this my one request should be, 
Teach me to pray. 



2 Now in my sorrow I would ask, 

What thoughts to think, what words to say 
. Prayer is a new and arduous task ; 
Teach me to pray. 

3 A heartless form will not suffice, 

The self-deemed rich are sent away ; 
The heart must bring the sacrifice — 
Teach me to pray. 

4 To whom shall I, Thy creature, turn ? 

Whom else address ? whom else obey ? 
Teach me the lesson I would learn — 
Teach me to pray. 

5 Now, in my hour of trouble, deign 

To bow my spirit to Thy sway ; 
Now, let me ask Thee not in vain — 
Teach me to pray. 

6 To Thee alone my eyes look up, 

Turn not, O God, Thy face away, 
Prayer is my only door of hope — 
Teach me to pray. 

CHARLOTTE ELLIOT. 



FATHER ALMIGHTY! 



1 Father Almighty ! 

From Thy high seat, Thou watchest and controllest 

The insects that upon Thy footstool creep, 
While with a never-wearied hand, Thou rollest 

Millions of worlds along the boundless deep. 
O Father ! now the clouds hang blackening o'er us, 

And the dark, boiling deeps beneath us yawn ; 
Scatter the tempests, quell the waves before us, 

To the wild, fearful night, send Thou a blessed 
dawn. 

2 Father All Holy ! 

When Thou shalt sit upon Thy throne of glory, 
The steadfast earth, the strong, untiring sea, 
Their verdant isles, their mountains, high and hoary, 
With awe and fear shall from Thy presence flee. 
Then shalt Thou sit, a judge, the guilty dooming 
To adamantine chains and endless fire : 
O Father ! how may we abide Thy coming ? 
Where find a shelter from the pure Jehovah's ire ? 

3 Father All Merciful ! 

Still may the guilty come in peace before Thee, 
Bathing Thy feet with tears of love and woe ; 
And while for pardon only we implore Thee, 
Blessings divine, unnumbered, o'er us flow. 
Father, her heart from all her idols tearing, 
Thine erring child again would turn to Thee ; 
To Thee she bends, trembling, yet not despairing, 
From fear, remorse, and sin, O Father ! set her free ! 

MARTHA DAY. 

Born 1813. Died 1833. 



136 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



OH ! TO BE READY. 



Words by MRS. I M. HARTSOTTGH. 



Arr. and Harmonized by MISS ALICE HARTSOTTGH. 
Melody by L, HARTSOUGH. 



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r> — fc - ^ — r* — r* — i* 


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1. "Oh! to be read - y, read-y," Eead - y to work or to rest, Just as the Mas 


- ter wish - es, 


f*H*^-^ C r C 


1 i ' "i 


=*=£=»— *— P— S- 


3 — r i r : i - u - r 


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1 •-! 1-: 


C^-8_g — s_k — u — Uj 


> 1 


V — £— k— U — k ^ 


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2 Oh ! to be ready, ready, 

Ready God's word to obey; 
Shunning the path of danger, 

Seeking the one narrow way. 
Oh ! to be ready, ready, 

Ready to suffer His will, 
"Whom the Lord loves He chastens, 
Chastens for good, not for ill. 
3. Oh ! to be ready, ready, 
Ready to go at His call, 
Over the cold, dark river, 
Flowing; so near to us all. 



Oh ! to be ready, ready, 

Ready my dear ones to meet, 
Shouting the Saviour's praises, 

Casting their crowns at His feet. 
Oh ! to be. ready, ready, 

Ready to join in the song, 
Filling the courts of glory, 

Sung by a numberless throng. 
Oh ! to be ready, ready, 

Ready with Jesus to dwell ; 
Saved evermore in heaven, 

Saved evermore from hell. 



Copyright, 1878, by L. HARTSOUGH. 



PRAYER FOR GUIDANCE. 



137 



Jtoita liana Sputorag. 



Mrs. Anna Maria Spaulding was born near Philadelphia, Penn., Nov. 
1836, and died in Vineland, New Jersey, in 1835. Hers was one of the most 
tender and purest spirits of earth. For a considerable time she attended 
school at aLadies' Seminary in St. Louis, Mo., and was quite noted for 
her literary ability, especially in verse. During the late war she wrote 
many patriotic pieces, which were published, with other original poems 
ou various subjects, in 1865, and from which the following hymn is taken 
with others in this volume, through the courtesy of her relative, Mrs. 
Dr. Miner of Winchester, IU. 



PRAYER. 
DURING PERIL AND AFFLICTION. 

1 Father in heaven, pity Thy child, 
Look in compassion, tender and mild. 

2 My bark is driven far out at sea — 
There is no beacon shining for me. 

3 If it is shining, I see no light — 
Angry waves heaving shut out the sight. 

4 Is there no haven where I may lie 
Till the fierce tempest passes me by ? 

5 O Saviour, forgive ! hear me, I pray, 
Pardon ! Oh ! pardon, turn not away. 

6 Come in the tempest, come to me now ; 
Give for* my beacon, light on my brow : 

7 Make my bark steady, calm down the sea 
Tell me Thou lovest me, even me. 

S Give me true courage, give me pure joy, 
That earthly sorrow cannot destroy. 

9 Give the assurance that Thou wilt save— 
Let me not perish under death's wave. 



A LITTLE WHILE. 

1 Oh ! for the peace which floweth like a river, 

Making life's desert places bloom and smile ! 
Oh ! for the faith to grasp heaven's bright "forever," 
Amid the shadows of earth's " little while ! " 

2 A little while for patient vigil-keeping, 

To face the storm, to battle with the strong ; 
A little while to sow the seed with weeping, 

Then bind the sheaves and sing the harvest song ! 

3 A little while to keep the oil from failing, 

A little while faith's flickering lamp to trim ; 
And then, the Bridegroom's coming footsteps hailing, 
To haste to meet Him with the bridal hymn ! 

4 And He who is Himself the gift and giver, — 

The future glory and the present smile, — 
With the bright promise of the glad " forever " 
Will light the shadows of the " little while ! " 

MRS. JAI.E F. CKEWDSON. 



HOLD THOU MY HAND. 

Hold Thou my hand ! 
As o'er life's changing, troubled sea I float, 
And storm-gusts fierce oft threat to wreck my boat, 
Or when the billows roar and swell most high, 
When nought I see but dark and frowning sky, 

Lord, near me stand. 

Call Thou to me ! 
Whene'er with fancied strength I strive to guide, 
Without Thy help, my bark across the tide, 
Oh ! let not then Thy anger on me fall, 
But deign the foolish wand'rer to recall 

Back unto Thee. 

Hold Thou my hand ! 
And give me strength to battle boldly on, 
Ne'er shrinking though the tide be swift and strong : 
And, when by yon bright shore my anchor 's cast, 
Oh ! then with joyous soul may I at last 

Before Thee stand. 



AKERSTROM. 



ETERNITY. 
1 O Thou essential Word, 

Who wast from everlasting 
With Gocl, for Thou wast God;' 

On Thee our burden casting, 
O Saviour of our race, 

Welcome indeed Thou art, 
Redeemer, Fount of Grace, 

To this my longing heart. 
3 Come, self-existent Word, 

And speak Thou in my spirit ; 
The soul where Thou art heard, 

Doth endless peace inherit. s 
Thou light that lightenest all, 

Abide through faith in me, 
Nor let me from Thee fall. 

Nor seek a guide but Thee. 

CATHERINE WINKWORTH, TR. 

PRAYER FOR CLEANSING. 

1 Lord, when Thou with earth-born feet 

Didst tread the shores of Galilee, 
In mercy and compassion sweet 

Thou bad'st the leper cleansed be, 
That hopeless cried, the gate outside, 
" Unclean, unclean ! " 

2 O Christ divine, we come to Thee : 

Thy light and glory hast revealed 
Our souls, dark spots of leprosy, 

And sin-wrought scars we thought concealed ; 
We, too, draw nigh, and helpless cry, 
" Unclean, unclean ! " 

3 Oh ! cleanse our hearts ! Oh ! make us whole ! 

Lost peace and purity restore ; 
That outside heaven's gate, our souls 

May not be barred forevermore ; 

And, sealed our fate, we cry too late, 

" Unclean, unclean ! " 

MRS. W. B. AUSTIN, 

Woodstock, 111. 



138 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



GJarlott* illiott 



side yon either in your happiest or your most sorrowful moments. She 
has the faculty of touching the most commonplace things with the glow 
of feeling and conviction: she is always richly experimental, audrecom- 
mends her teaching by her character.—" Eng. Review." 



" Just as I am " has embalmed a memory. Charlotte Elliott wrote 
much besides this favorite hymn. Some of her utterances are wonder- 
fully fresh in feeling and finished in form; but none havemore completely 
won the heart of the Christian church. In spite of physical weakness 
and much suffering, her writings are full of gentleness, patience, and 
quiet, rejoicing spiritual strength. Her mother's name is yet fragrant 
as that of one of the leaders in the great religious awakening of last cen- 
tury. She was thus connected on both sides with families who had long 
been identified with the progress of evangelical religion in the land. It 
is said she was naturally very self-willed, and even after Christian influ- 
ences were strongly at work in her, she had to make vigorous effort to 
subdue it. She was vivacious in spirit, and early in life wrote many hu- 
morous poems, which were received with great cdat. But it was char- 
acteristic of her that her conversations with, and letters to her 
unconverted friends, were framed with a tendei and winning solicitude 
for their temporal and eternal welfare. She edited, for twenty-five 
years, the "Christian Remembrance Pocket-Book," which was enriched 
by many of her own productions. She also revised a hymn-book for 
invalids, which had been edited by a Miss Kiernan, and to which she 
added upwards of one hundred of her own and Rev. Hugh White's 
hynms. In this book, "Just as I am" was first published in 1833, and in 
a short time, so great was the sale, it reached the eighteenth thousand. 

In connection with this, the following anecdote may be told, as related 
by her sister: "A young lady friend was so impressed with it, that she 
had it printed as a leaflet and widely circulated, without any idea by 
whom it had been composed. It happened rather curiously that while 
we were living at Torquay, our valued Christian physician came to see us 
one morning, having in his hand this .leaflet. He offered it to my sister, 
saying, 'I am sure this will please you;' and great indeed was his aston- 
ishment at finding that it was written by herself, though by what means 
it had been thus printed and circulated she was utterly ignorant. 
Shortly after we became acquainted with thelady who had printed it." 
Miss Elliott also published "Hours of Sorrow Cheered and Comforted." 
When, finally, her great age and poor health rendered it impossible for 
her longer to attend divine service in the church she so dearly loved, she 
said to her sister: "My Bible is my Church, It is always open, and 
there is my High Priest ever waiting to receive me. There I have 
my confessional, my thanksgiving, my psalm of praise, a field of 
promises, and a congregation of whom the world isnot worthy — proph- 
ets and apostles, and martyrs and confessors — in short, all I can 
want, there I find." At the commencement of her eighty-first year she 
wrote: 

"I feel that so great an age as mine requires three things— great faith, 
great patience and peace. Come what may during the year upon which 
we have entered, I firmly believe that goodness and mercy, like two 
guardian angels, will follow us during every day, in every hour, in every 
varying circumstance through which we may have to pass." 

Her sister writes that— 

"The last manifestation of consciousness was on the morning of her 
death when, on her sister repeating to her their text for the day. "Thine 
eyes shall see the King in His beauty, they shall behold the land that is 
very far off," she clasped her hands together ; andas she raised her eyes 
to heaven, a beam came over her countenance, which showed that she 
fully entered into the precious words, and was realizing the glorious vi- 
sionshe was so soon to behold. On the evening of that day, September 
22d, 1871, at ten o'clock, without any apparent suffering, or the slightest 
struggle, she fell asleep in Jesus, so peacefully that it was difficult to fix 
the moment when the gentle breathing ceased." 

These facts and incidents will have sufficiently shown tliat Charlotte 
El"ott exhibited, in a high degree, the virtues of self-denial, patience, 
faith, love and zeal for good works. An invalid, almost always in pain, 
she was, notwithstanding, never idle. If in the last resort she had to 
realize, with Milton.that "they also serve who only stand aud wait," 
she even then contrived to make her work the sweeter for her song ; and 
she never ceased to shed abroad a fragrance of joy, such as would attract 
the young to religion as few things will. Why should religion be gloomy? 
The Christian, of all persons, should be cheerful — the dispenser of 
solemn joy. Charlotte Elliott must be held forth in this .Treat lightfor 
a moment, else no justice were done to her. Far from narrow, preju- 
diced, or irritable, she is exactly the woman you would wish to have be- 



JUST AS I AM. 

1 Just as I am, without one plea, 

But that Thy blood was shed for me, 
Aud that Thou bidst me come to Thee, 
Lamb of God, I come. 

2 Just as I am, and waiting not 
To rid my soul of one dark blot, 

To Thee, whose blood can cleause each spot, 
Lamb of God, I come. 

3 Just as I am, though tossed about 
With many a conflict, many a doubt ; 
Fightings within, and fears without, 

Lamb of God, I come. 

4 Just as I am — poor, wretched, blind ; 
Sight, riches, healing of the mind, 
Yea, all I need in Thee I find, 

O Lamb of God, I come. 

5 Just as I am Thou wilt receive, 

Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve ; 
Because Thy promise I believe, 
Lamb of God, I come. 

6 Just as I am — Thy love unknown, 
Has broken every barrier down ; 
Now to be Thine, yea, Thine alone, 

O Lamb of God, I come. 

CHARLOTTE ELLIOT. 



A PRAYER. 

God of heaven ! God of earth ! 

Who wast, who art, and e'er shall be — 
Who spake creation into birth, 

Oh ! wilt Thou lend an ear to me ? 
Weary of sin, in vain I try 

To wash my soul from every stain : 
Vainly I bid the tempter fly — 

He flies but to return again. 
My God. I humbly come to Thee, 

To shield me in temptation's hour ; 
From trust in self, Oh ! keep me free, 

And free from trust in human power. 
No earthly gift of Thee I crave, 

Nor health, nor ease, nor length of days: 
But Thou, who hast the power to save, 

Oh ! save my soul from error's ways ! 
Give me to drink the living stream, 

And then my soul shall thirst no more ; 
Purge me from sin, Oh ! make me clean, 

That Thee alone I mav adore. 



139 



WAITING. 



1 Until the day dawn," II Peter, i : 1 



1 I heard, far up some heavenly height, 
A prophet angel sing, and though 
No word in all his songs I know, 

I know that somewhere all is light. 

2 Doubt, like a shadowy shape of wrong, 
Pursues — appalls me ; but I hold 

A little leading thread of gold ; 
Therefore, O doubting heart, be strong. 

3 " Through sunless seas, through cloud and chill, 
The Lord fron Egypt calls His son, 

And love in darkness knows its own, 
Therefore, O doubting heart, be still." 

4 O helpless human heart of mine ! 
Unwearied from thy mother earth, 
Wait thou in quietness the birth, 
The glad release of the Divine ! 



MARY 

From "Out of Darkness into Light," 
D. Lothrop & Co., Boston, 



Ito. itmm faqpt lare 



Is the author of a choice volume of poems entitled, " Legends, Lyrics 
and Sonnets." She was born in Orono, Maine, in 1836. During her 
early childhood, her father, Dr. Laughton, moved to Foxcrnf t, and later, 
during her fourteenth year, to Bangor, where she entered the High 
School. 

In 1854, a schoolmate, who, like herself, contributed poems (,o the "Wa- 
terville Mail," mentioned having seen a touching story of a very aged 
man in the almshouse who, on being asked by a visitor what he was 
doing, replied, "Only waiting." "His words," added she. "would be a 
good theme for a poem." After her friend had gone, Miss Laughton 
wrote the long since celebrated poem, "Only Waiting," and sent it soon 
after to the "Waterville Mail" for publication, in which paper it ap- 
peared Sept. 7, 1854, with the signature "Inez." The poem was exten- 
sively copied into papers and magazines, and has been incorporated into 
several of the best Hymnals of this country and England. The entire 
hymn as originally written is given below, and as it is furnished in man- 
uscript by the author, it may be relied upon as genuine. It remained 
anonymous until about 1876, when there being a question as to the true 
author, the matter was thoroughly investigated by Dr. James Martiueau 
and others, which resulted in placing the name of Frances Laughton 
Mace beneath it as its true author. 

In 1856 she was married to Benjamin H. Mace, a member in high 
standing of the Penobscot bar. Of eight children, four died in early 
childhood. A beautiful and tender tribute to their memory has gone 
forth from the mother-heart, entitled "Wait, Children, Wait," which, 
with a few of the many gems from the heart and pen of this gifted 
poet, will be found in other departments of Woman in Sacked Song. 
Her home is now in San Jose, Cal., whither she and her family have 
removed in pursuit of health. (March 4, 1386.) 

There was no intention on the part of the editor of Woman in 
Sacked Sonu to do Mrs. Mace any injustice in the first edition of this 
work. Having just examined carefully both sides of the case, we feel 
compelled to believe that two different persons wrote on the same sub- 
ject at about the same date, the poem in both cases having been called 



forth by the same incident referred to. Similar cases are on record. 
The two poems are not identical in expression, though necessarily sim- 
ilar, being founded on the same facts. Both women stand high in Chris- 
tian character and as poets. It is true that injustice has been done 
Mrs. Mace, bypreviously appending Mrs. White's name to her poem; but 
this was no fault of Mrs. White, nor of the persons so doing. For find- 
ing it, as we do, in many papers with no signature attached, and hear- 
ing from high authority that Mrs. W. is the author of a poem with such 
a title, her name has frequently been placed beneath the poem which 
really belongs to Mrs. Mace, and which has become so justly and uni- 
versally popular. 

ONLY WAITING. 

1 Only waiting till the shadows 

Are a little longer grown ; 
Only waiting till the glimmer 

Of the day's last beam is flown ; 
Till the night of earth is faded 

From this heart once full of day, 
Till the dawn of Heaven is breaking 

Through the twilight soft and gray. 

2 Only waiting till the reapers 

Have the last sheaf gathered home, 
For the summer time hath faded 

And the autumn winds are come. 
Quickly, reapers, gather quickly 

The last ripe hours of my heart, 
For the bloom of life is withered, 

And I hasten to depart. 

3 Only waiting till the angels 

Open wide the mystic gate, 
At whose feet I long have lingered, 

Weary, poor and desolate. 
Even now I hear their footsteps 

And their voices far away, — 
If they call me I am waiting, 

Only waiting to obey. 

4 Only waiting till the shadows 

Are a little longer grown ; 
Only waiting till the glimmer 

Of the day's last beam is flown ; 
Then from out the folded darkness 

Holy, deathless stars shall rise, 
By whose light my soul will gladly 

Wing her passage to the skies. 

FRANCES L. MACE, 

In the "Waterville Man." 

Sept. 7, 1854. 



ADORATION. 

Ye angels ! who stand round the throne, 

And view my Immanuel's face, — 
In rapturous songs make Him known, 

Oh ! tune your soft harps to His praise ' 
He formed you the spirits you are, 

So happy, so noble, so good ; 
When others sank down in despair, 

Confirmed by His power, ye stood. 



140 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



2 Ye saints ! who stand nearer than they, 

And cast your bright crowns at His feet, 
His grace and His glory display, 

And all His rich mercy repeat ; 
He snatched you from hell and the grave, 

He ransomed from death and despair : 
For you He was mighty to save, 

Almighty to bring you safe there. 

3 Oh ! when will the period appear 

When I shall unite in your song ? 
I'm weary of lingering here, 

And I to your Saviour belong ! 
I want — Oh ! I want to be there, 

To sorrow and sin bid adieu — 
Your joy and your friendship to share — 

To wonder and worship with you ! 

MARIE DE FLEURY, 1791. 



WAITING. 

8s and 7s, with Chorus. 

1 I am waiting for the Master, 

Who will rise and bid me come 
To the glory of His presence, 

To the gladness of His home. 
Cho. — They are watching at the portal, 

They are waiting at the door, 
Waiting only for my coming — 

All the loved ones gone before. 

2 Many friends that traveled with me 

Reached that portal long ago ; 

One by one they left me battling 

With the dark and crafty foe. 

3 Oh ! how soon shall I be with them, 

And shall join their glorious throng, 
There to mingle in their worship, 
And to swell their mighty song ! 

4 Yet, Lord, I wait Thy pleasure, 

For Thy time and ways are best : 
Hear me, Lord, for I am weary, — 
O, my Father, bid me rest. 

CATHERINE M. REASONER. 



WAITING, AND TO BE SATISFIED. 

1 I know that heav'n lies just beyond 

This earthly state ; 
That Christ himself holds death's cold wand ; 

So I can wait. 
I know the dark mysterious ways 

My feet may tread, 
Will all be plain when heav'nly rays 

Are on them shed. 

2 I know the heart-aches of this life 

Will all be heal'd, 
When the blest peace that ends earth's strife 

Shall be reveal'd. 
I know that 'mid the world's turmoil 

God giveth rest ; 
His arm is round me in its toil ; 

And I am blest. 

3 I know that when my time shall come 

To dwell above, 
Jesus His child will welcome home 

With tenderest love. 
His angel guards will open wide 

Heav'n 's pearly gate : 
And I shall then be satisfied : 

So I can wait ! 

JULIA C. THOMPSON. 

From "Royal Gems." Brainard's Sous. 



PILGRIMAGE. 

1 I 'm a pilgrim, and I 'm a stranger ; 
I can tarry, I can tarry but a night ! 
Do not detain me, for I am going 

To where the fountains are ever flowing: 
I'm a pilgrim, etc. 

2 There the glory is ever shining ! 

Oh ! my longing heart, my longing heart is there ! 
Here in this country so dark and dreary, 
I long have wandered forlorn and weary : 
I'm a pilgrim, etc. 

3 In that city to which I journey, 

My Redeemer, my Redeemer, is its light ! 
There is no sorrow, nor any sighing, 
Nor any tears there, nor any dying ! 
I'm a pilgrim, etc. 

MRS. M. S. B. DANA. 



WAITING. 

Ah ! heaven must be most sweet 

If there we can forget 
The earth-paths where our feet 

So oft on thorns were set, 
The shaded hopes of life — 
The bitterness, the strife, 
The weary waiting, and the ceaseless pain : 
Oh ! that at last my soul its rest may gain ! 



AT THE DOOR OF . MY TENT. 

"A day's march nearer home." 

1 At the door of my tent I am sitting 

As another day's journey is o'er, 
And I think I can just see the glimmer 
Of the light on the evergreen shore. 

2 I can hear in the distance the echoes 

That come from the land of the blest ; 
And I long for the message of welcome, 
Now to enter that valley of rest. 



3 I have wandered in wilderness places, 

Often clouds have my skies overcast ; 
But I know when my journey is ended 
I shall stand in the sunlight at last. 

4 Perhaps but a league or two onward, 

And the mists will be lifted between : 
And I'll find that I stand in the shadow 
Of the trees with their banners of green. 

5 Yet, perchance, ere I rest in that shadow, 

There stretches a long, dreary way ; 
And my heart will be weary of waiting 
As I wander from day unto day. 

6 But if, at the close of life's evening, 

I may feel the soft touch of the breeze, 
I will wait till my journey is over, 
For the sight of the evergreen trees. 

MRS. F. A. F. WOOD WHITE. 

August i, 1875. 

ALWAYS READY. 

1 Ready, Saviour, I would be 
When the summons comes for me, 
Calling me from earth's bright scenes, 
All its hopes and pleasant dreams ; 
Ready, clothed in heavenly dress, 
Thine unsullied righteousness ; 
Joyful feet, already shod 

With the holy peace of God. 

2 Ready, Saviour, I would be, 
Wholly reconciled to Thee — 
Troubled not by doubt or fear 
Though the call be unaware ; 
Trusting, hoping, undismayed, 
Lest the darkness make afraid, 
Thou hast promised, dearest Friend, 
To be with me to the end. 

3 Ready, though my heart still clings 
Closely to these earthly things ; 

To the world Thou'st formed so fair\ 
To the friends Thou'st made so dear, 
Though my plans are unfulfilled, 
Work unfinished I have willed, 
All I'd leave with Thee, and so 
Take Thy hand and smiling go. 

MARTHA PEARSON SMITH. 

Le Sueur, Minn., 1883. 

I WISHED MYSELF AMONG THEM. 

1 I wished myself among them ! In the dashing and the 

roar 
I struggled till I fainted for the green and quiet 

shore ; 
The waves forever tossing, and the wind a maddened 

shout ; 
The haunting voice within me, and the phantom eyes 

without ! 



2 O God, to be among them ! where the sea has passed 

away, 
The sorrow and the crying, the wrestling and affray ! 
Where the glory hath no shadow, and the music 

brings no pain, 
And the lost ones of our bosom return to us again ' 

3 Where the radiant eyes around us are brimming all 

with love ! 

And the beating heart keeps measure to the breath- 
ing of the Dove ! 

Where every tongue is singing, and our Saviour is 
the song ! 

O God, to be among them ! the pilgrim way is long ! 

UNA LOCKE 



NOT NOW, MY CHILD. 

"Oh! that I had wings like a dove, for then would I fly away, and 
he at rest."— Psalm iv: 6. 

1 Not now, my child, — a little more rough tossing, 

A little longer on the billows' foam ; 
A few more- journeyings in the desert darkness, 
And then, the sunshine of thy Father's Home ! 

2 Not now ; for I have wanderers in the distance, 

And thou must call them in with patient love ; 
Not now, for I have sheep upon the mountains, 
And thou must follow them where'er they rove. 

3 Not now ; for I have loved ones sad and weary ; 

Wilt thou not cheer them with a kindly smile ? 
Sick ones, who need thee in their lonely sorrow ; 
Wilt thou not tend them yet a little while ? 

4 Not now ; for wounded hearts are sorely bleeding, 

And thou must teach those widowed hearts to sing : 
Not now ; for orphans' tears are quickly falling. 
They must be gathered 'neath some sheltering 
wing. 

5 Go, with the name of Jesus, to the dying, 

And speak that Name in all its living power ; 
Why should thy fainting heart grow chill and weary? 
Canst thou not watch with Me one little hour 'i 

6 One little hour ! and then the glorious crowning, 

The glorious harp-strings, and the victor's j>alm ; 
One little hour ! and then the hallelujah ! 
Eternity's long, deep, thanksgiving psalm ! 

MRS. CATHERINE PENNE FEATHER, 1863. 

Set to music hy Ira D. Sankey. 



LET ME GO. 

1 Let me go, for day is dawning, 
Over yonder it is light ; 
Let me go while faith is shining, 

And the way looks clear and bright. 
Let me go, before the morning 
Fades into a starless night — 
Let me go, 



142 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



2 Let me go where no more sighing, 

No more sorrow shall be known ; 
Let me go where pain and dying 

Nevermore shall cause a moan; 
Let me go where all are praising 

God around the great white throne. 
Let me go. 

3 Let me go, for loved ones waiting, 

Beckon to the other shore; 
Let me go, for they are watching, 

Watching there at heaven's door; 
Let me go and hear their greeting, 

Let me clasp their hands once more. 
Let me go. 

4 Let me go while day is breaking, 

For the night has been so drear ; 
Let me go where Christ is dwelling, 

For I'm lonely, lonely here. 
Let me go, Oh ! let my waking 

Be above in that blest sphere. 
Let me go. 



LONGINGS. 

1 weary World ! O weary World ! 

O World of sin, of woe, of death ! 
When shall my spirit-wings, unfurled, 

Soar to the height, the length, the breadth 
Of that estate unknown to sin, 

Where nothing enters that denies, 
Where those who bear the cross shall win 

The crown all radiant with God's smiles ? 

2 O weary Heart ! O weary Heart ! 

O Heart of weakness, error, grief ! 
When wilt thou rise from what thou art 

To what God meant should give relief 
To all these sufferings, all this strife 

With inward and with outward foes ; 
When shall the battle of this life, 

O weary Heart ! in victory close ? 

3 weary Frame ! O weary frame ! 

O Frame bent earthward by this load ! 
When wilt thou lean on Him who came 

To help thee bear it on Life's road ? 
He knows this frame, that 'tis but dust — 

He pities oft when others blame ; 
Thyself, thy burden to Him trust, 

weary Frame ! O weary Frame ! 

4 O Christian Faith ! O Christian Faith ! 

O Faith with eye that can discern 
All that the Word of Promise saith ! 

When shall I all that wisdom learn ? 
How to o'ercome the foe without, 

How to put down the foe within, 
How to uproot the fear, the doubt, 

And heaven on earth at once beoin ? 



5 O Heaven beyond ! O Heaven beyond ! 

Heaven that liberates the soul ! 
When shall I with Thy Blest be found ? 

When shall Death's river darkly roll 
Behind me, while with footstep dry 

1 follow where the angel leads, 
As one who, satisfied on high, 

Sin, sorrow, Death, no longer dreads ? 



KINNEY. 

la New York Observer, 
New York, Oct., 1867. 



OH:I FOR THE ROBES OF WHITENESS. 



1 Oh ! for the robes of whiteness ; 

Oh ! for the tearless eyes ; 
Oh ! for the glorious brightness 

Of the unclouded skies. 
Oh ! for the " no more weeping " 

Within the land of love — 
The endless joy of keeping 

The bridal feast above. 

2 Oh ! for the bliss of rising, 

My risen Lord to meet ; 
Oh ! for the rest of lying 

For ever at His feet. 
Oh !' for the hour of seeing 

My Saviour face to face — 
The hope of ever being 

In that sweet meeting-place. 

3 Jesus ! thou King of glory, 

I soon shall dwell with Thee ; 
I soon shall sing the story 

Of Thy great love to me. 
Meanwhile, my soul would enter 

Ev'n now before Thy throne, 
That all my love might centre 

On Thee, and Thee alone. 

MRS. BANCROFT. 1861. 

WAITING FOR THE MORNING. 



When, Oh ! when will come the morning, 

And, with fingers tipped with bloom, 
Fold back from the arch of heaven 

All this drapery of gloom ? 
Oh ! my eyes are weary watching 

Through the darkening hours of night, 
Peering eastward, watching, waiting 

For the coming of the light. 
Morning ! morning ! vailed with glory, 

Wet with cooling clews and sweet, 
Hasten o'er the hills of amber 

With thine ever-joyful feet ! 
Come, Oh ! come, and, with thy fingers 

Dipped in slumber's healing balm, 
Bathe my eyes, and hush my spirit 

Into rest so sweet and calm. 






143 



3 But my soul is far too weary 

For a rest as sweet as this : 
She would feel the glow of morning, 

Feel the sunshine's thrilling kiss ; 
Joy would rest and light would gladden ; 

Peace, not Lethe, give me now ; . 
Give to me the light of morning 

In my heart and on my brow. 

4 Watching, waiting for the morning ! 

Shall I wait and watch in vain ? 
Shall the darkness from my spirit 

Be uplifted ne'er again ? 
When shall ope the gates of heaven, 

Oh! my panting soul, to thee? 
When shall bathe thine eyes from darkness 

In the morning's brimming sea ? 

MRS. S. M, I. HENRY. 

< In "Victoria," 1863. 

By permission Messrs. Walden & Stowe, 



•HOME OF THE SOUL. 

12s and 8s. 

1 I will sing you a song of that beautiful land, 

The far-away home of the soul, 
Where no storms ever beat on the glittering strand, 
While the years of eternity roll. 

2 Oh ! that home of the soul, in my visions and dreams, 

Its bright, jasper walls I can see, 
Till I fancy but thinly the vail intervenes 
Between the fair city and me. 

3 There the great Tree of Life in its beauty doth grow, 

And the River of Life floweth by ; 
For no death ever enters that city, you know, 
And nothing that maketh a lie. 

4 Oh ! how sweet it will be in that beautiful land, 

So free from all sorrow and pain, 
With songs on our lips, and with harps in our hands ; 
To meet one another again ! 



THEY CALL ME. 



"I am now ready ( 
CARRIE LATHROP POST. 1884. 



s offered and the time of my departure is at hand."— St. P 

EVA MTJNSON SMITH., Springfield, 111., 1884. 

4=£ 




1. Thev call me, they 

2. Ah! 'tis lit - tie I 

3. I trust when I've 



call me, I would fain break a - way, 
care' For these vain things be - low, 
ended Life's short, fe - ver'd dream, 






£=F=5=P=P=5=F 



-M—^- 



:*z==s: 




brace them, Clad in saint-like ar 
die, If I on - ly can 

port O'er the mys - ti - cal 



ray; I would go, I would go, Bind me not down 
go; No, I choose not the way In which death shall 

stream ; In His arms' en - fold, He will bear me 




earth, O yes, I would 

pear, On earth or on 

bove To my own saint - ed 



hasten, Where -the 
ocean, If my 

ones In the 



soul 

Sav 

home 



its birth, 

is near. 

his love. 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

JERUSALEM THE GOLDEN. 



mm 



mi 



Music by MARY FRANCES ENGLISH. Composed for this volume. 




JeeeeIe 



» r * 



=»=*= 



#^r 



m 



P§ 



i:=at 



1. Je 

2. Je 

3. Je' 



sa - lem the gold - en! I Ian - guish for one gleam 
sa - lem the gold - en! When sun -set's in the West 
sa - lem the gold - en! I toil on, day by day; 



Of all thy beau - ty 
It seems the gate of 
Heart -sore each night with 



PE 



mi 



m^ 



-3~ 



:p= 



tr 




fold 
glo 
long 



In 

Thou 
I 



dis - tance and in 

ci - ty of the 

stretch my hands and 



dream ; 
blest ! 
pray 



My thoughts, like 

Je - rn - sa - lem 

That midst thy leaves 



the gold 
of heal - 



ile. Climb 
en ! There 
ing My 




up to look and pray For a glimpse of that dear eoun - try That lies so far a - way. 
all our birds that flew, Our flowers but half un - fold - en, Our pearls that turned to dew. 
soul may find her nest Where the wick - ed cease from troubling The wea - ry are at rest. 



145 



WE SEEK A CITY. 

We seek a city, where each quiet dwelling 

.Stands fast upon the everlasting hills ; 
Where in the song of praises loudly swelling, 

Comes not a discord of our earthly ills. 
We know that in that city life abideth ; 

Nor tears, nor death, can ever enter there ; 
And One with nail-pierced hands our way still 
guideth, 

Until we come unto the city fair. 
We seek a city — pilgrim feet grow weary, 

But we press on ; beyond still lies our home, 
Though days are dark, and ways are often dreary, 

We seek, we seek a city yet to come ! 

LUCY RANDOLPH FLEMMING, 



PILGRIM'S WAY-SONG. 

1 I'm bound to the house of my Father, 

Oh ! draw not my feet from the way, 
Nor stop these wild flowers to gather, 

They droop at my touch and decay. 
I think of the flowers that are blooming 

In beauty unfading above, 
The wings of kind angels perfuming, 

Who fly down on errands of love. 

2 Of earth's shallow waters, the drinking 

Is powerless my thirst to allay ; 
Their taste is of tears, while we're sinking 

Beside them where quicksands betray. 
I long for the fount ever-living, ■ 

That flows by my Father's own door, 
With waters so sweet and life-giving, 

To drink and to thirst nevermore. 

HANNAH F. GOULD, 



THE UNSATISFYING NATURE OF EARTH. 

1 Earth and all her scenes will fade, 

Nothing here is lasting ; 
Man may plan and hope and toil, 

Earthly treasures grasping, 
But will find, with all his care, 
He's but grasping empty air. 

2 Gold may hold out glittering wealth, 

Eager souls alluring ; 
But may vanish in a night ; 

Gold is not enduring ; 
All that we can grasp on earth, 
Li the end has little worth. 

3 Pleasure weaves a subtle thread, 

Cunning as the spider, 
Drawing us within her snare 

If we but confide her ; 
Then with peace and rest destroyed, 
We but find an achinjr void. 



4 Fame her clarion trumpet sounds, 

With honor, for enchantment ; 
But no votary ever found 

Peace in her encampment ; 
Wealth and pleasure, fame, and all, 
With their power our souls enthrall. 

5 But for all who earnest seek, 

There's a better treasure ; 
Full and free it comes to all, 

Without stint of measure. 
Heav'n to such will sure impart 
Full fruition to each heart. 



VANITY OF VANITIES. 

Write it on the palace gate, 

On the glitter and the show, 
On the purple and the state, 

On the courtier bowing low : 
Write, for all this grandeur dies, 

" Vanity of vanities." 
Write it on the king's bright crown. 

On his might and lordly power, 
On his sceptre and renown, 

On his gifts and on his dower, 
Write — this word to him applies : 

" Vanity of vanities." 
Write it on the cheek and brow 

Of the beautiful and fair, 
Though thy heart in sorrow bow, 

With the rose and lily there, 
Write amid thy tears and sighs : 

" Vanity of vanities." 
Write it in the gorgeous halls 

Where the pleasure-seekers dance^ 
On the gay and sculptured walls ; 

To the glittering front advance, 
Write amid the revelries : 
" Vanity of vanities." 
Write it on the army's crest, 

On the spear and flashing sword, 
On the trappings and the rest, 

On all the host the warning word, 
Ere the army stricken lies : 
" Vanity of vanities." 
On the nations of the world, 

On their millions and their power, 
On their banners all unfurled. 

Write, for passing is their hour, 
Write beneath the open skies : 

•■ Vanity of vanities." 
Ah ! on all earth's precious things, 

On the seasons as they roll, 
Though the thought a sadness brings, 

Write the word from pole to pole, 
Earth with all her treasure dies : 
" Vanity of vanities." 

ANNA D. W. 

In " Christian Intelligencer 



146 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



THE TREASURES OF EARTH. 

1 Here, treasures we gather 

With weeping or song, 
So slight is our hold, 

That we keep them not long. 
Here, nights are oft clouded, 

And even from dawn, 
The rose flush of sunlight 

Is often withdrawn. 

2 Here, beauty departs 

With the outgoing years ; 
Our spring blossoms wither, 

And leave us in tears ; 
Here, manhood's strong pulse 

In a moment grows still ; 
And age slips away 

In the evening's calm chill. 

3 But we have a promise 

Of treasures untold ; 
And more than earth's beauty, 

Will Heaven unfold. 
Instead of the farewells, 

That left us in tears, 
Love's greetings come nearer, 

With incoming years. 

MRS. M. J. SMITH. 
Washington Heights, 1883. 



DRAWING NEARER. 

1 Nearer to the shores of promise ! 

Nearer to the fields of green ! 
Nearer where the " living waters" 

Roll in waves of crystal sheen ! 
Nearer where the blessed mansions, 

Built to shelter all who come, 
Rise in stately, fair proportions ! 

Nearer to our heavenly home ! 

2 Nearer to the walls of jasper ! 

Nearer to the gates of pearl ! 
Even now I see their watch-guard 

Their seraphic banners furl ! 
While the echo of their voices 

Floats e'en to the earthly shore, 
As they sing in rapturous numbers, 

" Death and sin and pain are o'er ! " 

3 Nearer to the blessed knowledge 

Which I've learned but ill below, 
Blinded by the sin and folly 

Blent with many a mortal woe. 
Scanty here has been the foretaste 

Of those joys laid up in store, 
But I feel them drawing nearer, 

Soon, Oh ! soon I'll want no more ! 



4 Nearer glory ! nearer Jesus ! 

Nearer friends long " gone before," 
But a step across the river, 

And we'll meet to part no more ! 
Stronger blow, Oh ! wafting breezes ; 

Nearer, swelling billows, roll; 
Waft me to the land of promise, 

To the blest, immortal goal. 

SUSIE V. ALDRICH. 1882. 



WITHIN THE VEIL. 

1 They never seem to be far away, 

The loved and dear who have left my side. 

A breath, that the sunlight shall lift one day, 

Floateth between, their forms to hide. 

I saw them last, with their faces pale, 

As the angel arms were about them thrown, 

I shall see them again, within the veil, 

In the glory mortal hath never known. 

2 When morn is fair in her silver mists, 
Or eve is dark with her shadows gray, 
I think how royal with amethysts 

And pearl and gold is their shining day. 

In the household love that they used to share, 

The thought of them is a bit of leaven, 

And holier groweth each homely care, 

That catcheth a gleam from the light of heaven. 

3 They are only gone where our Jesus is, 
And never can that be far away ; 

They stand in His presence. Oh ! perfect bliss 
To dwell in the light of His face for aye. 
Oft in prayer have we felt Him near, 
Oft have we walked in His guiding hand ; 
They cannot loose him, in doubt or in fear, 
And therefore the joy of the better land. 

4 Why should they seem to be far away, 
Loved and dear, for whom Jesus died ? 
White as a star is our hope one day 
To enter, and with them be satisfied. 
Only a step to the clear noon-day, 
Out of our darkness, that is all ; 
Only a veil that shall lift away, 

When, soft as a zephyr, his touch shall fall. 

MRS. MARGARET E. SANGSTER. 



I HAVE FRIENDS ACROSS THE RIVER. 

8s & 7s, with Chorus. 

1 I have friends across the river. 

Where for me they gladly wait ; 
Hold ajar with angel fingers 
Yonder bright and pearly gate. 
Cho. — Oh ! how sweet will be the meeting 
In that happy home above ! 
And how welcome be the greeting 
Of the Saviour whom I love ! 



UNSATISFYING NATURE OF EARTH. 



147 



In that home that knows no sorrow, 

All our partings will be o'er ; 
We shall sing the song of glory 

On that happy, golden shore. 
Yes, I've friends across the river, 

And I hope to greet them there, 
When this earthly toil is over, 

In that land so bright and fair. 



EMMA PITT. 



UNTO THE SHINING HILLS. 

1 Unto the shining hills of God, 

I lift my weary eyes ; 
And long to view the peaceful vales 

From whence those hills arise ; 
And when I think what glory waits 

For those who love God's ways, 
I gather strength for present need, 
And faith for future days. 
Cho.— Unto the hills, the hills of God, 
I look with steadfast gaze ; 
And gather strength for present need, 
And faith for future days. 

2 Unto the everlasting hills, 

Crowned by the light of God, 
Until, reflecting down to earth, 

The narrow way seems broad, 
I look, when weary of earth's toil, 

And by earth's snares alarmed, 
And, with my eyes upon those hills, 

I journey on unharmed. 

3 Unto those light-crowned hills of love 

I press with eager feet ; 
And looking upward to my goal, 

Earth's moments seem full fleet. 
"lis only one brief life-time here : 

More zeal, my soul's request, 
So short a time to work for God : 

Eternity to rest. 



MISS M. E. 

" Crowning Triumph," F. A. North & Co., by per. 

THE ISLAND OF THE BLEST. 

1 Cloudless skies around it closing, 

Fanned by airs of Araby, 
Lies this wondrous Isle reposing 

In some unknown, halcyon sea. 
Bright Atlantis pales in splendor, 

Tempe's vales but dimly shine 
In the light, so radiant, tender, 

Flooding all these shores divine. 

2 In this isle, untrod by mortal, 

Far from human ken or quest, 
Happy souls, passed through death's portal, 

Enter on immortal rest. 
So they tell us, — seers and sages, 

Of the old-world's shadowy time, 
So we read in Plato's pages, 

And old Pindar's stately rhyme. 



3 Thus the soul, an exile sighing 

For the country of its birth, 
Images a life undying 

Far beyond the storms of earth. 
Thus faint glimpses of the glory, 

Breaking on man's later sight, 
In the Revelator's story, 

Beam athwart old Hellas' night. 

4 Fairer than the Fields Elysian, 

Brighter than Olympus old, 
Glows the city of John's vision, 

Pearl its gates, its streets of gold. 
Where the stream of Life eternal 

Flows from out the throne of God, 
There they lie, vales ever vernal, 

Isles by mortal foot untrod. 
3 Youth's brief bliss — hope's dream so fleeting, 

Loves that blossomed but to die, 
Ideals here no answer meeting, 

Find their true home in the sky, 
Where 'mid beauties ne'er unfolden 

To the pagan dreamer's sight, 
Stands Jerusalem, the golden, 

God its glory and its light. 



3m Mu 9. ifltitlr. 

Miss Susie V. Aldrich was horn in Hopkinton, Mass., Not. H., 1828. 
Her thoughts began to flow in rhythmical measure while a school girl. 
Her life has been one of pain and trial. She has written on a great 
variety of topics, but Submission, Faith, Trust and Patience, seem to 
have been her favorite themes. Many, apd indeed most of her poems 
and hymns, have been written while lyiDg on her hack, during intervals 
of cessation from great physical suffering. Sometimes for yearstogether 
she has been confined to her room and bed, and during the night watches, 
while others slept, she has committed to ribbon paper, as best suited to 
her purpose while in a reclining position, many beautiful hymns breath- 
ing a consecrated spirit of content and resignation. A. remarkable 
feature of her poems is the fact that they are never altered, but are pub- 
lished just as when originally consigned to paper. 

At the age of 18 years while in school, she received a gold medal from 
the Governor of Mass., offered to a class for the best original essay. 



NEARER HOME. 

1 Deeper grow the purpling shadows, 

Fades the crimson of the sky, 
And the last departing sunbeam 

On the mountain's crest doth lie. 
Tossed upon life's changeful ocean, 

'Mid the billows and the foam, 
Oh ! how sweet to know the evening 

Brings us one day nearer home ! 

2 Nearer to the Heavenly city 

Whose fair portals wide unfold ! 
Nearer to the " many mansions !" 

Nearer to the streets of gold ! 
Nearer to the song of angels, 

And the sweet seraphic strains, 
Which in one full, swelling chorus, 

Echo o'er those vernal plains ! 



148 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Haste, O Time, thine onward footsteps 

Weary days, fly swifter still ! 
Bring us near our journey's ending, 

Lead us up the Heavenly hill ! 
There with songs of joy triumphant 

Shall we join the angel band, 
Who, as breaks the blessed dawning, 

Welcome us to that fair land ! 



gaittie % W. pest. 



The following beautiful poem. "Over the River," was written in 1859 
for the Springfield, Mass. , ' 'Republican, " at which time the author was an 
operative in a New England factory. It was extensively copied, but with 
no signature attached. Probably no article ever had a wider newspaper 
circulation. A teacher in the Ohio Wesleyan College at Delaware, becom- 
ing interested in the author, who also wrote " Under the Daisies," secur- 
ed the co-operation and sympathy of Miss Mary Mounett, a wealthy pu- 
pil of the college, and she sent for the gifted girl, who greatly desired 
a higher education, Miss Priest respondtd gratefully to the call, and 
arrangements were made, but before they could be consummated, 
severe inflammation of the eyes supervened, and cherished hopes were 
swept away. In 1865 she was described as being an exceedingly shy and 
reticent lady, devoid of personal attractions, she, herself, painfully 
aware of the fact. Being asked through a letter for her photograph by 
one who had never met her, she replied — "Do not ask me for it, I 
am so homely, you would not wish to retain it," She was afterwards 
married to a Mr. Wakeheld. In 1870, this sensitive and beautiful 
sold 

"Passed from sight with the boatman pale, 
To the better shore of the spirit land." 

In a letter to the compiler of this work, Mrs. W. A. Ingham, Cleve- 
land. O., formerly Miss Mary B. Janes, the teacher who wrote her, 
(referred to above) says : 'Over the River' is a rare poem, and its author 
was the rarest factory girl I ever knew," 



OVER THE RIVER. 

1 Over the river they beckon to me, 

Lov'd ones who've crossed to the other side, 
The gleam of their snowy robes I see, 

But their voices are lost in the dashing tide. 
There's one with ringlets of sunny gold, 

And eyes the reflection of heaven's own blue, 
He crossed in the twilight gray and cold, 

By the pale mist hid from mortal view ; 
We saw not the angels who met him there, 

The gates of the city we could not see , 
Over the river, over the river, 

My brother stands waiting to welcome me. 

2 Over the river the boatman pale 

Carried another, the household pet, 
Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale, 

Darling Minnie, I see her yet. 
She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands, 

And fearlessly entered the phantom bark, 
We felt it glide from its silver sands, 

And all our sunshine grew strangely dark ; 
We know she is safe on the further side, 

Where all the ransomed and angels be ; 
Over the river, the mystic river, 

My childhood's idol is waiting for me. 



3 Ah ! none return from those quiet shores 

Who cross with the boatman cold and pale ; 
The dip is heard of the golden oars, 

A glimpse is caught of the snowy sail ; 
And lo ! they've passed like a fleeting dart. 

They've crossed the stream and are gone for aye 
We may not sunder the vail apart 

That hides from our vision the gates of day, 
We only know that their bark no more 

May sail with us o'er life's stormy sea ; 
Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore, 

They watch, and beckon, and wait for me. 

4 And 1 sit and think, when the sunset's gold 

Is flushing river and hill and shore. 
I shall one day stand by the water cold, 

And list for the sound of the boatman's oar ; 
I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail ; 

I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand, 
I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale, 

To the better shore of the spirit-land. 
I shall know the lov'd ones who ha-e gone before, 

And joyfully sweet will the meeting be, 
When over the river, the peaceful river, 

The Angel of Death shall carry me. 



■Sirs, prason. 



Mrs. Johnson, wife of the well-known and deservedly-popular Presby- 
terian divine, Rev. Dr. Herrick Johnson of Chicago, is a writer whose 
productions are characterized by the fervor of healthy religious senti- 
ment. It is impossible to read or sing her hymns without being thereby 
lifted up into a highly Christian atmosphere. "The Voice in the Twilight" 
has been quoted by almost every paper in the land, and frequently with- 
out giving credit to the author. So much has it been published anony- 
mously that the true authorship is not yet generally known. Her hymn 
"The whole wide world for Jesus" is loved and sung by all missionary 
workers, and it, with other of her productions, always inspires one to a 
greater determination to do something for the Master, by sending light 
to those sitting in heathen darkness. Many of her hymns and poems are 
published iu a neat volume entitled "Comfort." 



TWO CITIES. 

1 One shines from out the sacred page, 

Aglow with solemn splendor, 
Illumed with every radiant tint 

That art divine can render. 
Built far upon the dazzling heights 

No foot may scale unheeding, 
It flames its glory down the years, 
. Nor sun nor temple needing. 

2 Kings bring their triumph into it, 

And nations saved, their glory, 
While thousand times ten thousand sing 

Its glad and wondrous story. 
They sing a joyous marriage-song, 

For lo ! this city golden 
Is like a bride with jewels girt, 

With kingly love enf olden. 



THE CELESTIAL CITY. 



149 



3 The King of kings her brow doth crown 
With love's most royal crowning ; 

His gracious welcome to the feast 

The seraphs' praises drowning. 
Oh! fair bright city of my dream ! 

la all thy marriage splendor, 
With passion yearns my longing heart 

Thy glowing gates to enter. 

4 How shall I win the welcome sweet ? 
How gain the wedding whiteness ? 

Oh ! guarded gates, where is the key 

Unlocking all your brightness ? 
" Peace, pleading heart! " an angel saith; 
. Wait not at yon far portal — 
This city is but type of that 

Which is to be immortal. 

5 Behold, upon the land and sea, 
In every tribe and nation, 

Glad, busy hands are fashioning 

The stones for its foundation. 
One buildeth here, another there, 

Each bringeth precious treasure ; 
Some bear the load, some place the stones, 

Each working in. his measure. 

6 Thus is the City walled about 
With wall of clearest jasper, 

While precious jewels, set in gold, 
Like crowns of light enclasp her. 

This is the pure and perfect Bride 
The King most fitly seeketh — 

A Church all glorious within, 

Whose heart her love bespeaketh. 

7 And this the King's most gracious will : 

All to the feast are bidden 
Who toward this glory bear a part, 

However small or hidden. ' 
Go, asking heart, take thou thy place, 

And wait the heavenly morning ; 
Bring gift of silver or of gold, 

This glorious Bride adorning. 

8 Or bring but myrrh, or precious spice, 

Or fringe upon her border, 
Or even one bright glowing thread, 

Her raiment to embroider. 
So shalt thou hear the Bridegroom's call, 

So in His thought be holden, 
When He His Church shall wed — the true 

" Jerusalem the golden ! " 

MRS. HEEMCK JOHNSON. 

HERE AND THERE. 

1 I've watched fair morning-glory buds open in snowy 

bloom ; 
I've lingered where pure lily bells shook out a sweet 

perfume ; 
I've bent in loving wonder where tube-rose buds 

unfurl, 
Swinging their costly odor from thuribles of pearl. 



2 Tube-rose and morning-glory, lilies sun-tipped with 

gold, 
Think not ye are the rarest flowers that I have 

watched unfold ; 
Ye mind me of still fairer buds opening to richer 

bloom, 
Throwing from out their choicer cups a costlier 

perfume. 

3 I've seen the morning-glory fade, the tube-rose bow 

its head, 
The lily petals curl and droop, their grace and beauty 

fled; 
I've seen the fairest blossoms fall and gently sink 

from sight, 
And, blinded by my bitter tears, I called it cruel 

blight. 

4 Yet now with open eyes I gaze beyond the fading 

bloom, 

Beyond the chilling winds of earth, beyond the arrest- 
ing tomb : 

Bejond — Oh! Heavenly gardens fair, I speak no 
more of blight ! 

Transplanted safe, I see them all arrayed in spotless 
white. 

The gracious Lord of that bright land holds for His 
own in store 

Newness of life, fullness of joy, pleasures forever- 
more. 



JULIA P. BALLARD. 



THE UNSEEN CITY. 

1 Not far away does that bright city stand, 

'Tis but the mist o'er its dividing stream 
That wraps the glory of its glittering strand, 

Its radiant skies, and mountains' silvery gleam ; 
Oh, often in the blindness of our fate 

We wander very near the city's gate. 

2 We love that unseen city, and we yearn 

Ever within our earthly homes to see 
Its golden towers that in Xhe sunlight burn, 

Its white walls rising from the quiet sea, 
Its mansions glittering with immortal show, 

Filled with the treasures lost to us below. 

3 Yes, dear ones that we loved and lost are there : 

Bright in that fair clime beam those sweet eyes now ; 
Fanned by the soft breeze floats the shining hair — 

Hair we have smoothed back from the gentlest 
brow ; ■ 
Softest white hands we kissed and clasped in ours, 

Slipped from our grasp, lured by its glowing flowers. 

4 Fairer it seems, its velvet walks more sweet ; 

Dearer its quiet streets with gold paved o'er, 
Since o'er them lightly fall the little feet, 

The light feet bounding through our homes no 
more ; 
Oh ! sweetest, dearest music, we tearfully missed — 

Filled is that city with melody like this. 



150 



WOMAN IN H ACRED SONG.. 



5 It is not far away ; down from its arches roll 

Anthems too sacred for the outward ear, 
Pouring their haunting sweetness on the soul ; 

Oh ! how our waiting spirits long to hear, 
In listening to the low, bewildering strain, 

Voices they said we should not hear again. 

6 Oh! dear to us that city, He is there, 

He whom unseen we love ; no need of light, 
His tender eyes illume the crystal air, 

Where his beloved walk in vesture white, 
What though on earth they wandered poor, distressed, 

And saw through tears his glory ; now they rest. 

7 Oh ! that fair city, shining o'er the tide, 

Thither we journey, through the storm and night; 
But soon shall we adown its still bay glide, 

Soon will the city's gate gleam on our sight. 
There with our own forever shall we be, 

In that fair city rising from the sea. 

MARIETTA HOLTJEY. 



BEYOND THESE CHILLING WINDS. 

1 Beyond these chilling winds and gloomy skies, 

Beyond death's solemn portal, 
There is a land where beauty never dies 
And love becomes immortal. 

2 A land whose light is never dimmed by shade, 

Whose fields are ever vernal, 

Where nothing beautiful can ever fade, 

But blooms for aye, eternal. 

3 We may not know how sweet the balmy air, 

How bright and fair its flowers ; 

We may not hear the songs that echo there, 

Through those enchanted bowers. 

4 That city's shining towers we may not see 

With our dim earthly vision, 
For death, the silent warden, keeps the key 
That opens those gates elysian. 

5 But sometimes, when adown the western sky 

The fiery sunset lingers, 
Its golden gates swing inward noiselessly, 
Unlocked by silent fingers. 

6 And while they stand a moment half ajar, 

Gleams from the inner glory 
Stream brightly through the azure vault afar, 
And half reveal the story. - 

7 O land unknown ! land of love divine ! 

Father all wise, eternal, 
Guide, guide these wandering feet of mine 
Into those pastures vernal. 

NANCIE AMELIA PRIKi 



THE OTHER WORLD. 



2 Its gentle breezes fan our cheeks ; 

Amid our worldly cares, 
Its gentle voices whisper love, 
And mingle with our prayers. 

3 Sweet hearts around us throb and beat, 

Sweet helping hands are stirred, 
And palpitates the veil between 
With breathings almost heard. 

4 The silence, awful, sweet and calm, 

They have no power to break ; 
For mortal words are not for them 
To utter or partake. 

5 So thin, so soft, so sweet they glide, 

So near to press they seem, 

They lull us gently to our rest, 

They melt into our dream. 

6 And in the hush of rest they bring, 

'Tis easy now to see 
How lovely and how sweet a pass 
The hour of death may be ; — 

7 To close the eye, and close the ear, 

Wrapped in a trance of bliss, 

And gently drawn in loving arms, 

To swoon to that from this — 

8 Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep, 

Scarce asking where we are, 
To feel all evil sink away, 
All sorrow and all care. 

9 Sweet souls around us ! watch us still : 

Press nearer to our side ; 
Into our thoughts ! into our prayers, 

With gentle helping glide. 
10 Let death between us be as naught, 

A dried and vanished stream ; 
Your joy be the reality, 

Our suffering life the dream. 



B. STOWB. 



Irs. Iran J. gaxttr, 



1 It lies around us like a cloud, 
A world we cannot see ; 
Yet the sweet closing of an eye 
May bring us there to be. 



Of Charlotte, Mich., is one of the most talented and successful lec- 
turers on the subject of Temperance that the W. C. T. 17. has ever had. 
The good she has done in this favorite field of labor can never be esti- 
mated here. In speaking of her, the Illinois "State Journal" says, 
"she has the blood of a martyr in her brave body." 

Her poems, though not so numerous as her prose writings, are pro- 
nounced exquisite by the favored few who have read them and heard 
them sung to her own original setting of music. 

FROM A POEM ENTITLED 
BY AND BY. 
By and by, heart, take courage, 
By and by all pain shall cease ; 
By and by the glad harps ringing, 

Loved ones found and heart at peace. 
Let thy heart be full of hoping ; 

Let true love shine in your eye ; 
Every night-time hath its morning, 
Thine is coming by and by. 
By and by, yes, by and by. 



THE CELESTIAL CITY. 



151 



WAITING AND WATCHING FOR ME. 

"I shall go to him he shall not return to me."— 2 Sam. xii : 23. 

1 When my final farewell to the world I have said, 

And gladly lie down to my rest ; 
When softly the watchers shall say, " He is dead," 

And fold my pale hands o'er my breast ; 
And when, with my glorified vision at last 

The walls of " That City " I see, 
Will any one then at the beautiful gate 

Be waiting and watching for me ? 

2 There are little ones glancing about in my path, 

In want of a friend and a guide ; 
There are dear little eyes looking up into mine, 

■ Whose tears might be easily dried ; 
But Jesus may beckon the children away 

In the midst of their grief and their glee — 
Will any of them at the beautiful gate 

Be waiting and watching for me ? 

3 There are old and forsaken who linger a while 

In homes which their dearest have left ; 
And a few gentle words or an action of love 

May cheer their sad spirits bereft. 
But the Reaper is near to the long-standing corn, 

The weary will soon be set free — 
Will any of them at the beautiful gate 

Be waiting and watching for me ? 

4 Oh ! should I be brought there by the bountiful grace 

Of Him who delights to forgive, 
Though I bless not the weary about in my path, 

Pray only for self while I live, — 
Methinks I should mourn o'er my sinful neglect, 

If sorrow in heaven can be, 
Should no one I love, at the beautiful gate 

Be waiting and watching for me ! 



"My Ain Countree" was first published in the New York -'Observer," in 
1861. It immediately became a special favorite with every lover of truly 
devotional poetry. It has touched and thrilled too many hearts, and has 
moistened too many eyes, to be forgotten. Every one who has read it 
and been profited by it, as thousands have, will gladly welcome its re- 
appearance. Its companion poems, nearly sixty in number, by the same 
author, have appeared elsewhere from time to time, and nearly all of 
them are familiar to the readers of our various magazin csand newspapers. 
Some of them have justly been incorporated into the hymnology of the 
Christian church. As truly poetical productions they are beyond criti- 
cism. Each one is a pearl although pearls may not be all alike. Among 
these may be mentioned "Even in Sardis," "Gone," "A Prisoner of 
Hope," "TheBest Robe," "A Recruiting Song," "My Plea," "The Burnt 
Path," "Lights Ashore," " My Mother," and "The Pathway o' the Sea," 
although the list might be largely extended. She is about forty years 
of age, and resides in Passaic, H . J. (1885.) 

MY AIN COUNTREE. 

1 I am far frae my hame, an' I'm weary after-whiles, 
For the langed-for hame-bringing an' my Father's 

welcome smiles ; 
I'll ne'er be fu' content, until mine een do see 
The shining gates o' heav'n an my ain countree. 
The earth is flecked wi' flowers, mony-tinted, fresh 

an' gay, 



The birdies warble blithely, for my Father made 

them sae ; 
But these sights an' these soun's will as neathing be 

to me, 
When I hear the angels singing in my ain countree. 

2 I've His gude word o' promise that some gladsome 

day, the King 
To His ain royal palace His banished hame will bring ; 
Wi' een an' wi' hearts running owre, we shall see 
The King in His beauty, in our ain countree. 
My sins hae been mony, an' my sorrows hae been sair, 
But there they'll never vex me, nor be remembered 

mair ; 
His bluid has made me white, — His hand shall dry 

mine e'e, 
When He brings me hame at last, to mine ain 

countree. 

3 Sae little noo I ken o' yon blessed bonnie place, 

I ainly ken its Hame, whaur we shall see His face ; 
It wad surely be eneuch forever mair to be 
In the glory o' His presence in our ain countree. 
Like a bairn to its mither, a wee birdie to its nest, 
I wad fain be ganging noo, unto my Saviour's breast, 
For He gathers in His bosom witless, worthless lambs 

like me, 
An' tarries them Himsel' to His ain countree. 

4 He's faithfu' that hath promised, He'll surely come 

again, 
He'll keep His tryst wi' me, at what hour I dinna 

ken ; 
But He bids me still to wait, an' ready aye to be, 
To gang at ony moment to my ain countree. 
So I'm watching aye, and singing o' my hame as I 

wait, 
For the soun'ing o' His footfa' this side the gowden 

gate, 
God gie His grace to ilk ane wha' listens noo to me, 
That we a' may gang in gladness to our ain countree. 

MUS. MAKY LEE DEMAKEST. 



HIS NAME SHALL BE IN THEIR 
FOREHEADS. 



1 When I shall go where my Redeemer is, 

In the far city on the other side, 
And at the threshold of His palaces 

Shall loose my sandals, ever to abide ; 
I know my Heavenly King will smiling wait 
To give me welcome as I touch the gate. 

2 O joy ! O bliss ! for I shall see His face, 

And wear His blessed name upon my brow ; 
The name that stands for pardon, love and grace, 

That name before which every knee shall bow. 
No music half so sweet can ever be 
As that clear name which He shall write for me ! 



152 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Crowned with this royal signet, I shall walk, 

With lifted forehead, through the eternal street ; 
And with a holier mien, and gentler talk, 

Will tell my story to the friends I meet — 
Of how the King did stoop His name to write 
Upon my brow, in characters of light. 
Then, till I go to meet my Father's smile, 

I'll keep my forehead smooth from passion's scars, 
From angry frowns that trample and defile, 

And every sign that desecrates or mars ; 
That I may lift a face unflushed with shame, 
Whereon my Lord may write His holy name. 



Sirs. £. %. ftnta. 



MAY RILEY SMITH. 



THE BETTER LAND. 

1 Life has many a pleasant hour, 

Many a bright and cloudless day ; 
Singing bird and smiling flower, 
Scatter sunbeams on our way ; 

But the sweetest blossoms grow 

In the land to which we go. 

2 Earth has many a cool retreat, 

Many a spot to memory dear ; 
Oft we find our weary feet 

Lingering by some fountain clear ; 

Yet the purest waters flow 

In the land to which we go. 

3 Like a cloud that floats away, 

Like the early morning dew, 
Here the fairest things decay ; 
There, are pleasures ever new. 
Only joy the heart will know 
In the land to which we go. 

4 'Tis the Christian's promised land ; 

There is everlasting day ; 
There a Saviour's loving hand 
Wipes the mourner's tears away ; 

Oh ! the rapture we shall know 

In the land to which we go. 

MRS. F. C. VAN 

Copyright, 1872, in "Christian Songs," and used by per. Biglow & Main. 

THE UNKNOWN COUNTRY. 

1 Where is the unknown country ? 

I whispered sad and slow ; 
That strange and awful country, 

To which I soon must go ; 
Out of the unknown country, 
A voice sang soft and low, — 
"Oh ! pleasant is that country 
And sweet it is to go." 

2 Along the shining country 

The peaceful rivers flow ; 
And in that wondrous country 

The tree of life does grow ; 
Ah, then, into that country, 

Of which I nothing know, 
The everlasting country, 

With willing heart, I go. 

DINAH MULOCK. 1879. 
Music by E. A. Andrews in "Ruth the Moabitess." 



Mrs. S. A. Gordon was born in Charlemont, Mass., and on her 
father's side was a descendant of John Steele, who founded the colony 
of Connecticut and established the town, now city, of Hartford. Among 
the many distinguished persons in this family lineage may be mentioned 
that of Noah Webster, L. L. D., author of American Dictionary of the 
English Language (Steele Genealogy, by Daniel S. Durrie), and on her 
mother's side is a descendant of William Ward of Sudbury, many of 
whose descendants have won historic distinction, both as military men 
and statesmen, also as men of science, a representative of which is Gen. 
Artemus Ward, first Major-General of Revolutionary fame (Ward Gen- 
ealogy). 

She early removed with her parents to New York.lwhere she was reared 
and took the first year of a college course of study, which was after- 
wards completed in Illinois. She was married in Wisconsin, in 1858, to 
W. A. Gordon, M. D, , of Warsaw, at which time she cancelled an engage 
ment as principal of a ladies' seminary in Central Wisconsin. Some years 
previous she had charge of the ladies' department in Rock River Semi- 
nary, and subsequently the same position was twice tendered her in the 
Ripou College. The principalship of the State Normal School of Wiscon- 
sin, which was soon to be opened, had been tendered her through the 
Governor of the State, and was waiting her acceptance. This was con- 
sidered a compliment of justice, she having been thefirst person to agitate 
the establishing of a Normal School, not only as a means of elevating 
the standard of education, but of securing a uniform system of the same 
in the then new State,- She attended the teachers' institutes wherever 
held throughout the State (invariably being appointed to, and serving 
as a member of the faculty) for the purpose of agitating the subject, un- 
til the desire became an object accomplished. 

After her marriage she immediately commenced the study of medicine 
with her husband, attended a partial course of lectures, and was called 
upon by the people to assist him in an overburdening practice. In 1859 
and I860 they were connected with the Smithsonian Institute, taking 
meteorological notes and making collections for the same. 

She filled an engagement of one year as associate editor on the " Cen- 
tral Wisconsin," and then joined her husband at Louisville, where he 
was stationed most of the time during the civil war. There she gave 
considerable time to the study of the art, the remaining time being 
assiduously devoted to the relief of the suffering soldiers around her. 
Situated near her husband's headquarters at one time was a camp of home- 
less Southern refugees, overtaken by small-pox. They could find no 
physician to serve them (Dr. Gordon was prohibited both by want of 
time and the exposures it would bring to soldiery). She learned of their 
pitiful condition and at once went to their relief and fought the scourge 
until it succumbed, bearing away but two victims, one an infant, and 
another an aged man. She served her husband as hospital officer in 
different capacities as unavoidable circumstances created vacancies not 
readily supplied. 

She was a weekly contributor to the literary columns of the "Sunday 
Journal," George D. Prentice, editor, during the period of the war. She 
has been a member of the Dante Society since its organization, and in 
1882 and 1883 was State editor for Missouri (W. C. T. IT.), on the "Chi- 
cago Signal." 

During her residence in Denver she was the first person to suggest the 
demand for the newsboy's home there, which she had the opportunity of 
aiding in establishing, She was also assistant superintendent of Chinese 
work in that city for some time. She is author of a book entitled 
"Camping in Colorado," and several papers and poems that have entered 
into other' collections. Her hymns, which are numerous, are included 
in at least three hymnal compilations. 

OVER THE SILENT RIVER. 

"Yet there is no end of all his labor."— Eccl. iv: 8. 

What will be our labors there, 

Over the silent river ? 

When we a crown of life shall wear, 

Over the silent river ; 

Our labors will be in our Father's employ, 

And the harvest we reap will be one of joy, 

Over the silent river. 



THE CELESTIAL CITY. 



153 



2 What will be our labors there, 

Over the silent river ? 
Labors of love we each will share, 

Over the silent river ; 
Our dear Father's will shall our hearts employ, 
And the harvest we reap shall be one of joy, 

Over the silent river. 

3 What will be our labors there, 

Over the silent river ? 
Our Father will our work prepare, 

Over the silent river, 
Our labors will be free from all alloy, 
And the harvest we reap will be one of joy, 

Over the silent river. 

MKS. S. A. GORDON. 

Hannibal, Mo., 1884. 

From "Joy Bells," by permission. 

THE BEAUTIFUL CITY. 

1 The gates of that city stand ever ajar, 
Its beautiful palaces time cannot mar, 

And faith brings so near us those mansions of light, 
That even our dull ears hear songs in the night. 

2 'Tis a beautiful city unshadowed by care, 

Our truest and best friends are gathering there, 
And our own wearied feet will soon stand at the door. 
Where the weary who enter are weary no more. 

3 The web of our life hath its dark threads therein, 
Our pathway is rough, but the glory we win 
Will more than make up for the trials we meet, 
The thorn and the thistle, the struggle and heat. 

4 Then courage, my brother, the goal may be near, 
The thin veil that hides it will soon disappear, 
And we who have tarried with toil as our guest, 
Will find in that Eden a glorious rest. 

MRS. M. J. SMITH, 1883. 

THE BRIGHT HILLS OF GLORY. 

1 Oh ! give a harp on the bright hills of glory — 

A home when life's sorrows are o'er, 
Where joys that await the meek and the lowly, 
Will more than lost Eden restore. 

2 Oh ! there let me roam on the banks of the river, 

Escorted by angels along ; 
And with them adore the Bounteous Giver, 
Whose love is rehearsed by the throng. 

3 There sweetly we'll rest in those mansions forever, 

And bask in the fulness of love, 
Where fields are all bright with flowrets that never 
Shall wither in Eden above. 

4 Oh ! who has prepared this banquet of pleasures, 

In heaven's sweet bower of rest ? 
And bids us partake of all its rich treasures, 
And waits now to welcome each guest ? 

MRS. LYDIA BAXTER. 

Composed for the Baptist S. S. Union Anniversary, 1862. 
Copyright, 3862, in "Golden Shower." By per. Biglow & Main. 



WINDOWS OPEN TOWARD JERUSALEM. 

1 Jerusalem, my heart's beloved ! 

The city four-square lies 
Before mine upturned, longing face 

And glad, tear-clouded eyes. 
I hear thy chants and antiphons 

From fane and altar roll, 
I see thy golden glories glow 

Through windows of the soul. 

2 Through Memory's open window, gay 

And gorgeous colors lend 
Their sparkle to glad childhood's sports, 

Or in youth's rainbow blend. 
The plumy flutter of God's dove 

And crystal drops I trace, 
Which gave my early spirit-life 

In thy fair walls a place. 

3 Through one fair casement all the world 

Becomes of kin to me — 
All human hearts knit in one web 

Of living sympathy. 
To brave, to noble, and to true, 

No time nor clime there be ; 
And all that's worth the garnering 

Is gathered up in thee. 

4 Another window opens, where 

Bright Hope has gone before, 
To bridge the else unfathomed gulf 

Fast by the farther shore. 
Her sheeny wings illume life's murk, 

Unravelled mysteries lie, 
Seeds of the better things to be, 

In thy sweet harmony. 

5 And one ! Upon its panes are traced 

The cross, the nail, the thorn ; 
There oft I linger lovingly 

Where only life is born. 
Fair city ! white-robed Faith can see 

Foundation, cope, and cross. 
Faith only finds such wealth in thee 

As counts all other loss. 

6 So here I sit at eventide, . 

Or when noon's sun is high, 
When midnight darkness fain would hide 

Thy glories from my eye. 
Wide flung to every wind of heaven 

These windows of the soul, 
That Memory, Sympathy, and Hope 

And Faith may grasp the whole. 

MARGARET E. WTNSLOW, 1881. 



THE MANY MANSIONS. 

Heart of mine, canst thou be troubled 
When the Master, in His grace, 

Has prepared those heavenly dwellings 
Where I shall behold His face ? 



154 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



I shall know mine from all others, 

'Mid those palaces of light, 
Shining like the sun upon me 

As I enter from the night. 
When I reach that happy mansion — 

Home, my home, forevermore — 
May I find my absent, lost ones 

Standing in the open door ! 
May I feel restoring kisses 

On my weary cheek and brow ; 
May I see the love-light shining 

That I only dream of now ! 
Oh ! the all-pervading sweetness 

Of that blessed future life ! 
Oh ! the deep repose to follow 

All this wasting care and strife ! 
Heart of mine, then bear thy burden 

Up the hill, through dust and heat — 
Any turn may show that City 

Lying right beneath thy feet. 



THE ANGELS' SONG. 

1 Behold the golden city, 

With gates of pearly white ; 
The peaceful, shining city, 

Where falls no shade of night ; 
List to the glad, triumphant chorus, 

By angels robed in white. 

2 That bright-winged throng is singing 

Before the great white throne, 
The theme is ever Jesus, 

His precious name alone 
Hath pow'r to wake the sweetest music 

That echoes round the throne. 

3 Oh ! blessed name of Jesus, 

Fill all our hearts with love, 
Until we sing the praises 

That angels sing above ; 
'Till heart and voice shall join the chorus, 

And swell the notes of love. 

ROSE HARTWICK THORPE. 



JULIA H. THAYER. 






ARE YOU READY? 
Oh ! those bright, those heavenly mansions 

That the Saviour doth prepare ! 
Are you ready, robed and ready, 

If now called to enter there ? 
Have you washed you in the fountain, 

That for sin stands open wide ? 
Are you every moment trusting 

In the Christ, the Crucified ? 
Oh ! the songs the saints are singing, 

Where no waves of sorrow roll ! 
Is the heavenly music ringing 

In the chambers of thy soul ? 
Are you often feebly trying 

To repeat some echoed strain ? 
Every power with angels vying 

In the ever new refrain ? 

ABBIE MILLS. 



JJttbi Caii. 



( Born 1821 
t Died 1871. 

This beautiful poem, which has comforted so many Christian hearts, 
will be prized not only for its own sake but as a fitting memoriai to the 
gifted writer, who has gone to her "Father's house," to join her sister in 
their home beyond "the crystal sea." It was written in 1S42, and is in 
accordance with the author's latest revision. The ideas in it were sug- 
gested to her one morning at church. She returned home, and before 
dinner had committed it to paper. 

The leaf of a book of poems under the head of Vice President Wilson, 
wasfoundturneddownatthishymn, immediately after his death. 

A young man who had received religious training, was led into the 
haunts of vice, and one evening while in a bar-room the words of this 
hymn came to his remembrance. He hastened away from the place, 
sought the means of grace and became a Christian. 

The first volume of poems by Phoebe and Alice Cary, calling themselves 
the "Sisters of the West," was published in 1849. In their productions are 
discovered a nobility of thought, a breadth of sympathy, a fervor of 
imagination, denoting the genuine poet. Their hymns are full of 
the spirit of pious devotion. 



THE RIVER SHORE. 

Walking by the quiet river 

Where the slow tide seaward goes, 
All the cares of life fall from us, 

All our troubles find repose : 
Naught forgetting, naught regretting, 

Lovely ghosts from days no more 
Glide with white feet o'er the river, 

Smiling toward the silent shore. 
So we pray in His good pleasure 

When this world we've safely trod, 
We may walk beside the river 

Flowing from the throne of God : 
All forgiving, all believing, 

Not one lost we loved before, 
Looking toward the hills of heaven 

Calmly from the eternal shore. 



NEARER HOME. 

1 One sweetly solemn thought 

Comes to me o'er and o'er ; 
I'm nearer my home to-day 

Than I ever have been before ; 

2 Nearer my Father's house, 

Where the many mansions be ; 
Nearer the great white throne, 
Nearer the crystal sea ; 

3 Nearer the bound of life, 

Where we lay our burdens down : 
Nearer leaving the cross, 
Nearer gaining the crown ! 

4 But the waves of that silent sea 

Roll dark before my sight, 

That brightly the other side 

Break on a shore of light. 




m 




THE APPEARANCE OF THE BLEST AFTER RESURRECTION.— Dante's Paradl 



THE CELESTIAL CITY. 



155 



Oh ! if my mortal feet 

Have almost gained the brink ; 
If it be I am nearer home 

Even to-day than I think ; 

Father, perfect in my trust ; 

Let my spirit feel in death, 
That her feet are firmly set 

On the Rock of a living faith ! 



PHOEBE CART. 



THE GOLDEN CITY. 

Oh ! the sapphire walls, how far off they seem, 
Like a misty city, one sees in a dream ! 

With our fainting hearts and our tired feet, 
How can we keep on, thro' the dust and heat ? 

So many hills between ; so little strength to climb, 
Can we ever reach to those heights sublime ? 

Poor pilgrim, take heart, for God, in His pity, 
Has sent down His Son from the Golden City. 

To bear up your feet to those heavenly lands, 
Where His Father's House in its beauty stands ; 

Where mansions are ready for every guest, 
And world-weary pilgrims, at last, may rest. 

MARIA LOU EVE, 

Augusta, Ga., 1883. 



I SHALL BE SATISFIED. 

1 When I awake, my Saviour, in that land — 

The pleasant country on the other side, 
Where trees of healing for earth's sorrows stand — 
At home, at rest, I shall be satisfied. 

2 When these poor feet that often stumbled here 

Shall touch the ripples of the waves, that glide 
Through pleasant pastures crystalline and clear, 
Whispering of peace, I shall be satisfied : 

3 And when these tired hands at Thy dear feet 

Shall lay the heavy cross 'neath which I sighed, 
To loose the life-long burden will be sweet : 
Free from all sin — I shall be satisfied. 

4 But never here :^the way so long appears, 

Thy tender hand-clasp, beloved Guide, 

Seems loosed because of sin ; I walk in tears, 

Pining and penitent, but never satisfied. 

5 Oh ! by Thy memories of Gethsemane — 

The traitor's kiss ; Peter's sworn faith denied, 
Forgive another wanderer from Thee, 
Pardoned, dear Lord, I shall be satisfied. 

6 And when I shall have crossed the mystic wave, 

Lulled by the murmur of the heavenly tide, 
Exchange earth's grave-scarred turf for golden pave, 
Cypress for Palm — I shall be satisfied. 

MINNIE L. HOPKINS. 

Richmond, Va. 



"In Thy presence is fulness of joy, and at Thy right hand are pleas- 
ures for evermore." 

1 From height of bliss to depth of woe 
With ceaseless tread I come and go ; 
'Tis sweet, yea, passing sweet, to know 
In Heaven no tears will ever flow. 

2 Dear human sympathy is mine, 
And, too, the dearer love Divine ; 
Love is life's choicest, lmrest wine ; 
Heaven will all earthly love refine. 

3 But all who with the Master stand, 
A self-denying, loyal band, 

The world will hate on every hand ; 

Hate lives not on Heaven's peaceful strand. 

4 Deep shadows o'er my pathway lie, 
Yet step by step the shadows fly ; 
Soon perfect day will bless mine eye ; 
Heaven hath no painful mystery. 

5 I hunger, thirst, from day to day ; 
For daily bread I daily pray ; 

I dwell within a house of clay ; 
Heaven hath no change, no sad decay. 

6 I weary ; night brings calm repose, 
Sweet slumbers heavy eyelids close ; 

" No weariness the Spirit knows 
In Heaven, where night no shadow throws. 

7 Hail, day of deep and perfect peace ! 
Hail, love and love's Divine increase ! 
Hail, pleasures which shall never cease ! 
Hail, happy hour of my release ! 

8 Decay and death for beauty rare, 
A prison for a temple fair ! 

I'll drop my chain a crown to wear, 
And rise my Saviour's home to share ! 

KATE SUMNER BURR. 



JP« €nx%. 



Alice Cary is so well known through her poems, that it is unnecessary 
to say that they left to the world a loved name and a beautiful memory. 
She was born April 26, 1820, near Cincinnati. One of the severest crit- 
icisms passed on her early poems was that they were "full of graves." 
Remembering the bereaved and lonely girl, whose daily walk ended at 
the tomb on the hillside, where her mother and sisters slept, how could 
her early song escape the shadow of death and the vibration of sorrow ? 
Her first literary adventure appeared in the Sentinel (uow Star of the 
West), published in Cincinnati. It was entitled "The Child of Sorrow," 
and was written in her eighteenth year. After the establishing of the 
National Era at Washington in 1847,she wrote regularlyforits columns.acd 
here, for the first time, attempted prose in a series of stories under a ficti- 
tiousname. A few years after. Alice, with her sister Phoebe, abandoned 
their home in the West and went to New York, wherethey remained 
and worked. Soon after, she published the first seriesof "Clovernook 
Papers." They were full of freshness and fragrance of her native fields ; 
full of the simple, original, graphic pictures of the country, and the men 
and women she loved best ; full of the exquisite touches of a spontaneous, 
child-like genius. They were gathered up by the public as eagerly as the 
children gather wild flowers. They sold largely in this country and Great 
Britain. The next year a second series was published with unabated 



156 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



success, and the following year the ' ' Clovernook Children " was published. 
This was as popular with young readers as the " Papers " had been 
with the elders. Besides writing constantly tor Harper's Magazine, 
Atlantic Monthly, Riverside Magazine, New York Ledger. New York 
Weekly, N ew York Independent, Packard's Monthly, andchance period- 
icals which entreated her name for their pages, the active brain and soul 
of Alice Cary, in twenty years, produced eleven volumes, every word 
and though t of which was wrought from her own being, and every line of 
which was written by her own hand, and many of the articles being of a 
religious nature. 

Before 1856 Alice and her sister Phoebe had removed to the pretty 
house on Twentieth Street. From the beginning this house became the 
centre of one of the choicest and most cosmopolitan circles in New York. 
The two sisters drew about them not only the best, but the most genial, 
minds. True men and women found in each, companiou, counselor and 
friend. They met every true woman that came to them with sympathy 
and tenderness ; feeling that they shared with her all the mutual toils 
and sorrows of womanhood. Alice's pleasure was her labor. Of rest, 
recreation, and amusement, in the way other woman sought them, she 
knew almost nothing. Her rest and recreation were intervals from pain, 
in which she could labor. It was not always the labor of writing ; but, 
nevertheless, it was labor of some kind, never play. 

Near the close of her life she wrote, "Putting off the Armor." The 
poem reveals the longing of the soul for the rest upon which she has 
entered. Her beautiful life ended February 12, 1S70, and she was buried 
in Greenwood Cemetery, while still falling snow covered all things with 
a pure white mantle.— "Youth's Companion." 



ALICE CARY'S DYING HYMN. 

1 Earth, with its dark and dreadful ills, 

Recedes and fades away ; 
Lift up your heads, ye heavenly hills, 
Ye gates of death, give way. 

2 My soul is full of whispered song ; 

My blindness is my sight, 
The shadows that I feared so long 
Are all alive with light. 

3 And while my pulses faintly beat, 

My faith doth so abound, 
I feel grow firm beneath my feet 
The green immortal ground. 

4 That faith to me a courage gives, 

Low as the grave to go ; 
I know that my Redeemer lives, 
That I shall live to know. 

5 The palace walls I almost see, 

Where dwells my Lord and King ; 
O grave ! where is thy victory ? 
O death ! where is thy sting ? 

ALICE CARY, 



AT THE GATE. 

1 I shall follow the footsteps that guide 

To the land of perpetual day, 
Where the sav'd shall forever, forever abide, 
And I cannot but sing on the way. 

2 There are thorns in the path for my hands, 

There are difficult hills for my feet ; 
And the valleys are torrid, are torrid with sands, 
But the music within me is sweet. 



3 At the end of the journey I know, 

Is the golden Jerusalem bright ; 
And the thought of its joys, of its joys as I go, 
Is making the pilgrimage light. 

4 And I'll try to be faithful indeed, 

Till over the river I go, 
In the pastures of blessing, of blessing to feed, 
Sweet pastures that beckon me so. 

• LUCY M. CHAFFEE. 

From "Royal Gems." J. R. Murray, 

THERE IS LIGHT BEYOND THE HILLS. 

1 Distant Eden, dream'd-of Eden, 

Land beyond the dark blue hills : 
Thou hast beauties, thou hast pleasures, 

And my heart with longing fills ; 
Mind enchanted, eyes expectant, 

Fain would feast on thy delight, 
See those beauties, taste those pleasures, 

Which the hills hide from my sight. 

2 Beauteous sunlight, fading sunlight, 

Later rests upon thy spires ; 
Waiting child-heart, mystic childhood, 

Of the dreaming never tires, 
Decks thy fields with robes e'er vernal, 

Hears sweet music in thy dells, 
Brings no sorrow, brings no sighing, 

Brings to thee no parting knells. 

3 Distant Eden, dream'd-of Eden, 

Land beyond the dark blue hills ; 
Older minds than sportive children, 

Dream of thee as free from ills ; 
Mortals toiling, mortals weary, 

As life's duties he fulfills, 
Trusts for brightness in the future, 

Look for light beyond the hills. 

MRS. L. L. RADCLIFFE. 

From "Royal Gems." Brainard's Sons. 

COMING NEARER. 

" This land shall be your possession."— Num. xxxii : 22. 

1 It 's coming, coming nearer, 

The lovely land unseen ; 
Its shores are growing clearer, 

Though mists lie dark between ; 
We watch its beams of glory, 
We hear its bursts of song, 
We're raptured with its story, 
For it our spirits long. 
Ref. — O yes ! it 's coming nearer, nearer, nearer ; 
O yes ! it's coming nearer, 
The lovely land unseen. 

2 The balmy winds are bringing 

Its odors on their breath; 
Our ship of life is swinging 
To the port where is no death ; 



THE CELESTIAL CIx 



157 



Where none are heavy hearted, 

Where all are glad and free, 
Where friends are never parted, 

And saints their Saviour see. 

It is coming, coming nearer, 

We're homeward bound at last ; 
Its shores are growing clearer, 

We soon- shall anchor fast; 
We'll dwell with Him forever 

Who brought us o'er the tide, 
And not a foe shall sever 

Our souls from His dear side. 

MJBS. M. E. M. SANGSTER. 

to music and copyrighted by Rev. R. Lowry, "Royal Diadem." 
1872. Used by per. Biglow & Main. 



3 We speak of its peace and its love, 

The robes which the glorified wear, 
The songs of the blessed above, 
But what must it be to be there ? 

4 We speak of its freedom from sin, 

From sorrow, temptation and care, 
From trials without and within, 
But what must it be to be there ? 

5 Do Thou, Lord, midst pleasure or woe, 

For heaven our spirits prepare, 

Then shortly we also shall know, 

And feel what it is to be there. 



ONLY A LITTLE WHILE. 



PROMISED LAND OF GLORY. 

"Who hath called us nmo His eternal glory."— 1 Peter v: 10. 

1 Beyond this wilderness of sin 

The promised land of glory waits, 
And we, a happy pilgrim band, 

Are journeying toward its open gates. 

Cho. — Oh ! promised land ! above earth's skies 
Thy radiant hills of glory rise, 
And still there leads, as on we move, 
The pillar of our Father's love. 

2 Jehovah, in His tender care, 

Hath sweetened Marah's bitter spring ; 
Awhile we rest 'neath Elim's palms, 
And all the way we gladly sing. 

3 Though foes surround us day by day 

And dangers lurk on every side, 
Jehovah shields us from all harm, 
And nought of ill can e'er betide. 

4 Dear Canaan home, how brief will seem 

The few more years we journey here, 

When we have crossed the Jordan strand 

And all thy wondrous scenes appear. 

MISS M. E. SERVOSS. 

From "Welcome Songs" by per. of F. H. Revell & Co., Chicago. 



WHAT IT MUST BE TO BE THERE. 

"There shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying."— Rev. xxi: i. 

1 We speak of the land of the blest, 

A country so bright and so fail*, 
And oft are its glories confest, 
But what must it be to be there ? 

2 We speak of its pathways of gold, 

Its walls deck'd with jewels so rare, 
Its wonders and treasures untold, 
But what must it be to be there ? 



'Weeping may endure for the nigbt, but joy cometh in the morn- 
ing,"— Psalm xxx : 5. 

1 Only a little while 

Of walking with weary feet, 
Patiently over the thorny way 
That leads to the golden street. 

2 Suffer if God shall will, 

And work for Him while we may, 
From Calvary's cross to Zion's crown, 
Is only a little way. 

3 Only a little while, 

For toiling a few short days, 
And then comes the rest, the quiet rest, 
Eternity's endless praise. 



THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 

"And the twelve gates were twelve pearls." — Rev, xxi: 21, 

We read in the sacred traditions of yore, 
Of the beautiful gate on the evergreen shore, 
Where the souls unto whom we minist'ring came, 
And gave words of comfort in Jesus' dear name, 
Will meet us with welcome, will watch and will wait, 
To guide us in safety thro' the Beautiful Gate. 

2 Oh ! those beautiful gates in the mansions of bliss, 
Whose walls are of jasper and pale amethyst ; 

On the north, on the south, on the east and the west, 
The twelve gates of pearl, in the land of the blest. 
What records await us, when we shall unfold 
Those gates, and pass over the streets of pure gold. 

3 All honor and glory to Him who hath wrought, 
For God's living temple, His treasures of thought. 
The bright jewels He plucked are garnered with care, 
In the ci - own of the Master they ever shine fair ; 
And gleaming high over the bright starry throne, 
Shall be the sweet welcome, " Well done," faithful 



158 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



ONLY ONE CROSSING. 

1 Only one crossing : glory to God ! 

Though dark the journey 
And thorny the road. 
Only one torrent to stem on the way : 
Then comes the resting, 
The sunlight of day. 

2 Only one crossing : surges may roll, 

Billows like mountains 
To frighten my soul ; 
Jesus hath promised my Pilot to be. 
Lord, in the tempest 
My heart clings to Thee. 

3 Only one crossing : to blessed repose- 

Beautiful City, 
Thy gates will enclose. 
Zion's fair mansions in gladness I see ; 
Angels, bright angels, 
Are waiting for me. 



IMMANUEL'S LAND. 

'The breath of thy land, Immanuel."— Is, viii: 

The sands of time are wasting, 

The dawn of heaven breaks ; 
The summer morn I've sighed for, 

The fair, sweet morn awakes. 
Oh ! dark hath been the midnight, 

But day-spring is at hand ; 
And glory, glory dwelleth 

In Immanuel's land. 
O Christ ! He is the fountain, 

The deep, sweet well of love ; 
The streams of earth I've tasted, 

More deep I'll drink above. 
There to an ocean fullness 

His mercy doth expand ; 
And glory, glory dwelleth 

In Immanuel's land. 
Oh ! I am my beloved's, 

And my beloved 's mine ; 
He brings a poor vile sinner 

Into His house divine. 
Upon the rock of ages 

My soul redeemed shall stand, 
"Where glory, glory dwelleth 

In Immanuel's land. 



THE BEAUTIFUL LAND. 

1 I have heard of a land on a far-away strand — 
In the Bible the story is told — 
Where no cares ever come; never darkness, nor gloom, 
And nothing 'shall ever grow old. 



2 In that beautiful land on the far-away strand 

No storms with' their blasts ever frown ; 
The streets, I am told, are paved with pure gold, 
And the sun it shall never go down. 

3 There are evergreen trees that bend low in the breeze, 

And their fruitage is brighter than gold ; 
There are harps for our hands in that fairest of lands, 
And nothing shall ever grow old. 

4 There 's a home in that land, at the Father's hand, 

There are mansions whose joys are untold ; 
. And perennial spring, where the birds ever sing, 
And nothing shall ever grow old. 

MRS. P. A. F. WOOD-WHITE. 



Irs. % & Wmtem. 



"As the sun sinks, he makes color ; so it is toward the evening of life 
that we find the rarest and sweetest types of womanhood — mothers and 
wives, for whom all the fountains of life have been unsealed, who have 
drained the mixed cup of love and joy, and been uourished also with the 
bitter wine of affliction.' 

Mrs. L. A . Lindsay, like a number of the other contributors to this 
volume, did not write hymns and religious poems till comparatively late 
in life. After the accumulated thought and deep religious experience of 
years the soul sometimes finds sweet relief and comfort in placing upon 
paper the heart melodies and harmonies in both the major and uninor 
keys, that long have been struggling for expression. It frequently hap- 
pens that these productions, as is the case with some to be found in this 
compilation, are among the ripest and best. 



THE BEAUTIFUL LAND. 

1 Oh ! the beautiful land, Oh ! the home of the saints, 
Where the spirit is freed from all earthly taints, 
And the Saviour is standing and lovingly waits 

To welcome His own when they enter the gates. 

2 The country so radiant with rivers of light 
Now flowing by all the blest spirits so bright, 
Dazzling and flashing with radiance rare 

'Round the home of the King ; Oh ! I long to be there. 

3 The land so transporting and full of delight ! 
The soul stands amazed at the beautiful sight, 
As it reaches the portals, just waking from sleep, 
And hears heavenly music, sonorous and deep. 

4 The place where oppression no more can be dealt, 
Or pangs of affliction again will be felt ; 

When the soul at last seeks the home of its rest, 
And settles in peace 'mid the hosts of the blest. 

5 Oh ! the city of God ! what a home it must be 
To the care-laden spirit, when death sets it free; 
What joy it must feel as the clay falls away 

And it springs from the darkness of night into day. 

MRS. L. A. LINDSAY. 
Eminence, Ky., 1876. 



THE CELESTIAL CITY. 



159 



LAND OF THE BLESSED. 

1 0, land of the blessed, 

Thy shadowless skies 
Sometimes in my dreaming I see, 
I hear the glad songs 
That the glorified sing, 
Steal over eternity's sea. 
Tho' dark are the shadows that gather between, 

I know that thy morning is fair ; 
I catch but a glimpse of thy glory and light, 
And whisper : would God I were there ! 

2 O land of the blessed, 

Thy hills of delight 
Sometimes on my vision unfold ; 
Thy mansions celestial, 
Thy palaces bright, 
Thy bulwarks of jasper and gold. 
Dear voices are chanting thy chorus of praise, 

Dear eyes in thy sunlight are fair ; 
I look from my valley of shadow below, 
And whisper : would God I were there. 

3 Dear home of my Father, 

Fair city whose peace, 
No shadow of changing can mar ! 
How glad are the souls 
That have tasted thy joy, 
How blest thine inhabitants are ! 
When weary with toiling, I think of the day — 

Who knows if its dawning be near — 
When He who hath loved me shall call me away 
From all that has burdened me here. 

EMILY HUNTINGTON MILLER. 

Set to music by T. C. O'Kane. 

THE KING IN HIS BEAUTY. 

Suggested while listening to a sermon by Rev. Win. W. Patton, D.D., 
in H artf ord. Conn,, 1849, from the text-' 'Thine eyes shall behold the King 
in His beauty, they shall see the land that is very far off." 



Isiah xxxiii : 17. 

"Purtuiiv.'se Hymn, t 



L.jo 



1 The " King in His beauty," transcendently glorious, 
Enrobed in the brightness of Heavenly array, 
0"er earth's darkest foe hath risen victorious — 
His throne is resplendent in the " Land far away." 
"2 The eyes of the blind shall be opened to see Him, 
The lame one leap forth, like the light-footed hart, 
Deaf ears shall have broken the fetters that bound 
them, 
And the dumb shall no longer sit silent apart. 

3 The " King in His beauty," in that " Land far away," 

Hath promised the captive sweet freedom and ease, 

Ah ! the dungeon's dim light He will change into day, 

And the woes of His bondage will surely appease. 

4 Look upward ye poor, sorrowing poverty's child, 

In the " Land that 's far off," thy bread shall be 
given ; 
Yes, thy drink shall be sure, and thy robes undefiled, 
For thine are the riches and beauties of Heaven. 



5 Look up, ye bowed-down one, look up — look away. 

Oh ! they tell of a land full of beauty far off, 
Where no sun, and no moon, nor a star sheds a ray ; 
For the King on His throne is the splendor thereof. 

6 Look upward, tempted, ye tried one and weak, 

Let faith pierce the cloud that is hanging between 
The land of your sorrow, the home that ye seek, 
Through the rift in the clouds Heaven's glory shall 
gleam. 

7 Be patient in suffering, ye sick and infirm, 

The " King in His beauty" hath conquered e'en 
death. 
The designs of thy King, though ye cannot discern, 
Shall rescue forever from earth's poisonous breath. 

8 Oh ! sad-hearted mourner in sable and weeping, 

Thy loved ones are there in that "Land far away," 
With their " King in His beauty," safe watch they 
are keeping, 
While the desolate linger on earth-land to pray. 

9 The " King in His beauty" shall charm thy soul's 

vision, 
His hand shall wipe gently all tears from thine eye ; 
Thy home shall be with Him in that land Elysian, 
No parting, He whispers, no more shalt thou die. 

CARRIE L. POST. 

Springfield, 111. 

LICHTI LIEBEI LEBEN! 

LIGHT! LOVE! LIFE! 
(The inscription upon Herder's tombstone.) 

1 The sunlight's glimmer through the storm-clouds 

parted, 
The moonlight glancing on a restless sea, 
Pale star-beams, which the eyes of night have darted, 
Such, Herder, such the Light of Earth to thee ! 

2 A rose-tint caught from the rejoicing morn, 

One sweet, lone voice from all earth's minstrelsy, 
Of smiles and tears a transient rainbow born, 
Such, Herder, such the Love of Earth to thee ! 

3 A search, a yearning for the fair, the true ; 

Illusive joys which the worn traveler flee ; 
The poet's rapture, and his anguish too ; 

Such, Herder, such the Life of Earth to thee ! 

4 But happy thou, if it was thine to gain 

An entrance to the dwelling-place of light, 
Whose holy clearness without earthly stain, 
Inwraps a world all beautiful and bright. 

5 And what is love, 'neath those serener skies, 

Where never friend proves worthless or unkind ! 
Ah ! what is love where beauty never dies ! 

Where heart to heart responds, and mind to mind ! 

6 Below, a plant by chilling winds up torn, 

It blooms with rich, immortal hues above, 
And 'mid the radiance of celestial morn, 

Glows with His brightness, whose dear name is 
Love. 



160 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



And what is life — eternal life in Heaven ! 

To love, to serve with strong undying powers, 
And find all blessings with our Saviour given, 

Our Light, our Love, our Life, forever ours. 



ANNA LENTHAL ; 
From the "Scarlet Oak," 



THE LAND OF EDEN. 

1 O Eden Land, thou land of bloom, 
Beyond the shadows of the tomb, 
Beyond the pain, and grief, and strife, 
That dim and mar our mortal life ; 

O Eden Land, thou land of the blest, 
Where we alone find peace and rest, 

2 O Eden Land — bright world of bliss, 
Mure fresh and fair, and pure than this ; 
Oh ! how our weary spirits long, 

To reach that clime of light and song ! 
Thou Eden Land, at whose close gate 
The treasures of our future wait. 

3 Thou Eden Land, Oh ! could we grasp 
Thy promised blessings in our clasp ; 
Fain would we loose our hold on earth, 
And rise to that immortal birth. 
Which shall alone place in our hands 
The key of heaven's fair Eden Land. 

KATE CAMERON. 

From "The Clariona." by permission Biglow & Main. 
Copyright, 1867, by W. B. Bradbury. 

AT EVENING IT SHALL BE LIGHT. 



"It has sometimes been, as in that beautiful story, that the last steps, 
before the darkriver was reached, lay through the land Beulah, # * 
# * and yet the feet may be dipped in the chill river, before the heav- 
enly light hasshone upon the face.— Graver thoughts of a Country Parson. 

1 It shall be light ! Though here the " silver lining," 

The solemn splendor of our midnight skies, 
The crimson glory when the sun's declining : 

Yet oft the spirit turns its eager eyes 
To the calm brightness of celestial day, 
Ah ! when, she asks, will shadows flee away, 
And all be light ? 

2 Though, like the wood thrush, when the days are 

dreary, 
She sings her sweetest in her deepest gloom, 
Or softly breathes the plaintive miserere. 

As the crushed anthemis exales perfume, 
She yearns to be where perfect spirits dwell, 
And where the notes of hallelujah swell, — 
Where all is light ! 

3 It shall be light ! O Christian ! it may be 

That, ere thy feet shall touch the bridgeless stream, 
All night and day the sun shall shine for thee, 

Where the clear rivulets of Beulah gleam ; 
Yet, should thy sun in gloom descend the kies. 

Fear not ! For thee eternal morn shall rise — 
It shall be light ! 



WILL THERE BE A ROBS FOR ME? 

Tune— " Memories of Earth." G. H„ No, 3. 

1 When Christ's precious ones are gathered, 

When He shuts the golden door ; 
When the feet that here grow weary, 

Walk in thorny paths no more ; 
When His children who have suffered, 

Folded to His gentle breast, 
Hear Him saying " faithful servant, 

Enter into joy and rest " ; 
Shall I wear a crown of glory ? 

Will there be a robe for me ? 

2 When the day of life is closing, 

And the evening cometh on, 
After all the heat and worry 

Since the rosy flush of dawn ; 
When the shadows closer gather, 

When the dark waves surge and roar • 
And from out the shadowed distance 

We can hear the boatman's oar ; 
Will the angels give me welcome ? 

Will there be a robe for me ? 

MRS. M, J. SMITH. 



THE RIVER OF SONG. 



1 I hear of a river of wonderful sheen, 

That glitters from morning till night, 
And flows in its beauty its green shores between, 

As if 'twere a creature of light; 
I hear of its music so charmingly sweet, 

That ripples and murmurs along, 
There richness and softness in harmony meet, 

They call it " The River of Song ! " 

2 Far over the isles where earth's music is borne 

This glorious melody streams, — 
'T would be to the restless, the sin-sick and worn, 

As sweet as the smile of their dreams ; 
How gladly our hearts from all strivings shall cease, 

When we with the glorified throng 
Shall drink from the purified waters of Peace, 

And sail down " The River of Song." 

3 " The River of Song !" Its low echo I hear, 

Sometimes in the silence alone, 
Its tenderness falls on my listening ear 

And comforts my heart with its tone. 
I hear it again in the stillness of night, 

In dreams, as it murmurs along ; 
Oh ! may we all, dressed in our garments of white, 

Be rowed down this " River of Song!" By per. 

IDA SCOTT TAYLOR. 

Jacksonville, 111., 1SS3. 



THE CELESTIAL CITY. 



161 



garrkt gmrirtt %offorti. 



Harriet Prescott Spoff ord began life among the rocks, woods and waters 
of Maine, at Calais, April 3, 1835. She spent her last years of school 
life at Pinkerton Academy, N. H„ after having graduated at the Putnam 
School, Derry, N. H. In the course of her literary career, she has published 
ten volumes of prose and poetry. Among her best poems are "The 
Thief in the Night." " The Pine Tree," and the one following this sketch. 
She is now in the prime of life, dwelling in the midst' of the happy dig- 
nity of felicitous domestic relations. 



WHAT IS THAT LAST DREAD BREATH, 
TO DIE? 

1 To feel God's glory breaking through 

Heaven after heaven, and streaming down, 
To gather off the cold death-dew, 
And wipe my forehead in its crown. 

2 To hear a voice unheard before, 

Or in a dream but dimly guessed, 
Whose fall more sweet than sea to shore, 
Whose burden—" Child, come to thy rest ! " 

3 To wake on high at dead of night, 

To float on seas most clear and broad, 
To read the scroll of life aright, 
To die— and find Thee, Lord ! 

HARRIETT PRESCOTT SFOFFORD. 



I WILL MEET THEE. 



Suggested by a conversation held with my dear mother when on her 
death-bed more than twenty-five years ago. 

Meet thee ? Yes, I'll meet thee, 
When the lamp will no more burn ; 
And the glass will cease to turn, 

As the last sand passes ; 
There where day precludes the night, 
In the spirit world of light, 

I will meet and greet thee. 

From the heights you'll see me, 
As my bark draws near to them, 
On the tide that others stem ; 

When I'm almost over, 
I will hear your welcome cry, 
As the breezes pass me by, 

And you come to meet me. 

Know thee ? I will know thee ! 
Why should memory fail us there, 
When we know each other here, 

Where the light falls dimly ? 
Only grasp me by the hand, 
Though a million round thee stand, 

I will know and greet thee. 

MRS. L. A. LINDSAY. 
Eminence, Ky.. April. 1884 



DEPARTURE. 

1 Mount, my soul, from earth and time, 

To thy mansion in the skies, 
Longing for those realms sublime, 

Break thy fetters, upward rise ! 
Guardian angels hover nigh, 

Whispering oft in gentle tone, 
Fearless with thine escort fly, 

They shall lead thee to the throne. 

2 Cling not to these mortal shores, 

Doomed to darkness and decay, 
While upon thy vision pours 

Light from heaven's eternal day. 
Thou shalt tread yon golden streets, 

To the ransomed freely given, 
Joyful, quaff ten thousand sweets 

From the blissful streams of heaven. 

3 Art thou shrinking from the tomb ? 

Shuddering in its chilling air? 
Once, regardless of its gloom, 

Christ, thy Saviour, slumbered there. 
He hath risen ! so thou shalt rise, 

When the vale of death is trod ; 
Soar triumphant to the skies, 

And the presence of thy God. 



M. EDMOND. 



OUR TEACHER GONE HOME. 

1 She dwelt so near her heavenly home 

No clarion call she needed ; 
Death's angel only whispered, " Come ! " 
And glad her spirit heeded. 

2 So like an angel was she here, 

This side the pearly portals, 
That we shall surely know her there 
Among the bright immortals. 

3 O Father, help us loose our hold, 

Our yearning hearts' affection ; 

And trust her, in Thine upper fold, 

To Thy dear love's protection ! 

MRS. M. B. C. SLADE. 
"Exhibition Days."— H. A. Young & Co. 

HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP. 

1 " He giveth His beloved sleep." 

Oh ! wipe your tears, ye souls that weep; 
Your house is builded in the Lord, 
Trust ye in Him and in His Word. 

2 " He giveth His beloved sleep." 

In tears who sow, in joy shall reap ; 
His dews and sun shall bless your field, 
A plenteous harvest shall it yield. 
" He giveth His beloved sleep." 
Oh ! blest art thou this rest to keep ; 
For nought shall break that sweet repose, 
When in His love your eyes shall close. 

MRS. FRANCES A. SAFFORD. 

Hopkinton, Mass., 1880. 



162 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



GO TO THY REST. 

S. M. 

1 Go to thy rest, fair child ; 

Go to thy dreamless bed, 
While yet so gentle, undefiled, 
With blessings on thy head. 

2 Before thy heart had learned 

In waywardness to stray ; 
Before thy feet had ever turned 
The dark and downward way ; 

3 Ere sin had seared the breast, 

Or sorrow woke the tear ; 
Rise to thy home of changeless rest 
In yon celestial sphere. 

4 Because thy smile was fair, 

Thy lip and eye so bright ; 
Because thy loving cradle-care 
Was such a dear delight, 

5 Shall love, with weak embrace, 

Thy upward wing detain ? 
No ! gentle angel, seek thy place 
Amid the cherub train. 

MRS. L. H. SIG0URNE7. 

WE'LL GO HOME, BY AND BY. 

1 We'll go home, by and by, when our toil is all o'er ; 
In the shadow of evening, we will wait outside the 

door, 
While life's sun serenely setting, all the clouds with 

gold is fretting, 
We'll go home, by and by, and we'll tire nevermore. 

2 We'll go home, by and by ; for the Saviour tells us so ; 
When the clouds that here have risen shall have 

faded out, and lo ! 
We shall see the Lord of glory, we shall tell the 

wondrous story, 
When we leave our well-worn sandals here below. 

3 We'll go home, by and by, for the promises are sure. 
Then take courage, fainting brother, just a little 

while endure ; 
Where the shadows cometh never, in the Christian's 

home forever, 
We will meet, by and by, with the sinless and the 

pure. 

MRS. M. J. SMITH. 



As the sun, sinking low in the depths of the ocean, 

Flings backward his glory on heaven and shore, 
And the billow that throbs as with human emotion, 

In his smile, all forgetful how soon it is o'er ; 
So my heart wins this pearl from the deep of its 
sorrow, 

And lays it with tears upon memory's shrine : 
Though the light of my life set to rise not to-morrow, 

Though parted forever, thy last look was mine. 

CAROLINE A. HOWARD. 

Set to music by Dr. Jas. R. Murray. 

DEAR ONES, ANGEL-CROWNED 

1 Since the summer roses faded, 

Since the shadows longer grew, 
Many garlands we have braided, 

Of the cypress and the yew, 
Many farewells have been spoken, 
Many links in earth's chain broken ; 

God forgive us if we dare 

Murmur in our hearts the prayer. 

It is very hard to bear, 
Hard to bear. 

2 Some whose brows were flushed with glory. 

Some who bore the cross 'mid shame, 
Some who listened to love's story, 

Some whose lips were touched with flame, 
Faded like the summer blossoms ; 
Spent their breath upon our bosoms, 
O'er our hearts their life-leaves swept, 
And this solace 'mid them crept : 
" Ye may weep, for Jesus wept, 
Jesus wept." 

3 While of cypress, yew and willow, 

Garlands and our hands have bound, 
Christ's sweet love has form'd a pillow, 

For the dear ones angel-crowned ; 
And while sadly we are sighing 
O'er their bodies lowly tying, 

In those realms from sorrow free, 

Where no death the dwellers see, 

They are waiting you and me, 
You and me. 

ANNIE M. D. RADCLIFFE. 

Set to music by James E. Murray, 



VALE. 

1 Thou did'st pass from my sight, like a vision of 
morning, 
Where clouds of the night return after rain ; 
And the crimson and gold that illumined the dawning, 

Are quenched in the gray tints of triumph again ; 
But there's joy in that beam although brief be its 
shining ; 
There's hope for the morrow in even one ray ; 
And the cloud on my heart hath this silvery lining ; 
Perhaps not forever, though parted to-day ! 



ENTERED INTO REST. 

1 When the work of day is done, 

And adown the glimmering west 
Vanishes the golden sun, 

Sweetly comes the evening rest. 

2 When night's darker shadows fall, 

And the stars their watchings keep, 
Faithful vigils over all, — 

Sweet to close the eyes in sleep. 



THE CELESTIAL CITY. 



163 



3 Mortal forms, so worn and frail, 

Lay in earth with tender care ; 
They, who pass within the vail, 
Need no human vestments there. 

4 Entered into heavenly rest ! 

Raised to realms of light and love 
Sweetly thus forever blest, 
In the spirit-life above. 



u;V r. in 



INTO THE DARK. 

Forth from the light, 
Into the silent dark, 

An unseen hand is leading ! 
Out into night, 
Where all is still and stark, 
Despite our human pleading. 
So dark the way ! 
We falter, stumbling sore. 

Haste, Light of Life ! revealing 
The coming day, 
That shineth more and more, 
For comfort, help, and healing ! 
Our lost loved one ! 
With spirits worn and faint, 
How can we say, for crying, — 
" Thy will be done " ? 
Or cease to make our plaint, 

To Thee, Thou Great Undying ? 
O Christ of love ! 
Thou, who in pity wept, 

Must we resign this blessing, — 
All others prized above ; 
That we would fain have kept, 
Dearest of our possessing ? 
Help us, we pray, 
Our Father, in this stress ! 
Till we, without repining, 
Can truly say, — 
' 'Tis well ! " " Thy hand we bless," 
Our will to Thine resigning. 



WILL HE COME? 

" I can scarcely hear," she murmured, 

" For my heart beats loud and fast, 
But surely, in the far, far distance, 

I can hear a sound at last." 
It is only the reapers singing, 

As they carry home their sheaves, 
And the evening breeze has risen, 

And rustles the dying leaves. 
" Sister, there are voices talking," 

Calmly still she strove to speak, 
Yet her voice grew faint and trembling, 

And the red flushed in her cheek. 



It is only the children playing, 

Below, now their work is done ; 
And they laughed that their eyes are dazzled 

By the rays of the setting sun. 

Fainter grew her voice and weaker, 

As with anxious eyes she cried, 
" Down the avenue of chestnuts, 

I can hear a horseman ride." 
It was only the deer that were feeding 

In a herd on the clover grass ; 
They were startled, and fled to the thicket, 

As they saw the reapers pass. 

Now the night arose in silence, 

Birds lay in their leafy nests, 
And the deer crouch'd in the forest, 

And the children were at rest ; 
There was only a sound of weeping 

From the watchers around a bed, 
But rest to the weary spirit, 

Peace to the quiet dead. 

ADELAIDE PROCTER, 1880. 



OUR DEAD. 

1 Nothing is our own ; we hold our pleasures 

Just a little while ere they are fled ; 

One by one life robs us of our treasures ; 

Nothing is our own except our dead. 

2 They are ours and held in faithful keeping, 

Safe forever, all they took away ; 
Cruel life can never stir that sleeping, 
Cruel time can never seize that prey. 

3 Justice pales ; truth fades ; stars fall from heaven 

Human are the great whom we revere ; 
No true crown of honor can be given 
Till the wreath lies on a funeral bier. 

4 How the children leave us and no traces 

Linger of that smiling angel band ; 
Gone, forever gone, and in their places, 
■ Weary men and anxious women stand. 

5 Yet we have some little ones, still ours ; 

They have kept the baby smile, we know, 
Which we kissed one day, and hid with flowers, 
On their dead white faces long ago. 

6 When our joy is lost and life will take it, 

Then no memory of the past remains. 
Save with some strange, cruel stings that make it 
Bitterness beyond all present pains. 

7 Death, more tender-hearted, leaves to sorrow, 

Still the radiant shadow — fond regret ; 
We shall find, in some far bright to-morrow, 
Joy that He has taken living yet. 

8 Is love ours, and do we dream we know it, 

Bound with all our heart-strings all our own ? 
Any cold and cruel dawn may show it 
Shattered, desecrated, overthrown. 



164 



WOMAN- IN SACRED SONG. 



9 Only the dead hearts forsake us never ; 
Love, that to death's royal care has fled, 
Is thus consecrated ours forever, 

And no change can rob us of our dead. 

10 So when ill comes to besiege our city, 

Dim our gold or make our flowers fall, 
God sends death in love and pity, 

And, to save our treasures, claims them all. 

ADELAIDE A. PROCT 



IN THE NIGHT- 
I 

1 Low in the darkness, bleeding and crushed, 

I lie in Thy sovereign hand ; 
Almost my very heart's beating is hushed, 
Waiting Thy dreadful command. 

2 Shall it be life ? Oh ! can it be death ? 

Trembling in anguish, I pray, 
Take, O my God, whatsoever Thou wilt, 
But take not this one life away. 

3 Now, as of old, let the shadow go back 

On its beautiful dial to-night ; 
Shut Thou the portals, that swinging so wide, 
Would sweep it away from my sight. 



4 Surely, dear Lord, it is nothing to Thee — 

This one human life Thou canst spare, 
And it is so much, so much unto me, 
Oh ! give me my passionate prayer. 

5 Slowly — ah Heaven ! the gates seem to move ; 

Now hither, now thither they sway — 
Watching, and fearing, and weeping, 1 lie, 
Too sick with my anguish to pray. 

6 Father, my Father, forgive my wild cry — 

I know not what I have said ! 
The portals stand wide, in the terrible night, 
And I am alone with my dead ! 

II 

1 Ah, wonderful ! wonderful ! Here in the night, 

One giveth me songs for my tears — 
One saith : " I am here in the valley with thee ; 
I carry thy griefs and thy fears." 

2 Ah, wonderful ! wonderful ! Here on His breast, 

Like John, the beloved, I lie — 
My passionate prayer sinks sobbing to rest — 
'Tis Jesus, to live or to die. 

3 Thy sweet human life is over — 'tis well — 

It was Jesus for thee and for me ! 
I linger below, and still it is well, 
It is Jesus for me and for thee ! 

MRS, HEKRTCK JOHNSON. 



This hymn is a happy illustration of how much poetry a hymn may 
contain without ceasing to be simple, easily intelligible, and adapted to 
public worship. Mrs. Barbauld's harvest hymn, " Praise to God, immor- 
tal praise," is justly celebrated. Eng. Col. 



DEATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS. 



1 How blest the righteous when he dies, — 

When sinks a weary soul to rest ! 
How mildly beam the closing eyes ! 

How gently heaves the expiring breast ! 

2 So fades a summer-cloud away ; 

So sinks the gale when storms are o'er ; 
So gently shuts the eye of day ; 
So dies a wave along the shore. 

3 A holy quiet reigns around, — 

A calm which life nor death destroys ; 
And naught disturbs that peace profound, 
Which his unfettered soul enjoys. 

4 Life's labor done, as sinks the clay, 

Light from its load the spirit flies ; 
While heaven and earth combine to say, — 
" How blest the righteous when he dies ! " 

ANNE LETITIA EARBAULD. 



SOFTLY THE DAYLIGHT FADED. 

1 Softly the daylight faded, far in the distant blue, 
Blending its fading glory sweet with the twilight's 

hue ; 
Far in the distant portals, opened a golden door, 
Sweetly the angels' music came from that far-off 

shore. 

2 Far o'er the distant hilltops faded the golden beams, 
Lowly the breeze of evening chanted their mournful 

strains ; 
Up thro' the shining ether, borne on the wings of light, 
Floated the spirit onward, home to the realms of light. 

3 Fair shone the light eternal, sweet was the golden air, 
Panted the weary spirit, something of light to share ; 
Into the shining portals, clothed in her robes of white, 
Breathing the love eternal, sings she her song to-night. 

4 Sad was the hour of parting, bitter the tears we shed, 
Laying her cold and silent, down with the shrouded 

dead. 
Low, like a strain of music, over the far-off sea, 
Christ, Thou hast called our loved one home to her 

rest in Thee. 

NEVA. K. PARKHILL. 

Set to music and copyrighted by C. E. Leslie in " Welcome Songs." 



DEPARTURE, DEATH. 

THE MESSENGER BIRD. 



165 



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DEPARTURE, DEATH. 



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170 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



ASLEEP IN JESUS. 



WHEN THEY GO SILENTLY. 



1 Asleep in Jesus ! blessed sleep ! 
From which none ever wake to weep ; 
A calm and undisturbed repose, 
Unbroken by the last of foes. 

2 Asleep in Jesus ! Oh ! how sweet 
To be for such a slumber meet ! 
"With holy confidence to sing 

That death hath lost its venomed sting ! 

3 Asleep in Jesus ! peaceful rest ! 
Whose waking is supremely blest ! 
No fear— no woe, shall dim the hour 
That manifests the Saviour's power. 

4 Asleep in Jesus ! Oh ! for me 
May such a blissful refuge be : 
Securely shall my ashes lie, 

And wait the summons from on high. 

MARGARET MACKAY, 1833. 



GATHERING HOME. 



the dead which die in the Lord i 



i henceforth."— Rev. xiv : 13. 



1 Up to the bountiful Giver of life, 

Gathering home ! gathering home ! 
Up to the dwelling where cometh no strife, 
The dear ones are gathering home. 

2 Up to the city where falleth no night, 

Gathering home ! gathering home ! 
Up where the Saviour's own face is the light, 
The dear ones are gathering home. 

3 Up to the beautiful mansions above, 

Gathering home ! gathering home ! 

Safe in the arms of His infinite love, 

The dear ones are eatherina; home. 



1 When they go silently 

Out from embraces, 
While a white mystery 

Covers their faces, 
Shall our beloved know 
How the still shadows grow, 
Crossing our path below 

Through empty places ? 

2 Rest shall be sweet for them 

Under green mosses, 
Crowns shall be light for them 

After the crosses ; 
Though we loved them tenderly, 
Earth bound so slenderly 
Theirs all the gain will be, 

Ours all the losses. 

3 When they go silently, 

Is it to sever 
Each fond and faithful tie — 

Part we forever ? 
Stars of our love below, 
Though with strange light they glow, 
Surely our souls shall know, 

Knowing the Giver. 

4 Near, though we see them not, 

Faces are glowing ; 
Sweet, though we hear them not, 

Voices are flowing ; 
Giving mine eyes to see, 
God will remember me, 
When through His mystery 

Silently going. 

ANNIE HERBERT. 

From " Royal Gems." Brainard's Sons. 



Sarg & §rMks. 



THE REDEEMED IN HEAVEN. 

1 Lo ! round the throne a glorious band, 
The saints in countless myriads stand ; 
Of every tongue redeemed to God, 
Arrayed in garments washed in blood. 

2 Through tribulation great they came ; 
They bore the cross, despised the shame ; 
But now from all their labors rest, 

In God's eternal glory blest. 

3 They see the Saviour face to face ; 
They sing the triumph of His grace : 
And day and night with ceaseless praise, 
To Him their loud hosannas raise. 

4 Oh ! may we tread the sacred road 
That holy saints and martyrs trod ; 
Wage to the end the glorious strife, 
And win, like them, a crown of life ! 

MARY L. DUNCAN. 



Mary E. Brooks, nee Aikin, was born at Poughkeepsie, N". Y., and 
educated under the care of Mrs. Willard. While yet young she wrote for 
the New York periodicals under the signature of " Norma. " In 1829 she 
published her longest poem — "The Rivals of D'Este," which with her 
others, numerous in number, displayed a lively and refined taste, together 
with a sweet Christian spirit. Her "Hebrew Melodies," are among the 
best of her works, 



OH I WEEP NOT FOR THE DEAD. 

Jeremiah xxii: 10. 

1 Oh ! weep not for the dead ! 

Rather, Oh ! rather give the tear 
To those that darkly linger here, 

When all besides are fled ; 
Weep not for the spirit withering 
In its cold, cheerless sorrowing, 
Weep for the young and lovely one 
That ruin darkly revels on ; 
But never be a teardrop shed 
For them, the enfranchised dead. 






DEPARTURE, DEATH. 



171 



Oh ! weep not for the dead, 
No more for them the blighting chill, 
The thousand shades of earthly ill, 

The thousand thorns we tread ; 
Weep for the life-charm, early flown, 
The spirit broken, bleeding, lone ; 
Weep for the death-pangs of the heart, 
Ere being from the bosom part ; 
But never be a teardrop given 
To those that rest in yon blue heaven. 



Irs. Irafr. 



MARY E. BROOKS, 1338. 



% §mm. 



It is not easy to say at what date her relish for the heauties of nature 
■was enhanced, by looking beyond them to the power and munificence of 
the God of creation, combined wi "h the compassion and love of the God 
of redemption. Her early attempts at noting with her pen the thoughts 
of her heart, exhibit the play of poetic imagery and sentiment, together 
with efforts at reflection and sober views of existence beyond the world. 

The following verses have been recently found in a box of juvenile 
keepsakes and similar treasures. Judging by the writing, they may be 
referred to her eleventh or twelfth year. 



EARLY DREAMS. 

1 How sweet are those delightful dreams 

That charm in youth's bright day of bloom ! 
And sweet those radiant sunshine gleams 
That wander through surrounding gloom. 

2 And bright are fancy's fairy bowers, 

And sweet the flowers that round she flings, 
When in gay youth's romantic hours 
She shows all fair and lovely things. 

3 But ah ! there is a land above, 

Whose pleasures never fade away ; 
A holy land of bliss and love, 

Where night is lost in endless day. 

4 And in the blaze of that blest day, 

All earthly bowers we deemed so bright 
Must fade, as when the sun's first ray 
Dispels the darkness of the night. 

5 Why should my soul so fondly cling 

To joys that bless my pilgrimage ? 
The joys of Heaven I ought to sing, 
Its raptures all my love engage. 

6 Why should my spirit fear to die ? 

What though the river may be deep ? 
When passed, I never more shall sigh ; 
My eye shall then forget to weep. 

7 Oh ! for faith's bright eagle eye, 

To pierce beyond the vale of tears 
To regions blest above the sky, 

To worlds unknown by lapse of years. 

8 Then, should the toys that tempt me now 

From my enraptured bosom fly, 
In faith and grace my soul should grow, 
Till death be lost in victory. 

MARY L. DUNCAN. 



Mrs. Loud, nee Earstow, wasborn inBradford County, Penn. She had 
a wonderful memory, even when a child, commiting whole volumes of 
poetry to memory. It was not until the year of her marriage, in 1824, 
that her own talent as a poet began to develop. She became quite an 
accomplished writer, and contributed to various magazines and daily 
journals. Her hymns and poems possess mucb melody of language, 
graceful thought, tender and pious feeling. 



JESUS WEPT, 
John xi: 35. 

1 Draw near, ye weary, bow'd and broken-hearted, 

Ye onward trav'lers to a peaceful bourne ; 
Ye, from whose path the light hath all departed ; 

Ye, who are left in solitude to mourn ; 
Though o'er your spirits hath the storm-cloud swept, 

Sacred are sorrow's tears, since "Jesus wept." 

2 The bright and spotless Heir of endless glory, 

Wept over woes of those He came to save ; 
And angels wondered when they heard the story, 

That He who conquered death, wept o'er the grave ; 
For 't was not when His lonely watch He kept 

In dark Gethsemane, that "Jesus wept." 

3 But with the friends He loved whose hope had 

perished, 

The Saviour stood, while through His bosom rushed 
A tide of sympathy for those He cherished, 

And from His eyes the burning teardrops gushed, 
And bending o'er the tomb where Lazarus slept, 

In agony of spirit, "Jesus wept." 

4 Lo ! Jesus' power the sleep of death hath broken, 

And wiped the tear from sorrow's drooping eye ; 
Look up, ye mourners, hear what He hath spoken, 

" He that believes on Me shall never die." 
Through faith and love your spirits shall be kept, 

Hope brighter grew on earth when "Jesus wept." 

MRS. LOUD, 1826. 



The following outpouring of a refined spirit panting after earthly 
enjoyment of an ethereal character, she has entitled : 



IMAGINATIONS. 



1 I've imaged a land where flowers are growing 

In pristine sweetness all the year, 
And purest crystal streams are flowing, 
And sunbeams kiss the waters clear. 

2 Where music's voice, the hours beguiling, 

Comes floating on the summer air ; 
Where beaming suns are mildly smiling, 
And cloudless skies are ever fair. 



172 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



3 But darkness here the daylight closes, 

And storms obscure the sunlit sky ; 

And thorns are mingled with our roses — 

While joy is round us, grief is nigh. 

4 Oh ! were I in that land of gladness, 

I've imaged fair within my breast, 
Then farewell to grief and sadness, 
Welcome, soul-refreshing rest. 

5 Within the leafy grot reclining, 

While balmy breezes round me played, 
I'd gaze on scenes all brightly shining, 

With naught to make my heart afraid. 
G My heart should rise, with nature blending 

In one sweet song of harmony, 
Each lovely object round me tending 

To make my soul all melody. 



MARY L. DUNCAH. 



DEATH OF A LITTLE CHILD. 

1 Tender Shepherd, thou hast stilled 

Now thy little lamb's brief weeping : 
Ah, how peaceful, pale, and mild 

In its narrow bed 't is sleeping ! 
And no sigh of anguish sore 
Heaves that little bosom more. 

2 In this world of care and pain, 

Lord, thou wouldst no longer leave it ; 
To the sunny heavenly plain 

Thou dost now with joy receive it ; 
Clothed in robes of spotless white, 
Now it dwells with Thee in light. 

3 Ah, Lord Jesus, grant that we 

Where it lives may soon be living, 
And the lovely pastures see 

That its heavenly food are giving ; 
Then the gain of death we prove, 
Though Thou take what most we love. 

MISS C. WINKWORTH, TR. 



THE STRANGER'S GRAVE. 

1 'Neath a rose-hued wealth of Eglantines, 
An enshrouding wreath of creeping vines, 

Thou sleepest well ! 

2 Amidst life's turmoils, thou wakest not, 

" Forgetting the world, by .the world forgot," 
Calm is thy rest ! 

3 Did the years pass by thee sad and slow ? 

Was the journey long ? Didst thou weary grow ? 
Now rest is thine ! 

4 Nor care, nor pain, can upon thee fall, 
Thou hast found the peace that awaits us all, 

Death's calm repose ! 

5 No marble marketh thy place of rest ! 

But the sunlight falls from the radiant West 
Upon thy grave ! 



6 The bird-song, soft, from the weeping yew, 
And the wild flowers, kissed by the evening dew, 

Are thine for aye ! 

7 How soon for us will the summons come, 
When the pulse shall cease, and the lips be dumb, 

We may not know ! 

8 We, like marble, shall sometime lie, 
While the tides of life shall go surging by, 
In the ever-nearing by and by, 

Death's hour shall come ! 

MRS. M. M. B. GOODWIN. 



THE INFANT'S REMOVAL. 

God took thee in His mercy, 

A lamb untasked, untried ; 
He fought the fight for thee, 
He won the victory, 

And thou art sanctified ! 
I look around and see 

The evil vvays of men ; 
And Oh ! beloved child ! 
I'm more than reconciled 

To thy departure then. 
Now, like a dewdrop shrined 

Within a crystal stone, 
Thou'rt safe in heaven, my dove, — 
Safe with the Source of love, 

The Everlastino; One. 



MRS. SOUTHET. 



LIFE AND DEATH. 

1 Oh ! fear not thou to die ! 

Far rather fear to live, — for life 
Hath thousand snares thy faith to try, 
By peril, pain and strife. 
Brief is the work of death, 
• But life ! the spirit shrinks to see, 
How full ere Heaven recalls the breath 
The cup of woe may be. 

2 Oh ! fear not thou to die ! 
No more to suffer or to sin ; 

No snares without thy faith to try, 

No traitor heart within ; 

But fear, Oh ! rather fear, 
The gay, the light, the changeful scene, 
The flattering smiles that greet thee here, 

From Heaven thy heart to wean. 

3 Fear lest, in evil hour, 

Thy pure and holy hope o'ercome, 

By clouds that in the horizon lower, 

Thy spirit feel the gloom 

Which over earth and Heaven 

The covering throws of fell despair, 

And deems itself the unforgiven, 

Predestined child of care. 



DEPARTURE, DEATH. 



173 



4 Oh ! fear not thou to die ! 
To die, and be that blessed one 
Who in the bright and beauteous sky- 
May feel his conflict done ; — 
May feel that never more 
The tear of grief, of shame, shall come 
For thousand wanderings from the power 
Who loved and called him home. 

MRS. SOUTHEY. 

AT REST. 

1 Ah ! silent wheel ! the merry brook is dry, 

And quiet hours glide by 
In this deep vale, where once the merry stream 

Sang on through gloom and gleam ; 
Only the dove in some leaf-shaded nest 
Murmurs of rest. 

2 Ah ! weary voyager, the closing day 

Shines on that tranquil bay, 
Where the storm-beaten soul has longed to be ; 

Wild blast and angry sea 
Touch not this favored shore by summer blest, 
A home of rest. 

3 Ah ! fevered heart, the grass is green and deep 

Where thou art laid to sleep ; 
Kissed by soft winds, and washed by gentle showers, 

Thou hast thy crown of flowers ; 
Poor heart, too long in this mad world opprest, 
Take now thy rest. 

4 I, too, perplexed with strife of good and ill, 

Long to be safe and still ; 
Evil is present with me while I pray 

That good may win the day ; 
Great Giver, grant me Thy last gift and best, 
The gift of rest ! 

SARAH DOUDNEY. 



We know that the lambs are tended, 

When they come from pastures chill, 
Bleating to the fold for shelter 

From the bare and frosty hill, 
By the ribbon, red or azure, 

That we tied long months before ; 
And we lift the gate with pleasure, 

To receive them home once more. 
So shall they, who've gone before us, 

Open for us the gate of light, 
Kiss away our fears and trembling, 

Put on us the robe of white, 
Lead us through the pastures vernal, 

By the feet of angels trod, 
To the stream of life eternal, 

Flowing from the throne of God. 



LOWLY AND SOLEMN. 

Lowly and solemn be 

Thy children's cry to Thee, 

Father Divine ! 
A hymn of suppliant breath, 
Owning that life and death 

Alike are thine ! 
O Father, in that hour, 
AVhen earth all helping power 

Shall disavow, — 
When spear, and shield, and crown, 
In faintness are cast down, — 

Sustain us. Thou ! 
By Him who bowed to take 
The death-cup for our sake, 

The thorn, the rod, — 
From whom the last dismay 
Was not to pass away, 

Aid us, O God ! 



SHALL WE KNOW EACH OTHER THERE? 

1 When we meet in flelds Elysian, 

Freed from this world's pain and care, 
Shall we, with our spirit-vision, 

See and know each other there ? 
Can it be, that death will sever 

All life's dearest, holiest ties ? 
Do we look farewell forever, 

When we close these mortal eyes ? 

2 Shall we, in their angel plumage, 

Know the loved of many years, 
Lips that smiled, when we were happy, 

Eyes that wept for all our tears ? 
Ah ! how drear would be e'en Heaven, 

Did not hope, with glances bright, 
Whisper that the hearts, now riven, 

In that world shall reunite. 



IT IS I. 

When waves of trouble round me swell, 

My soul is not dismayed ; 
I hear a voice I know full well, — 

" 'Tis I ; be not afraid." 
When black the threatening skies appear, 

And storms my path invade, 
Those accents tranquilize each fear, — 

" 'Tis I ; be not afraid." 
There is a gulf that must be crossed ; 

Saviour, be near to aid ! 
Whisper, when my frail bark is tossed, — 

" 'Tis I ; be not afraid." 
There is a dark and fearful vale, 

Death hides within its shade ; 
• Oh ! say, when flesh and heart shall fail, — 

" 'Tis I ; be not afraid." 

MISS C. ELLIOTT. 



WOMAN- IN SACRED SONG. 



ON THE DEATH OF A MOTHER. 

1 At length, then, the tenderest of mothers is gone ! 

Her smiles, her love accents, can glad thee no more, 
That once cheerful chamber is silent and lone, 

And for thee all a child's precious duties are o'er. 

2 Her welcome at morning, her blessing at night, 

No longer the crown of thy comforts can be ; 
And the friend seen and loved since thine eyes first 
saw light, 
Thou cans't ne'er see again ! Thou art orphaned 
like me. 

3 Oh ! change, from which nature must shrink over- 

power' d, 
Till faith shall the anguish remove and condemn ; 
For the change to those blest ones who " die in the 

Lord," 
Though to us it brings sorrow, gives glory to them. 

MRS. . 



JS*ta ton. 



Phoebe Cary was born near Cincinnati, 1824, and died in 1871. Her 
poem entitled, " A Death Scene," has evidently been written from her 
own experience, as she watched by the < 
dear to her. 



ying bed of one very near and 



A DEATH SCENE. 



1 Dying, still slowly dying, 

As the hours of night rode by, 
She had lain since the light of sunset 

Was red on the evening sky, 
Till after the middle watches, 

As we' softly near her trod, — 
When her soul from its prison fetters 

Was loosed by the hand of God. 

2 One moment her pale lips trembled 

With the triumph she might not tell, 
As the sight of the life immortal 

On her spirit's vision fell ; 
Then the look of rapture faded, 

And the beautiful smile was faint, 
As that in some convent picture 

On the face of a dying saint. 

3 And we felt, in the lonesome midnight, 

As we sat by the silent dead, 
What a light on the path going downward 

The feet of the righteous shed ; 
When we thought how with faith unshrinking 

She came to the Jordan's tide, 
And, taking the hand of the Saviour, 

Went up on the heavenly side. 



COME TO THE HOUSE OF PRAYER. 

S. M. 

J Come to the house of prayer, 
O thou afflicted, come : 
The God of peace shall meet thee there ; 
He makes that house His Home. 



2 Come to the house of praise, 

Ye who are happy now ; 
In sweet accord your voices raise, 
In kindred homage bow. 

3 Thou, whose benignant eye 

In mercy looks on all — 
Who seest the tear of misery, 
And hear'st the mourner's call — 

4 Up to Thy dwelling-place 

Bear our frail spirits on, 
Till they outstrip time's tardy pace, 
And heaven on earth be won. 

MISS E. TAYLOR. 

SLEEP. 

1 Of all the thoughts of God that are 
Borne inward unto souls afar, 

Among the Psalmist's music deep, 
Now tell me if that any is 
For gift or grace surpassing this : 

" He giveth His beloved sleep ? " 

2 What would we give to our beloved ? 
The hero's heart, to be unmoved ; 

The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep ; 
The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse ; 
The monarch's crown, to light the brows ? 

" He giveth His beloved sleep." 

3 What do we give to our beloved ? 
A little faith, all undisproved ; 

A little dust, to over weep ; 
And bitter memories, to make 
The whole earth blasted for our sake. 

" He giveth His beloved sleep." 

4 " Sleep soft, beloved ! " we sometimes say, 
But have no tune to charm away 

Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep ; 
But never doleful dream again 
Shall break the happy slumber when 

" He giveth His beloved sleep." 

5 O earth, so full of dreary noise ! 

O men, with wailing in your voice ! 

O delved gold the wailers heap ! 
O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall ! 
God strikes a silence through you all, 

And " giveth His beloved sleep." 

6 His dews drop mutely on the hill, 
His cloud above it saileth still, 

Though on its slope men sow and reap, 
More softly than the dew is shed, 
Or cloud is floated overhead, 

" He giveth His beloved sleep." 

7 For me, my heart, that erst did go 
Most like a tired child at a show, 

That sees through tears the mummers leap, 
Would now its wearied vision close, 
Would childlike on His love repose 

" Who giveth His beloved sleep." 

• ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 






OBITUARY. 



175 



REJOICING IN HEAVEN. 

1 Young spirit, freed from bondage, 

Rejoice ! Thy work is done ; 
The weary world is 'neath thy feet ; 
Thou, brighter than the sun ! 

2 Arise, put on the garments 

Which the redeemed win. 
Now, sorrow hath no part in thee, 
Thou, sanctified from sin ! 

3 Awake, and breathe the living air 

Of our celestial clime ! 
Awake to love which knows no change, 
Thou, who hast done with time ! 

4 Awake ! Lift up thy joyful eyes, 

See, all heaven's host appears ; 
And be thou glad exceedingly, 
Thou, who hast done with tears. 

5 Awake ! descend ! Thou art not now 

With those of mortal birth ; 
The living God hath touched thy lips, 
Thou, who hast done with earth ! 



MARY HOWITT. 



flats fubbelL 



Miss Hubbell is the daughter of Rev. Stephen Huhbell. Her mother 
is the well-known author of "Shady Side." She was regarded asa young 
lady of great intellectual promise. The following poem was written on 
her death-bed. 



DEATH. 

1 Say where, on thy slow pinions, tarriest thou, 

soft, celestial breath, 

Sent to my spirit from the Infinite ? 

1 will not call thee Death ! 

2 Ou my white couch, all day I wait for thee, 

And through the dewy night ; 
Has He commissioned thee to wing so slow, 
And calm, thy solemn flight ? 

3 In velvet fields, I know the lambkins play, 

And infant violets peep. 
Come swiftly, ere my almost parted heart 
Return for these to weep ! 

4 While still and pale, I fade from hour to hour, 

Eyes, keeping watch like stars, 
Make earth so dear that still my spirit rests 
Without the crystal bars ! , 

5 This lower sky is gloriously fair ; 

I am not tired of earth ! 
From other spheres, I shall look love to thee, 
Land of my mortal birth ! 

6 But I have caught a vision of the palms 

Around the Mount of God : 
That mvstic tree, whose* branches show the wa 
Which Christ, the Saviour, trod. 



7 And underneath their boughs my soul must dwell 

With souls beatified. 
'Twas whispered to me in the holy night, 
By angels at my side. 

8 Then why, on thy slow pinions, tarriest thou, 

soft, celestial breath, 

Sent to my spirit from the Infinite ? 

1 will not call thee Death ! 

MARY HUBBELL. 



AN OPEN DOOR. 



1 A light streams downward from the sky, 

An open door the radiance shows, 
Through which the ransomed spirits fly, 
To enter bliss no mortal knows. 

2 Girded with gladness in that home, 

No soul its sackcloth ever wears ; 
No sickness, griefs, or fears, can come, 
No burdened heart with heavy cares. 

3 A tree of life, with pleasant shade, 

Grows in that upper Paradise ; 
Renewed from Eden's early glade, 
Its various fruit each want supplies. 

4 There flowers of grace in beauty stand, 

With fragrance of immortal bloom ; 
No blighting breath, nor icy hand, 

Demands their sweetness for the tomb. 

5 Sweet sinless home ! my spirit longs 

To mount the skies, and breathe thine air ; 
With grateful heart to join the songs, 
Whose rolling tide flows ceaseless there ! 

MRS. HINSDALE, 1865. 



MY WELCOME BEYOND. 

1 Who will greet me first in heaven, 

When that blissful realm I gain, 
. When the hands have ceased from toiling 

And the heart hath ceased from pain ; 
When the last farewell is spoken, 

Severed the last tender tie, 
And I know how sweet, how solemn, 

And how blest it is to die ? 

2 As my barque glides o'er the waters 

Of that cold and silent stream, 
And I see the domes of temples 

In the distance brightly gleam — 
Temples of that beauteous city 

From all blight and sorrow free, 
Who adown its golden portals 

First will haste to welcome me ? 



176 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



3 Ah ! whose eyes will watch my coming 

From that fair and beauteous shore ? 
Whose the voice I first shall listen 

That shall teach me Heavenly-lore? 
When my feet shall press the mystic 

Borders of that better land, — 
Whose face greet my wondering vision, 

Whose shall clasp the spirit hand ? 

4 Who will greet me first in Heaven ? 

Oft the earnest thought will rise, 
Musing on the unknown glories 

Of that home beyond the skies ; 
Who will be my Heavenly mentor? 

Will it be some seraph bright, — ■ 
Or an angel from the countless 

Myriads of that world of light ? 

5 No, not these, for they have never 

Dawned upon my mortal view, — 
But the dear ones gone before us, — 

They, the loved, the tried, the true ; 
They who walked with us life's pathway, 

To its joys and griefs were given, 
They who loved us best in Earth-land 

Be the first to greet in Heaven. 

ALICE WELLINGTON. 

GUARDIAN ANGELS 

1 With us in our wanderings, 

With us when we rest ; 
Ever waking thoughts most holy, 
Purified and best. 

2 Roaming wheresoe'er we may, 

O'er the sea or land ; 
Ever strengthened, led and guided 
By a helping hand. 

3 Ministering angels now 

Are the glorified ; 
Heavenly comforters are those 
Whom we sa} r have died. 

4 Watchful care they give us now, 

Tenderer love bestow ; 
Drawing nearer, nearer heaven, 
Helping up to go. 

MKS. CARKIK L. POST. 
From the "Daily Monitor," Springfield, 111., 1882. 



'Irs. gatii grant. 



Mrs. Braut was born at Huntington, Huntington Oo., Pa., August 1, 
1857, and died October 25, 1883, being a little over 26 years old at the 
time of her death. She was married to David Brant, in this city, March 
17, 1877. Below are reproduced seme lines written by Mrs. Braut, during 
her last illness. 

ONLY WAITING. 
1 Only waiting for the Saviour, 
Only waiting for His call, 
To that home beyond the river, 
Just beyond the golden wall. 
Hush, be still, thou weary spirit, 
Why impatient wilt thou be ? 
For beyond the shining portal 
There the Saviour waits for thee. 



2 Only waiting for the Saviour, 

Oh ! how blessed is the thought, 
Healing every pain and sorrow, 

Every grief the world has wrought. 
Soon you '11 be with Him in glory, 

Soon His loving face you '11 see, 
At His feet in shining brightness, 

Forever, through all eternity. 

3 Only waiting for the Saviour, 

Waiting for a crown to wear, 
Longing for a robe of whiteness, 

And the angels' song to share. 
Only waiting for the Saviour, 

He who sits upon the throne, 
There to welcome all His loved ones 

To that bright celestial home^ 

4 Only waiting for the Saviour, 

Restless spirit, why not wait? 
Soon you'll reach that home in glory, 

Enter through the golden gate. 
There to see in sweet rejoicing 

Angels singing 'round the throne, 
Welcoming each coming spirit 

To that bright and happy home. 

5 Only waiting for the Saviour, 

For Him who died to set us free, 
On the cross in deepest suffering, 

Died to save both you and me. 
Still He waits and watches o'er us, 

Tenderly He bids us come, 
There to be with Him in glory, 

In that bright eternal home. 

6 Only waiting for the Saviour, 

For to bear my soul away, 
To the realms of endless glory, 

To that land more fair than day. 
Where the tree of life is blooming, 

And the crystal waters gleam, 
Angels bear my spirit over 

To that home so like a dream. 

MKS. DAVID BRANT. 
From Springfield, 111., "State Journal." 



OVER THE RIVER I'M GOING. 

1 Over the river I'm going, 

Beyond where the pearly gates stand, 
Over the cold icy billows, 

To live in a fair, sunny land. 
My Father has built me a mansion, 

And filled it with treasures of gold, 
Yes, over the river I'm going, 

To where there are pleasures untold. 

Chorus — To where there are pleasures untold, 
To where there are pleasures untold; 
Yes, over the river I'm going, 
To where there are pleasures untold. 



WA Y OF SALVATION. 



177 



Over the river I'm going ; 

Oh ! seek not to draw me aside ! 
See, for the boatman is waiting 

To ferry me over the tide. 
My Saviour is there to receive me, 

And shield me from suffering and cold ; 
Yes, over the river I'm going, 

To where there are pleasures untold. 



A MIDNIGHT CAROL. 

1 Was it angels that I heard ? 
Through the darkness cold and gray, 
Singing soft and far away, 
Singing nearer and more near, 
Tender, sweet and heavenly clear, 
In the silence of the night, 

As a white-winged chorus might, 
Till my heart within was stirred — 
Was it angels that I heard ? 

2 Was it angels that I heard ? 
Even so they sang and spoke 
To the 'mazed shepherd folk 
Oa the bare moor 'mid the snow 
In the India long ago ; 

Songs of peace, of love to men, 
Of the Babe of Bethlehem, 
Sweeter song than song of bird ; 
Was it angels that I heard ? 

3 Was it angels that I heard ? 
They, His messengers all fair, 
Chant His praises everywhere, 
Sweetly chant and never tire ; 
Whoso joins the lovely choir, 
Echoing back their song again, 
Doeth angel work for men ; 
So I hold (she still averred) 

It was angels that I heard ! 



2 When first upon the mountains, 

I, in the vale below, 
Beheld Him waiting for me, 

Heard His command to go ; 
I, poorest in the valley, 

Oh ! how could I prepare 
To meet His royal presence ? 

How could I make me fair ? 

3 Ah ! in His love He sent me 

A garment clean and white, (Rev. xix, 8.) 
And promised broidered raiment, 

All glorious in His sight ; 
And then He gave me glimpses 

Of the jewels for my hair, (2 Tim. iv. 8,) 
And the ornament most precious (1 Pet. iii. 4,) 

For His chosen bride to wear. 

4 First in my tears I washed me, 

. They could not make me clean ; 
A fountain then He showed me, (Zech. iii. 1,) 

Strange until then unseen, 
So close I'd lived beside it 

For many weary years, 
Yet passing by the fountain, 

Had bathed me in my tears. 

love, O grace, that showed it ! (Rom. iii. 4.) 
Revealed its cleansing power, 

How could I choose but hasten 
To meet Him from that hour. 

5 He sent His Guide to guide me, 

He knew how blind, how frail 
The children of the valley — 

He knew my love would fail. 
He knew the mists above me 

Would hide Him from my sight,, 
And I, in darkness groping, 

Would winder from the right. 

1 know that I must follow 

Slow, when I fain would soar, 
That step by step thus upward, 
Mv Guide must go before. 



THE ROYAL BRIDEGROOM. 

1 Behold, the Royal Bridegroom, 

Hath called me for His Bride ! 
I joyfully make ready (Rev. xix. 7.) 

And hasten to His side. 
He is a Royal Bridegroom, 

But I am very poor, 
Of low estate He chose me, 

To show His love the more : 
For He hath purchased for me 

Such goodly, rich array — 
Oh ! surely, never Bridegroom 

Gave gifts like His away. 



Cleave close, dear Guide, and lead me, 

I cannot go aright 
Through all that dost beset me, 

Keep, keep me close in sight! 
'Tis but a little longer; 

Methinks the end I see, 
Oh ! matchless love and mercy, 

The Bridegroom waits for me; 
Waits, to present me faultless, 

Before His Father's throne, 
His comeliness my beauty, (Phil. iii. 21.) 

His righteousness my own. 

MRS. S. K. SHIPLEY, 

Philadelphia, Perm., 1883. 



178 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Xmm i. §atekm's 



Hymns and poems speak for themselves. But it is always pleasant to 
record words of appreciation and commendation concerning one so 
gifted in song and so trustful and happy in her Christian life. The 
death of this sweet singer occurred at her home in Painesville, 0., Oct. 
30, 1885, after years of suffering, patiently and sweetly borne. Her pas- 
tor, Rev. Geo. R. Merrill, says of her:— "Set apart, at the age of twelve, 
to a -well-nigh hopeless invalidism, she so used books and friends and 
nature that few graduates of the schools were her equals in the range 
and accuracy of her knowledge. Her Christian life was exquisitely nat- 
ural in its unfolding, beginning with her own consciousness of life itself, 
and the sense of what she owed her Lord impelled her to strongest 
efforts to make the most of herself, to cultivate and use her gifts, and 
to make everything that belonged to Him her special care." 



HIS DWELLING-PLACE. 

1 O Christ, my Master and rny King, 

How can such wonder be, 
That Thou, the Lord of all the earth, 
Shouldst make Thy home with me ! 

2 That not alone in moments rare 

When faith is strong and free, 
And love has but to reach her hand 

To feel it clasped by thee ; 
But day by day, through vexing cares, 

Through weak distrust and sin, 
Thou dost not leave the humblest heart 

When Thou hast entered in ! 

3 If such Thy word, Friend divine, 

And Thou dost love so well, 
How must I haste to furnish forth 

The house where Thou dost dwell ! 
How must I strive to banish self, 

And worldly sovereignty, 
That Thy strong love may widen out 

The narrow walls for Thee ! 

4 And daily must I guard the door, 

From envy, fret and strife, 
That so a quiet house may ljold 

The Prince of peace and life. 
And if no shades of doubt obscure 

The skyward windows free, 
The steadfast light of heaven shall keep 

A sunny home for Thee. 

5 Oh ! poor and low the vassal's hut, 

Yet if Thou reignest there, 
Bring in the riches of Thy grace 
And make Thv dwelling fair ! 

MINNIE D. BATKHAM, 

Painesville, 0. 1884. 



VIA CRUCIS, VIA LUCIS. 

"The way of the cross, the way of light," 

1 Via crucis, via lucis — ■ 

Words of peace, and words of power ; 
When beneath our burdens bending, 
When some cross-crowned steep ascending, 
Via crucis, via lucis — 
Nerves us for the trial hour. 



2 Via crucis, via lucis — 
Bind this motto to thy heart ; 

'Mid thy daily cares and crosses, 
'Mid thy conflicts and thy losses, 
Via crucis, via lucis — 
Of its poison robs the dart. 

3 Via crucis, via lucis — 
Ransomed ones before the throne, 

Hear we not Heaven's arches ringing 
With the song ye now are singing — 
Via crucis, via lucis — 
Calvary's Martyr's work is done, 
Calvary's Victor claims His own — 
Via crucis, via lucis ! 



THE WOUNDS OF SIN. 

1 Deep are the wounds which sin has made ; 

Where shall the sinner find a cure ? 
In vain, alas, is nature's aid, 

The work exceeds all nature's power. 

2 Sin, like a raging fever, reigns, 

With fatal strength, in every part ; 
The dire contagion fills the veins, 
And spreads its poison to the heart. 

3 And can no sovereign balm be found, 

And is no kind physician nigh, 
To ease the pain, and heal the wound, 
Ere life and hope forever fly ? 

4 There is a great Physician near ; 

Look up, O fainting soul, and live; 
See, in His heavenly smiles appear 
Such aid as nature cannot give. 

5 See, in the 'Saviour's dying blood, 

Life, health, and bliss abundant flow ; 
'Tis only this dear sacred flood 

Can ease thy pain, and heal thy woe. 



ANNE STEELE. 



MESSAGE OF SALVATION. 

(Tune,— "Pass me not, gentle Saviour.") 

1 Unto us the message cometh 

Of redeeming love, 
Of the One who died to save us, 
Pleading still above. 
Cho. — Freely, freely, 

Jesus died for all ; 
Who can slight the tender mercy 
Of His loving call ? 

2 We'll repeat the wondrous story ; 

Though the hosts of sin 
Close around in deadly conflict, 
Christ is sure to win. 

3 Still the patient Saviour calleth, 

O rebellious one ! 
Can you yet reject His mercy ! 
Think what He has done. 



WAY OF SALVATION. 



179 



4 Hear to-day the invitation : 
Come to Christ and live, 
And the bliss of full salvation 
He to you will give. 



LANTA WILSON SMITH. 

By per, David C. Cook. 



PRECIOUS BLOOD. 

(Tune,—" Urbane," 171 A, in Havergal's " Psalmody.") 

1 Precious, precious blood of Jesus, 

Shed on Calvary, 
Shed for rebels, shed for sinners, 
Shed for me ! 

2 Precious blood that hath redeemed us, 

All the price is paid ! 
Perfect pardon now is offered, 
Peace is made. 

3 Precious, precious blood of Jesus, 

Let it make thee whole, 
Let it flow in mighty cleansing 
O'er thy soul. 

4 Though thy sins are red like crimson, 

Deep in scarlet glow, 
Jesus' precious blood can make them 
White as snow, 

5 Now the holiest with boldness 

We may enter in, 
For the open fountain cleanseth 
From all sin ! 

6 Precious blood ! by this we conquer 

In the fiercest fight ; 
Sin and Satan overcoming 
By its might. 

FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL. 

Irs. |. % J. HturitfBp 

Resided for many years in Clinton, Iowa, and still regards it as her 
home, since her beloved dead lie buried there. For thirty years past 
she has ranked with the best American hymn-writers and poets. At 
present she is doing editorial work in Chicago, and during her fouryears' 
residence in that city, has written chiefly in prose. (1885.) 



THE OPEN GATE. 

1 " There is a gate that stands ajar ; : 
Beyond it Zion's mansions are, 

And everlasting peace. 
Within that clime the pure abide, 
Rejoicing at the Saviour's side, 

And anthems never cease. 

2 That gate is now ajar for me, 
Beyond, my blessed home I see, 

And never-ceasing rest. 
For me the Lord of Glory died, 
That I might cross the purple tide, 

And stand a welcome guest. 



3 " That gate ajar " will open wide, 
That darkly surging sea divide, 

When life's last hour is past. 
My eager feet shall press the sod, 
By all the ransomed millions trod, 

And stand entire at last. 

4 That welcome hour is hasting on, 
My moments here will soon be gone, 

And earth's last conflict won. 
Then at the entrance of that gate 
My Lord, in glory, shall await, 

And greet His ransomed one. 



MRS. F. A. 



WOOD-WHITE. 

Dec. 12, 1875. 



Its. c $. mm. 



The early home of Mrs. Wilson was in Washington, D. ft Since her 
marriage to E. A. Wilson, the chief founder of the Third Presbyterian 
Church, Springfield, 111., and editor of "The Labor of Love," and "Food 
for the Lambs," her home has been in that city. Of a remarkably sweet 
and retiring manner, she has written more extensively than the public 
are aware of, her productions having usually appeared anonymously. 
Her verse is noted for perfect rhythm, smooth and flowing measure, 
with sentiment ever expressive of deep piety and thorough consecration. 
Her maiden name was Cynthia Corwin Hannon. 

THORNS. 

1 Thorns pierced a holier than thou, — 

Not for His sins, but thine, 
Did cruel soldiers for His brow 
The sharp, mock crown entwine. 

2 He bore alone the bitter pain, 

Not soothed by love, as thou ; 

That we a portion fair might gain, 

And strength for trials now. 

3 When sharper thorns in coming days 

Cause thee like Paul to pray, 

" Sufficient for thee is my grace," 

May Christ thy Saviour say. 

MRS. E. A. WILSON 1 . 
Springfield, 111., 188a 



OH I 'TIS GLORY IN MY SOUL. 

To Thy cross, dear Christ, I'm clinging, 

All my refuge and my plea ; 
Matchless is Thy loving kindness, 

Else it had not stoop'd to me. 
Long my heart hath heard the calling, 

But I thrust aside Thy grace ; 
Yet, O boundless condescension, 

Love is shining from Thy face. 
Love eternal, light eternal, 

Close me safely, sweetly in ; 
Saviour, let Thy balm of healing 

Ever keep me free from sin. 

FLORA L. BEST. 

By per. Set to music by Prof. J. K. Sweeney in 

"Gems of Praise," published by John J. Hood. 



180 



WOMAN IN SACKJED SONG. 



THY NAME ALONE CAN SAVE. 



der heaven given among men, 
r.d."— Acts iv : 12. 



"For there is none other name 
whereby we must be 

1 There is a name divinely sweet, 

That melts the heart to love, 
And wakes the highest note of praise 

From angel choirs above; 
It guides the mourning wanderer home ; 

It calms the troubled wave ; 
In all the realms beneath the skies, 
No other name can save. 
Chorus. — Dear Saviour, Thine the precious name 
That melts the heart to love, 
And wakes the highest note of praise 
From angel choirs above. 

2 That name devotion's flame inspires 

In every grateful breast ; 
And through its all-prevailing power 

We hope and look for rest ; 
It brings us near the throne of grace, 

By faith and earnest prayer ; 
It brings to every waiting soul 

A Father's blessing there. 

3 The saints redeemed, with one accord, 

The name in glory sing ; 
And o'er the radiant fields of light, 

Their loud hosannas ring ; 
Eternal Father, Source of Light ! 

Inspire our grateful lays ; 
And teach our hearts in nobler strains 

That blessed name to praise. 

MRS. F. J. VAN ALSTYNE. 

From " Pure Gold," by per. Biglow & Main. 
Copyrighted 1871. 

WONDROUS LOVE- 

"God so loved the world."— John iii: 16. 

1 God loved the world of sinners lost 

And ruined by the fall ; 
Salvation full, at highest cost, 
He offers free to all. 
Chorus. — Oh ! 'twas love, 'twas wondrous love! 
The love of God to me ; 
It brought my Saviour from above, 
To die on Calvary. 

2 E'en now by faith I claim Him mine, 

The risen Son of God ; 
Redemption by His death I find, 
And cleansing through the blood. 

3 Love brings the glorious fulness in, 

And to His saints makes known 
The blessed rest from inbred sin, 
Through faith in Christ alone. 

4 Believing souls, rejoicing go ; 

There shall to you be given 
A glorious foretaste, here below, 
Of endless life in heaven. 



5 Of victory now o'er Satan's power 

Let all the ransomed sing, 

And triumph in the dying hour 

Through Christ the Lord our King. 



MRS. M. STOCKTON. 
Set to music by W. G. Fischer. 



THE GATE AJAR FOR ME. 



"The gates of it shall not be shut at all by day: for there shall be 
no night there."— Rev. xxi : 25. 

1 There is a gate that stands ajar, 

And through its portals gleaming, 
A radiance from the Cross afar, 
The Saviour's love revealing. 
Refrain. — O, depth of mercy ! can it be 
That gate was left ajar for me ? 
For me, for me ? 
Was left ajar for me ? 

2 That gate ajar stands free for all 

Who seek through it salvation ; 
The rich and poor, the great and small, 
Of every tribe and nation. 

3 Press onward then, though foes may frown, 

While mercy's gate is open ; 
Accept the cross, and win the crown, 
Love's everlasting token. 

4 Beyond the river's brink we'll lay 

The cross that here is given, 
And bear the crown of life away, 
And love Him more in heaven. 

MRS. LYDIA BAXTER. 

From "Hallowed Songs," published by Philip Phillips. 
Copyright, 1871, used by per. 

THERE IS LIFE FOR A LOOK. 

"Look unto Me and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth."— Isa. xiv: 22. 

1 There is life for a look at the Crucified One, 

There is life at this moment for thee ; 
Then look, sinner, look unto Him and be saved, 
Unto Him who was nailed to the tree. 
Ref. — Look ! look ! look and live ! 

There is life for a look at the Crucified One, 
There is life at this moment for thee. 

2 Oh ! why was He there as the bearer of sin, 

If on Jesus thy guilt was not laid ? 
Oh ! why from His side flowed the sin-cleansing blood, 
If His dying thy debt has not paid ? 

3 It is not thy tears of repentance and prayers, 

But the blood that atones for the soul ; 
On Him, then, who shed it, thou mayest at once 
Thy weight of iniquities roll. 

4 Then doubt not thy welcome, since God has declared 

There remaineth no more to be done ; 
That once in the end of the world He appeared, 
And completed the work He begun. 






WAY OF SALVATION. 



181 



5 Then take with rejoicing from Jesus at once 
The life everlasting He gives ; 
And know with assurance thou never canst die 
Since Jesus, thy righteousness, lives. 

AMELIA M. HULL. 

Set to music by Rev. E. G. Taylor. 

THE WANDERER NO MORE WILL ROAM. 

1 The wanderer no more will roam, 
The lost one to the fold hath come, 
The prodigal is welcomed home — 

O Lamb of God, in Thee ! 

2 Though clothed with shame, by sin defiled, 
The Father hath embraced His child, 
And I am pardoned, reconciled, 

O Lamb of God, in Thee ! 

3 It is the Father's joy to bless, 
His love provides for me a dress, 
A robe of spotless righteousness, 

O Lamb of God, in Thee ! 

4 Now shall my famished soul be fed, 
A feast of love for me is spread, 
I feed upon the children's bread, 

O Lamb of God, in Thee ! 

5 Yea, in the fulness of His grace, 
He put me in the children's place, 
Where I may gaze upon His face, 

O Lamb of God, in Thee ! 

6 I cannot half His love express, 
Yet, Lord, with joy my lips confess 
This blessed portion I possess, 

O Lamb of God, in Thee ! 

7 And when I in Thy likeness shine, 
The glory and the praise be Thine, 
That everlasting joy is mine, 

O Lamb of God, in Thee ! 

MARY JANE DECK, 1847. 

ROOM FOR THEE. 

"There was no room for them in the inn."— Luke. 2 : 7. 
(Tune,— Cf. H. 2 : 62. 

1 Thou didst leave Thy throne, and Thy kingly crown, 

When Thou earnest to earth for me ; 
But in Bethlehem's home there was found no room, 
For Thy holy nativity. 
Cho. — Oh ! come to my heart, Lord Jesus ! 

There is room in my heart for Thee. 

Oh ! come to my heart, Lord Jesus, come ! 

There in room in my heart for Thee. 

2 Heav'n's arches rang when the angels sang 

Of Thy birth, and Thy royal decree ; 
But in lowly birth didst Thou come to earth, 
And in greatest humility. 

3 Foxes found their rest, and the birds had their nests, 

In the shade of the cedar tree ; 
But Thy couch was the sod, O Thou Son of God, 
In the deserts of Galilee. 



4 Thou earnest, O Lord, with Thy living word, 

That should set Thy people free ; 
But with mocking and scorn and with crown of thorn, 
Did they bear Thee to Calvary. 

5 Heaven's arches shall ring, and its choirs shall sing, 

At Thy coming to victory, 
Thou wilt call me home, saying "yet there is room," 
There is room at My side for thee. 

EMILY S. ELLIOT. 

Set to music by Ira. D. Sankey. 

SANS CHRIST. 

' Vous etiez en ce temps-li sans Christ.' 
Eph. ii. 12. 

1 Que ferais-je sans Toi, Sauveur plein de clemense ? 
Par ton sang precieux a grand prix rachete, 

Tes merites parfaits sont ma richesse immense 
Mon espoir pour le temps et pour l'eternite. 

2 Que ferais-je sans Lui ? Les tresors de ce mode 
Ne sont rien a mes yeux, aupres de Jesus-Christ ; 
Mais plus il verse en moi sa paix pure et profonde, 
Plus je vondrais en vous voir les fruits de l'Esprit. 

3 Pourquoi vivre sans Lui? Tout pres de vous il passe, 
II n'attend qu'un soupir pour vous prendre en ses bras; 
Attendra-t-il tou jours ? II veut vous faire grace 

Et vous, pauvre egare, ne le voulez-vous pas ? 

4 Que ferez-vous sans Lui ! Dans sa bonte supreme 
II s'est offert pour vous, sa force est votre appui ; 
N'avez-vous pas besoin d'un Sauveur qui vous aime, 
Et qui vous aimera demain comme aujourd'hui ? 

5 Que ferez-vous sans Lui dans l'amere detresse, 
Quand un brouillard epais voilera le chemin, 

S'il vous faut porter seul le poids qui vous appresse, 
Et n'avoir pas un guide a qui donner la main ? 

6 Vivre encore sans Lui, ce serait impossible, 

Si vous saviez quels fers vous tiennent attache, 
Si vos yeux dessilles voyaient le mal terrible 
Qui vous mene a la mort, salaire du peche. 

7 Que ferez-vous sans Lui, lorsqu'une main glacee 
Vous poussera tremblant vers 1'abime inconnu ? 
Quelle voix dira : ' La mort est terrassee, 

Et tu seras vainqueur, par mon bras soutenu' ? 

8 Que ferez-vous sans Lui, quand ie souverain Juge 
Qui sait tout, qui voit tout, qui ne fait point d'erreur, 
Qui vous avait en vain offert un sur refuge, 
Sondera les derniers replis de votre coeur ? 

9 Que ferez-vous sans Lui, quand, la porte f,ermee, 
Vous vous consumerez en steriles efforts, 

Du celeste banquet la lumiere embaumee 
Arrivant jusqu'a vous dans la nuit du dehors ? 

10 Mais avec Lui, mon frere, avec Lui, e'est la vie ! 
C'est tout ce qu'il nous manque et tout ce qu'il nous 

faut; 
C'est le not deborbant d'une joie infinie, 
Paix parf aite ici-bas, bonheur parfait la-haut ! 

11 Que ferais-tu sans Lui ? Pourquoi rester rebelle 
A la voix qui t'invite et te dit : ' Viens a moi' ? 
Ta pauvre ame a besoin de ce Sauveur fidele, 
Et Lui, grace ineffable, il a besoin de toi ! 

FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL. 

Translated by Mons. Le Pasteur Theodore. 



182 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



OUT IN THE WILDERNESS. 

1 I once was treacling, wearily, alone, 

A frightful wilderness. The starless night 

Hung round me like the blackness of a pall. 

I heard the fearful cry of evil beasts ; 

I saw at intervals the lightning play — 

A fiery snake that lighted up the dark — 

Above an endless pit that yawned for me. 

I called on names beloved : the lonesome wood 

Sent back my cry. A wail was on the wind, 

And phantoms strange seemed beckoning me below. 

2 Where, then, was He whose name the demons fear ? 
I could not find my Lord. A storm arose — 

A storm which shook the earth beneath my feet, 
And rent in twain the old gigantic trees ; 
And on the howling wind there seemed to ride 
The fiendish forms that mock and taunt and sneer : 
None else replied. Where, then, was Christ, the Lord? 
Was He no more, that hell kept carnival ? 
I called aloud, " I trust, though Thou dost slay: 
Shine on my path, O Bright and Morning Star ! " 

3 My feet beside the pit began to slide ; 
When, from above, a hand, a powerful hand, 
Held me, and drew me back, and led me on. 
Above the wilderness there broke a light, — 
A clear soft dawning, as of dewy day ; 

A light like to the smile of one beloved, 

Who loves us without stint. Then music fell : 

Was it the flutings of the greenwood birds, 

Or half-caught hymnings sliding down from heaven ? 

And still the heart of love and arm of strength 

Bear me along the brightening wilderness. 

URANIA LOCKE BAILEY. 

SUBSTITUTION. 

"He was wounded for our transgressions "—Isaiah liii : v. 

1 O Christ, what burdens bowed Thy head ! 

Our load was laid on Thee ; 
Thou stoodest in the sinner's stead, 

Didst bear all ill for me. 
A Victim led, Thy blood was shed ; 

Now there's no load for me. 

2 Death and the curse were in our cup — 

O Christ, t' was full for Thee ! 
But Thou hast drained the last dark drop — 

'Tis empty now for me. 
That bitter cup — love drank it up ; 

Now blessings' draught for me. 

3 Jehovah lifted up His rod — 

O Christ, it fell on Thee ! 
Thou wast sore stricken of Thy God ; 

There's not one stroke for me. 
Thy tears, Thy blood, beneath it flowed ; 

Thy bruising healeth me. 

4 The tempest's awful voice was heard — 

O Christ, it broke on Thee ! 
Thy open bosom was my ward, 

It braved the storm for me. 
Thy form was scarred, Thy visage marred ; 

Now cloudless peace for me. 



5 Jehovah bade His sword awake — 

O Christ, it woke 'gainst Thee ! 
Thy blood the flaming blade must slake ; 

Thy heart its sheath must be — 
All for my sake, my peace to make , 

Now sleeps that sword for me. 

6 For me, Lord Jesus, Thou hast died, 

And I have died in Thee ; 
Thou'rt risen : my bands are all untied, 

And now Thou liv'st in me. 
When purified, made white, and tried, 

Thy Glory then for me ! 

MARY A. R. COUSIJ 

Set to music by Ira D. Sanke 

OVER THE LINE. 

"Let him come unto me."— John vii : 37. 

1 Oh ! tender and sweet was the Master's voice 

As He lovingly called to me, 
" Come over the line, it is only a step — 
I am waiting, my child, for thee." 

2 But my sins are many, my faith is small, 

Lo ! the answer came quick and clear ; 
" Thou needest not trust to thyself at all. 
Step over the line, I am here." 

3 But my flesh is weak, I tearfully said, 

And the way I cannot see ; 
I fear if I try I may sadly fail, 
And thus may dishonor Thee. 

4 Ah ! the world is cold, and I cannot go back, 

Press forward I surely must ; 
I will place my hand in His wounded palm, 
Step over the line and trust. 

Copyright. 1878, by Biglow & Main. 
Used by per. 

OUTSIDE THE GATE. 

1 I stood outside the gate, 

A poor way-faring child ; 
Within my heart there beat 

A tempest, loud and wild. 
A fear oppress'd my soul. 

That I might be too late ; 
And, Oh ! I trembled sore, 

And pray'd outside the gate. 

2 " Mercy ! " I loudly cried ; 

" Oh ! give me rest from sin ! 
" I will," a voice replied ; 

And Mercy let me in. 
She bound my bleeding wounds ; 

She soothed my aching head ; 
She eased my burden'd soul, 

And bore the load instead. - 

3 In Mercy's guise, I knew 

The Saviour long abused ; 
Who often sought my heart, 

And wept when I refused. 
Oh ! what a blest return 

For ignorance and sin ! 
I stood outside the gate, 

And Jesus let me in ! 



WAY OF SALVATION. 



183 



SANCTUM SANCTORUM. 

1 All days are great Atonement days ; 

All men who come and humbly bring, 

As incense with their offering 
Of broken hearts, true prayer and praise, 
Are priests on God's Atonement days. 

2 Their souls are sanctuaries where, 

Close curtained from the world of sin, 
The covering cherubs brood within, 

Making, amid earth's deserts bare, 

Holiest of holies everywhere. 

3 The Spirit-lighted mercy-seat 

To every alien's foot is free, 
Whate'er his Gentile life may be, 

If he but bring oblations meet 

To lay before that mercy-seat. 

4 He does not need the priestly dress, 

The breastplate wrought of precious stone, 
Urim or Thummin — Christ alone 
In His supreme, white righteousness, 
Robes him as with the high priest's dress. 

5 He does not need to bear at all 

The mystic blood of sacrifice 
Within his hand as proffered price, 

Before the absorbing peace shall fall ; 

One Lamb's, was sprinkled once for all ! 

6 Each day may be a sacred day; 

And every spot a holiest place, 
Where Christ doth manifest His grace ; 

Each day wherein men trust, obey, 

And love, is an Atonement day! 

MARGARET J. PRESTON. 



WHY DO YOU BRING OBLATIONS? 



1 Why do you bring oblations vain, 

Instead of heartfelt praise ? 
My soul abhors your bullocks slain, 
Your fasts and Sabbath days. 

2 Ye tread my courts in solemn state, 

And keep returning moons ; 
These empty baubles all, I hate, 
And formal prayers and tunes. 

3 Ye spread your hands : but well I see 

That they are full of blood ; 
Make good the tree and then to Me 
The fruitage shall be good. 

JENNY B. BEAtTCHAMP. 
Denton, Texas, Feb., 1883, 

COMPLETE IN HIM. 

1 My soul complete in Jesus stands ! 
It fears no more the law's demands ; 
The smile of God is sweet within, 
Where all before was guilt and sin. 



2 My soul at rest in Jesus lives ; 
Accepts the peace His pardon gives ; 
Receives the grace His death secured, 
And pleads the anguish He endured. 

3 My soul its every foe defies, 

And cries — 'T is God that justifies ! 
Who charges God's elect with sin ? 
Shall Christ, who died their peace to win ? 

4 A song of praise my soul shall sing, 
To our eternal, glorious King ! 
Shall worship humbly at His feet, 
In whom alone it stands complete. 

MRS. G. W. HINSDALE, 1865. 



THE ONE NAME 

1 There is one name that I would trace 

In richest gold and rarest gems, 
Round which in forms of truest grace 
• Would wreathe earth's grandest diadems; 
One name, to which in humble awe 

And grateful homage I would bow, 
Offering as due sacrifice, 

Adoring love's most solemn vow ; 
One name, to which my soul would raise 

The incense of perpetual praise. 

2 There is one name that I would speak 

With reverential, tender tone ; 
One name that I would ever seek 

In all its richness to make known ;. 
One name to which I long to see 

Earth's every dweller reverent kneel ; 
One name, whose praise I fain would hear 

Rise in one full, triumphant peal ; 
One name, than all sweet names more 

Whose praises angels oft repeat. 

3 That name is Jesus ! Hear, my soul, 

With reverent awe, that sacred name, 
To make thee of life's sickness whole, 

Jesus to earth once kindly came ; 
For thee He lived a suffering life, 

Of hatred, scorn, neglect and blame ; 
For thee He bore the tempter's strife, 

For thee the keenest pain and shame; 
For thee, for all, the Saviour died, 

The Son of God was crucified. 

4 Blest name, the pledge of love untold, 

Of pardon, peace and purity, 
The only title we can hold 

Or plead as soul security, 
Rest for the weary, joy for those 

With grief or weariness oppressed, 
Hope's anchor, haven of repose, 

Through it life's ills are all redressed, 
Through it our needs are all supplied, 

And God is fully satisfied. 



184 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



o Jesus ! let those who dare deride, 

Let those who will, scoff and reject, 
My soul in Thee will still confide, 

Shall still believe Thou wilt protect ; 
Still will I call Thee Son of God, 

Redeemer, Intercessor, Friend, 
Still seek for pardon through Thy blood, 

My hope's beginning and its end, 
And if I perish, it shall be 

Trusting, Lord Jesus Christ, in Thee. 



AT THE POOL OF BETHESDA. 

1 He lay at the pool of Bethesda ; — 

How weary and long were the years ! 
• How sick was his heart with the waiting ! 
How dim were his eyes with the tears ! 

2 For many had pressed in before him 

To prove the great miracles' truth, 
And up from the fountain of healing 
Had come with the freshness of youth. 

3 The sick and the blind were around him, 

The halt and the palsied were there ; 
And in the dusk shadow at night-fall 
His patience grew well-nigh despair. 

4 Thus year after year circled slowly ; 

In vain, as he lay on his bed, 
At the sound of the down-rushing angel, 
He stretched out his hand to be led. . 

5 The light of a Sabbath broke o'er him, 

Still waiting 'mong withered, and lame ; 
And mixed with the breath of the morning 
The scent of the sacrifice came. 

6 And weeping like David in exile, 

He murmured the psalm of complaint : 
" I cry out for Thee, O Jehovah ! 
For courts of Thy temple I faint !" 

7 Whose eyes, with such god-like compassion, 

Looked into his desolate soul ? 
Who was it that bending above him 

Asked gently, "Will thou be made whole ?" 

8 How divine was the face in its beauty ! 

How tender and loving and sad ! 
Surprised at the sweet words of pity, 
He answered, half doubting, half glad. 

9 He told how, with no friend or helper, 

He had watched for the time of God's power, 
But ever thrust back in his weakness, 
He had waited in vain the good hour. 

10 " Arise ! take thy bed !" said the Master ; 

His will o'er his limbs had control, 
He felt the new blood coursing through him, 
He knew he was instantly whole. 

11 He rose up, he walked, and he carried 

The couch of his weakness and pain ! 
He went out with joy and thanksgiving 
And prayed in God's temple again. 



12 O thou who art still by Bethesda, 
A longing and impotent soul, 
Look up ! Over thee He is bending 

And asking, "Wilt thou be made whole ?' 



URANIA LOCKE BAILEY. 



MARY OF MAGDALA. 

" Peace," she cried, "0 wild unrest, 

Growing madness in my breast ! 

Oh ! to be a flower and greet, 

Pure and white, the morning sweet ! 

Oh ! to be a sparrow small 

Nesting in the temple wall ! 

Oh ! to be a babe again, 

Dying thus without a stain ! 

Then another voice began : 

" Lo ! there comes a wondrous man 

Into Bethany to-day; 

He might charm thy pain away. 

He has power to raise the dead ; 

He forgiveth sin, 'tis said ; 

And His pity is divine 

For repentings such as thine." 

" Doth he come ?" she cried, " 'twas He 

Sent the legioned fiends from me ! 

Then did my remorse begin ; 

Then I knew how vile is sin. 

So I watch beside the door, 

Waiting for Him evermore ; 

Longing still to hear His feet 

Pass along the crowded street. 

Oh ! to see the look of grace 

Lighting that majestic face ! 

Oh ! to hear that tender voice 

Bidding heavy hearts rejoice ! 

Purer than the child new-born, 

Yet no sinner hath His scorn ; 

I will go my Lord to meet, — 

Kneel beside his sacred feet. 

In this casket, frail and fair, 

Is a perfume, costly, rare, 

Souls of plants from foreign soil, 

Precious as the fragrant oil, 

Which, forbidden to the Jews, 

Holy priests alone may use. 

I will crush the fragile thing, 

And anoint my Priest and King. 

Prostrate at His feet I'll stay, 

Weeping all my heart away, 

Till my Lord shall say to me 

' All hath been forgiven thee ! ' " 



UNA LOCKE BAILET. 



I'LL GO. 



1 Why perish with cold and with hunger? 
There's plenty for all and to spare 
In the beautiful home of my Father, 
And welcome awaiting me there. 



WAY OF SALVATION. 



185 



Cho.- 



- Come, come, wanderer come ! 

There's plenty for thee in thy Father's home, 
Come, come, all ye who roam ! [home. 

There's welcome and love in your Father's 



€tttlm f atogal. 



2 I'll go and I'll say to my Father, 

I've sinned against heaven and Thee; 

I'm not worthy a place 'mong Thy children, 

Thy servant I gladly would be. — Cho. 

3 My Father is waiting to greet me 

With tender and loving caress ; 
He will see me afar, and will meet me, 
Forgive, and restore me, and bless. — Cho. 



MISS M. A. BAKER. 1880. 

Set to Music by t>r. H. R. Palmer, 

and used by permission. 



||lrs. icu%g. 



Mrs.Southey, nee Caroline Anne Bowles, only childof Captain Charles 
Bowles, was born at Buckland, near Lyinington, Hampshire, in 1787. 
When young she lost her parents, andfor many years she led a retired 
life. She published poetical and prose works at first without her name. 
Her "Chapters on Churchyards," in "Blackwood's Magazine," brought her 
more prominently before the public as one of the gifted writers of the 
period. In 1839 she married Robert Southey, the poet. He had written 
more than twelve hundred letters to her upon literary and other subjects. 
On his death, in 1843, Government gave her a pension of £200 a year, 
She died in 1854. 



CALVARY. 

Love, love divine, I sing; 

Oh ! for a seraph's lyre ; 
Bathed in Siloa's stream, 
And touched by living fire. 
Lofty, pure, the strain should be, 
When I sing of Calvary. 

Love, Love on earth appears ! 

The wretched throng His way ; 
He beareth all their griefs, 
And wipes their tears away. 
Soft and sweet the strain should be, 
Saviour, when I sing of Thee. 
He saw me as He passed, 
In hopeless sorrow lie, 
Condemned and doomed to death, 
And no salvation nigh. 
Long and loud the strain should be, 
When I sing His love to me. 
" I die for thee," He said — 

Behold the cross arise ! 
And lo! He bows His head — 
He bows His head, and dies ! 
Soft, my harp, thy breathings be, 
Let me weep on Calvary. 
He lives ! again He lives ! 

I hear the voice of love — 
He comes to soothe my fears, 
And draw my soul above. 
Joyful now the strain should be 
When I sing of Calvary. 

MRS SOCTHEY, 1850. 



Before the author of the following was married (recently) to Rev. F. 
Bickerton Grant, she remarked in a letter to her aunt:— "Although I am 
about to change my name, I shall still retain my Havergal nature, and 
continue to write under the nom de plume of Cecelia Havergal." Her 
residence is now in Lannington, where her husband has a charge. 1884. 

SELF. 

1 Self is struggling, wrestling, heaving, 

Longing for the mastery ; 
Never ceasing, ever rushing 
Forward into misery ! 

2 Cords of iron cannot bind it, 

So unruly is its strength ; 
Silvery gentle love must tame it, 
And its pinions clasp at length ! 

3 Every turning in life's pathway 

Self hath some bright finger-post ; 
Some grand artifice discovered, 
Some new plan of which to boast. 

4 Who can from this Self deliver ? 

Only Jesus Christ the Lord. 
Cast this Self on Him — who never 
Faileth them that trust His word. 

5 Self sings always in the minor, 

Wailing with discordant woe ; 
But who looks from Self to Jesus, 
Rich, bright melodies shall know ! 

6 Saviour, help us in those moments 

When the fight is fierce within ; 
Draw us up from Self to Heaven 
Till Thy name glad victory win ! 



THE SAVIOUR'S CROSS. 

A glorious cross He bore, 

Though grievous made by sin : 
The humble, willing, eager Lord, 
To see His subjects all restored, 

By love each heart to win, 
Came down to earth a Sacrifice, — 
How wondrous, boundless, was the price, 

What could we ask for more ? 

The sins of thine were lain 

Thereon, for Him to bear ! 
How patiently the gentle feet 
Pursued the way, the end to meet ; 

How scorned His eyes the glare 
Of worldly good on either side, 
His Spirit fixed, whate'er betide, 

Beyond all transient pain. 

Oh ! let us imitate 

The Saviour of mankind ! 
Nor turn our feet from narrow path, 
Remembering 'tis He only hath 

Bid us that way to find. 
With souls intent on scenes afar, 
Let naught besides the vision mar ; 

So nears the holy gate ! 



186 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



$tmm pram ISp^r. 



Nearly everybody has read the "Widow Bedott Papers," but few who 
enjoyed their rollicking humor knew or fancied that the author was a 
lady of deep piety and shrinking modesty, who preferred a very different 
style of composition. 

Frances Miriam Berry was born at Whitestown, Oneida County, N. Y., 
November 1, 1811. She married, January 6, 1847, Benjamin William 
Whitcher, Episcopal minister in that place. The following spring they 
removed to Elmira. She died of consumption, January 4, 1852, Her 
minor writings have never, I believe, been collected, In the summer of 
1846she became a regular contributor to Neal's "Saturday Gazette" andin 
that paper orin the "GospelMessenger" her hymns appeared.— Prof. P. M. 
Bird, pi Lehigh University, in "Independent." 



THE LITANY. 

1 Saviour ! Thou who dost deliver 

Those that trust Thy glorious 
Yesterday, to-day, forever, 
Still unchangeably the same. 

2 Israel's Shepherd ! seek and find me ; 

Lead me in the narrow way ; 
To Thy cross in mercy bind me, 
Nevermore from Thee to stray. 

3 By Thy holy incarnation, 

By Thy painful life below, 
To Thy earnest supplication 
In that lonely hour of woe : 

4 By Thy cross and bitter passion, 

By Thy pierced and bleeding side, 
By Thy words of consolation 

To the thief who with Thee died ; 

5 By Thy truth, that cannot vary, 

Draw my trembling soul to Thee ; 
Save me, O Thou Son of Mary ; 
To Thy sheltering arms I flee. 

6 Wake, my soul ! thou idle dreamer, 

Sinking in an unknown wave ; 
Stretch Thy hand, my dear Redeemer ; 
Save, for only Thou canst save. 

MRS. P. M, WHITCHER. 



The following is of the same grave and lenten character, though more 
subjective. It wa3 written "during a period of suffering." 



AFFLICTION. 

1 Afflict me, Father. Let Thy heavy rod 

Fall on my sinful head ; 
I would not shun the sufferings of my God, 
Whose blood for me was shed. 

2 Afflict me, Father. I will take the cross 

Unmurmuringly and still, 
By Thy good help, and bear all earthly loss, 
11 I may do Thy will. 

3 Aye, slay me, Father, and I will not fear 

The coming of Death's dart, 
If I may see the Lord's kind angel near, 
To strengthen my weak heart. 

MRS. F. M. WHITCHER. 



If anyone will turn from these poems to that headed "Can't Calkilate," 
in the Bedott Papers, he will see a contrast indeed. The rich, if not 
very refmed humor of that book seems genuine enough ; but this isa deeper 
and more real strain. So far from possessing the genial turn which one 
expects in the delineator of the Elder and the Widow, "she was of a 
reserved and retiring disposition and timid with strangers to a degree 
that was often mistaken for haughtiness or a conscious sense of superiority. 
Only her most intimate acquaintances knew her loving and unselfish 
nature." "Jeremy Taylor's 'Holy Living and Dying' was her favorite book 
and her constant companion during her hours of health, as well as in the 
long, weary months of sickness which preceded her death."— Prof. Bird. 

THE CROSS. 

1 How mean the little griefs appear 

That make my soul complain ; 
How foul the sins that placed Him there 
And caused His dying pain ! 

2 O Sacred Cross ! on thee impaled, 

Let my transgressions die, 
And where my Saviour's feet were nailed 
May I forever lie ! 

3 Was e'er such all-enduring love, 

Unchanging, wondrous, free, 
As that which drew Thee from above 
To save a wretch like me ? 

4 Thrice welcome to my closing eye 

The opening tomb shall be, 
If from the grave where Thou didst lie 
I may but rise to Thee ! 

MRS. F. M. WHIICHBIt. 



(Mrs, Whitcher's theology was not Calvinistic; but this exception is 
curiously made,) 

FAITH AND TRUST. 

1 Oh ! trust His word 

When unseen foes assail. There was an hour 
Of gloom and darkness, when the fiend had power 

To tempt Thy Lord. 

Lean on His breast 
When earthly love forsakes thee, and the charm 
Of friendship dies away. His holy arm 

Will give thee rest. 

MRS. F. M. WHITCHER. 

The "Bedott Papers" must have represented one side of her nature, 
But, to judge by these hymns, her life was a perpetual Passion Weekand 
her constant mental attitude one of profoundly sincere and sad ado- 
ration before the Cross. Whether the starting-point be the Church's 
services and teachings, which she dearly loved, or her private thoughts 
and experiences, her burden is the same. Thus : 

SUBMISSION. 

1 Peace, stubborn will! 

Peace, restless heart ! forget thy griefs and think 
Upon the bitter cup which He did drink, 
Meekly and still. 

2 Thou bearest naught 

Of anguish that thy Saviour did not know, 
He suffered all thy sorrow, save the woe 
Thy sin has wrought. 

MRS. F. M. WHITCHER. 



WAY OF SALVATION. 



187 



RESURRECTION. 



"Olife, that we cannot lose without so many deaths! O death, which 
we cannot have but by the loss of so many lives."— mad ame gtjyon. 



I was a corn of wheat 

That fell in the ground, 
Out of the sunlight sweet, 
Out of the sound 
Of human voices and the song of birds ; 
Yet in the damp and death I heard the words, 
Once spoken in the dark, and now more plain, 
" Ye must be born again." 
" O earth, earth, hear," I cried, 

" The voice of the Lord! 
Open your prison wide, 
Fulfill His word ; " 
But denser, darker, round me closed the earth ; 
It was a day of death, and not of birth ; 
And crushing human feet passed o'er the sod 
That shut me out from God. 
There was no way, no choice, 

No night, no day, 
No knowledge, no device, 
Only decay ! 
Yet at my heart a little flickering life 
Remembered God and ceased its useless strife ; 
Remembered the command it could not keep, 
And fell asleep. 
When life began to dawn, 

The song of a lark, 
With a subtle sense of morn, 
Fell through my dark, ' 
And tender sounds of happy growing things, 
Or the soft stirring of a chrysalis' wings, 
Thrilled all the under-world, sunless and dim, 
With an Easter hymn ! 
Then the great Sun leaned low 

And kissed the sod. 
Ah ! what was I, to know 
The touch of God ! 
The dumb earth melted at His voice, and I 
Stood face to face with Him beneath His sky, 
And all around, within, below, above, 
Was life and love. 



MY SAVIOUR. 

1 I am not skilled to understand 

What God hath willed, what God hath planned ; 
I only know at His right hand 

Stands One who is my Saviour. 

2 I take God at His word and deed : 

" Christ died to save me " — this I read ; 
And in my heart I find a need 

Of Him to be my Saviour. 



3 And had there been, in all this wide, 
Sad world, no other soul beside, 
But only mine, yet He had died — 

That He might be its Saviour. 

4 One wounded spirit, sore oppressed, 
One wearied soul, that found no rest 
Until it found it on the breast 

Of Him who was his Saviour. 

5 Then had He left His Father's throne, 
The joy untold, the love unknown, 
And for that soul had given His own, 

That He might be its Saviour. 

6 And, Oh ! that He fulfilled may see 
The travail of His soul in me, 
And with His work contented be, 

As I with my dear Saviour ! 

7 Yes ! living, dying, let me bring 

My strength, my solace, from this spring, 
That He who lives to be my king, 
Once died to be my Saviour. 



DORA GREENTYELL, 



SAVED BY THE BLOOD. 



" The blood of Christ cleanseth us from all sin." — I Job 

1 We're saved by the blood 

That was drawn from the side 
Of Jesus our Lord, 

When He languished and died. 

Refkain. — Hallelujah to God, 

For redemption so free ; 
Hallelujah, hallelujah ! 
Dear Saviour, to Thee. 

2 Oh ! yes, 'tis the blood 

Of the Lamlj that was slain* 
He conquered the grave, 
And He liveth again. 

3 We're saved by the blood, 

We are sealed by its power; 
'Tis life to the soul, 

And its hope every hour. 

4 That blood is a fount. 

Where the vilest may go, 
And wash till their souls 
Shall be whiter than snow. 

5 We're saved by the blood, 

Hallelujah again ; 
We're saved by the blood, 
Hallelujah, Amen. 



Copyrighted, 1875, in "Brightest and Best.' 



FANNY J. CROSBY. 

per. Biglow & Main. 



_ 



188 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG 



RIFTED CLOUDS. 



1 There is never a day so sunny 

But a little cloud appears ; 
There is never a life so happy, 

But has had its time of tears : 
Yet the sun shines out the brighter 

When the stormy tempest clears. 

2 There is never a cup so pleasant 

But has bitter with the sweet ; 
There is never a path so rugged, 

Bearing not the print of feet ; 
But we have a Helper furnished 

For the trials we may meet. 

3 There is never a way so narrow 

But the entrance is made straight ; 
There is always a guide to point us 

To the " little wicket gate." 
And the angels will be nearest 

To a soul that's desolate. 

4 There is never a heart so haughty 

But will some day bow and kneel ; 
There is never a heart so wounded 

That the Saviour cannot heal : 
There is many a lowly forehead 

Bearing now the hidden seal. 

M1SY COLBY. 

Set to music and copyrighted by T. C. O'Kane. 



WHO DIED TO SAVE US ALL. 



Maria James was bora in Wales, about the year 1795, and accompanied 
her parents to this country when seven years old, and settled near Clinton, 
N\ Y. When about fifteen years of age she wrote much verse that was 
called good. Her taste for intellectual enjoyments did not interfere with 
her love for the domestic duties of life; while occupied in her daily house 
work she composed her best poems, though weeks frequently elapsed 
before she had time to commit them to paper. Most of them were col- 
lected and published in book form called: "Wales and other Poems," in 
1839, with an able introduction by Dr. Potter, who says:— "Some of these 
pieces breathe the true spirit of poetry; none will question that they 
breathe a yet nobler spirit, that of true piety." Maria James is a strik- 
ing illustration of the fact that true genius, refinement and real worth, 
are often found in stations where least expected. Her family belonged 
to the humble poor, pious and industrious, 

GOOD FRIDAY. 

1 The scene is fresh before us, 

When Jesus drained the cup, 
As new the day comes o'er us, 
When He was offer'd up : 

2 The veil in sunder rending, 

The types and shadows flee, 
While heaven and earth are bending 
Their gaze on Calvary. 

3 Should mortals dare in numbers, 

Where angels trembling stand ? 
Or wake the harp that slumbers 
In naming seraph's hand ? 

4 Then tell the wondrous story 

Where rolls salvation's wave, 
And give Him all the glory, 
Who came the lost to save. 



1 There is a green hill far away, 

Without a city wall, 
Where the dear Lord was crucified, 

Who died to save us all. 
We may not know, we cannot tell 

What pains He had to bear ; 
But we believe it was for us 

He hung and suffered there. 

2 He died that we might be forgiven, 

He died to make us good, 
That we might go at last to heaven, 

Saved by His precious blood. 
There was no other good enough 

To pay the price of sin ; 
He only could unlock the gate 

Of heaven, and let us in. 

3 Oh ! dearly, dearly has He loved, 

And we must love Him too, 
And trust in His redeeming blood, 

And try His works to do. 
For there 's a green hill far away, 

Without a city wall, 
Where the dear Lord was crucified, 

Who died to save us all. 



ALEXANDER. 



EASTER-TIDE. 

'Tis the Resurrection Morning, 

Lo ! within the glad spring skies 
See, the amber light is breaking ; 

And the night's grim shadow flies ! 
List ! a thousand birds are singing 

'Cross the hills and meads away, 
And a thousand leaves are bursting 

From their darkness into day. 
T' is the Resurrection Morning ! 

Bridal buds of purest white 
'Neath the touch of dainty fingers 

With a fringe of green unite ; 
Blooms of ev'ry tint and fashion, 

Odors wondrous sweet and rare, 
Drifted like a cloud of perfume, 

Grace earth's Easter everywhere. 
'Tis the Resurrection Morning ! 

All the choirs for miles away 
Shall awake, and tune their voices, 

As they chant their strains to-day : 
All the bells shall tell the story 

In this sacred theme agreed, — 
" Praise to God ! To God the glory ! 

Christ the Lord is risen indeed ! " 



189 



'Tis the Resurrection Morning ! 

May our souls the whiteness wear 
Like unto the Easter lilies, 

Pure aud guileless, clean and fair ! 
May we learn their simple lesson, 

They who toil not, neither spin, 
This : to be content with living, 

If our hearts are pure within. 
'Tis the Resurrection Morning ! 

Peace is in the open sky, 
Peace is in the bells' sweet murmur, 

Peace is in the wind's low sigh, 
Peace is in the creamy lilies ; — 

Why may we not also say 
Peace hath its contented biding 

In our hearts, this Easter day ? 
'Tis the Resurrection Morning ! 

Lo ! all nature wakes to sing ! 
Ev'ry holt and haugh is ringing 

With the music of the spring ; 
And the burden of their rhythm 

As it echoes miles away, 
Smites the ear with touching sweetnes 

" Christ the Lord is risen to-day ! " 



IDA SCOTT TAYLOR. 

Jacksonville, 111., 1883. 



GOD LIVETH EVER. 

God liveth ever ! 
Wherefore, soul, despair thou never ! 
Our God is good : in ev'ry place 

His love is known, His help is found ; 
His mighty arm and tender grace 

Bring good from ills that hem us round. 
Easier than we think, can He 
Turn to joy our agony. 
Soul, remember "mid thy pains, 
God o'er all forever reigns ! 

God liveth ever ! 
Wherefore, soul, despair thou never ! 
Scarce canst thou bear thy cross ? Then fly 

To Him where only rest is sweet. 
Thy God is great ; His mercy nigh, 

His strength upholds the tottering feet. 
Trust Him, for His grace is sure, 
Ever doth His truth endure. 
Soul, forget not in thy pains, 
God o'er all forever reigns ! 

CATHERINE WINKWORTH. 



CHRIST'S INTERCESSION. 

Heb. vii: 25. 

1 He lives ! the great Redeemer lives ! 
What joy the blest assurance gives ! 
And now, before His Father, God, 
Pleads the full merit of His blood. 



2 Repeated crimes awake our fears, 

And justice armed with frowns appears ; 
But in the Saviour's lovely face 
■ Sweet mercy smiles and all is peace. 

3 In every dark, distressful hour, 
When sin and Satan join their power, 
Let this dear hope repel the dart, 
That Jesus bears us on His heart. 

4 Great Advocate, Almighty Friend ! 
On Him our humble hopes depend; 
Our cause can never, never fail, 
For Jesus pleads, and must prevail. 



ANNE STEELE. 



ALL HAIL, THOU ARISEN I 

(Tune.— "Portugese Hymn, or Lyons.") 

All hail, Thou Arisen ! Our Saviour and King ! 

With glad hearts and voices Thy praises we sing. 

Dispelled is death's darkness ! The tomb is unsealed, 

And Thou, in Thy glory immortal, revealed ! 

Hosanna ! hosanna ! the music prolong. 

Our Lord is triumphant ! this theme be our song. 

No longer by terror and anguish assailed, 

O'er death and destruction Thy power hath prevailed! 

Ye trees of the forest, His praises declare ! 

Ye waves of the ocean, ye breezes of air ! 

Ye birds of the woodland, exultantly sing ; 

To Him yield your fragran ce, ye blossoms of spring ! 

Oh ! who would not bless Him, and worshipful bend 

To-day in His temple, our Father and Friend, 

Whose gifts of compassion, of comfort, and love, 

Our risen Redeemer hath brought from above ! 

Hosanna ! hosanna ! be unto the L ord ! 

All worship and honor to Thee we accord. 

While blossoms and verdure are seeking Thy shrine, 

We praise and adore Thee, O, Father Divine ! 



Rocky Hill, Conn., 1883. 



HE IS RISEN! 

1 Waken ! waken early ! Christians ! 

'Tis the day when Christ arose ! 
See ! the East with radiant beauty, 
At its bless'd dawning glows ! 

2 Wake and hasten to His temple ! 

There your gladsome strains unite ! 
Let His praise, th' ascended Saviour, 
Your rejoicing hearts delight ! 

3 Hark ! the choirs of holy angels 

In sweet notes His welcome tell ! 
" Hail ! Thou King of glory ! victor 
Over sin and death and hell ! " 

4 See ! they throng the walls of jasper ! 

See ! the pearly gates unfold, 
And our risen, exalted 'Saviour 

Walks once more the streets of gold 



190 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



5 Shall our faith with eyelids drooping, 

E'er again relax her gaze ? 
Shall our voice in song melodious, 
Ever cease His name to praise ? 

6 Nay ! with faith and hope triumphant, 

We will walk the path He trod, 
With our eyes fixed on the mansions 
Where He dwelleth now with God — 

7 Trusting in the flowing fountain 

Of our Surety's dying love, 
Till at length, in His good pleasure, 
We, like Him, shall soar above. 



THE RESURRECTION OF CHRIST. 

1 Jesus, the friend of human kind, 

With strong compassion mov'd, 
Descended, like a pitying God, 
To save the souls He lov'd. 

2 The powers of darkness leagued in vain 

To bind His soul in death ; 
He shook the kingdom when He fell, 
With His expiring breath. 

3 Not long the toils of hell could keep 

The Hope of Judah's line ; 
Corruption never could take hold 
On aught so much Divine. 

4 And now His conquering chariot- wheels- 

■Ascend the lofty skies, 
While broke beneath His powerful cross 
Death's iron sceptre lies. 

5 Exalted high at God's right hand, 

And Lord of all below, 
Through Him is pardoning love dispens'd 
And boundless blessings flow. 

MRS. BABBATJLD. 



EASTER LILIES. 

1 The pure and holy lilies 

Attend their Lord alway ; 
The Easter-lilies praise Him, 
They " of the valley " pray. 
, 2 Red-lilies speak His passion, 
Field-lilies breathe His love, 
And Water-lilies image 

His peace in heaven above. 

3 Weave in the glorious blossoms 

To deck the Easter tide, 
An offering fit and spotless, 
By Jesus sanctified ! 

4 And when in bliss we see Him, — 

The gates of life thrown wide, — 
The Angel of the Lily 
Shall lead us to His side. 



DAYBREAK. 

1 Lo ! the mists are fleeing ! 

Shine, O Olivet, 
For the Crown of promise 
On thy brow is set. 

2 Lift your heads, ye mountains ! 

Clap your hands, ye hills ! 
Into rapturous singing 

Break, ye murmuring rills ! 

3 Shout aloud, O forests ! 

Swell the song, O seas ! 
Wake, resistless ocean, 
All your symphonies ! 

3 Wave your palms, O tropics ! 

Lonely isles rejoice ! 
O ye silent deserts, 
Find a choral voice ! 

4 Winds, on mighty trumpets, 

Blow the strains abroad, 
While each star in heaven 
Hails its risen Lord ! 



JTJLIA C, JR. DOES. 
Rutland, Vt„ 1884. 



AN EASTER OFFERING. 

(Tune.—" Olivet.") 

1 Father, in heaven above, 
Great Source of light and love, 

Hear Thou my prayer ! 
Oh ! mark these weary eyes, 
Hear Thou these anguished cries, 
Wrung from a heart which lies 

Crushed in despair. 

2 Wild billows overwhelm, — 
Careless of chart or helm 

My frail bark speeds ; 
Low in each blast I bend, 
While storms of sorrow trend ; 

Lord, their wrath forefend, 

Help Thou my needs. 

3 Where now each promise, Lord, 
Made in Thy Holy Word 

Faithful and sure ? 
No " bruised reed to break," 
No " smoking flax to slake," 
Or " righteous man forsake," 

His " seed " secure. 

4 Framer of righteous laws, 
Here let me plead my cause, 

See, Lord, I come. 

1 strive with tearful moan, 
With sighs and bitter groan, 
Making my sorrows known — 

Words I have none. 




A CLUSTER OF EASTER LILIES. 




CLUSTER OF * * * * 
■ * * * EASTER LILIES. 

ESTHER T. HOUSH. 

11 carry lilies, sweet iSlsie said, 
Y<z>ssir)ej itje curls oj rjer jlaxer) tjeaa, 
liijhrjq \)zr eyes oj wirjsorriest blue, 
''I'll carry lilies, rrjairjrria, far you." 

I ge Ciasier=fide was crjildrer) s day, 
/irja alaout irje altar tijey rjeld sWay, 
wilt) trjeir pearly clusters of .Dasler laloorr) 
^o rjerald frje victory over Irje forge. 



©Weet nlsie rjad Jrjeard frje story old e/is nlsie looked at irje jace so rr)ild, 

fejj irje angels briqrjf and trje stone trjat lolled Will) trje innocent love oj a little crjild, 

e/iway at trjeir laiddina; oj frje feirjrisf wrjo caine /A sunWarn strayed to r>is snow-wrjite rjair, 

/Irja called irje little ones all by narne. c/lnd leu a qolaen radiance frjere. 



^And close sge saf lay rjer rnotljer s [eet, 
fteldinq rjer cluster oj lilies sweet, 
Wljile tlje rninisfer prayed for trje children de*i< 
falling eacr) narne, so sojl and clear. 



]fure Was fl)e brow 1 , and liagt was flje eye, 
ens Irje surnrner cloudlets poafina W; 
arind Ir)e voice Wilt) ,qatl)erinq sweetness fell, 
Isilje tlje Jar away tones o[ a silvery kell. 



Hf 



<J\ Irjeavenny frjouqhf to nlsie carne, 
tshs t)z called ttje children all ky rjarne: 
" i'fjarnrna, it is Jesus! and tge lilies Jair 
©rjadowea trje gold o| rjer sunny Ijair. 

(jpr), clusler oj Jjilies. divinely sweet! 

©0 Jit at VcjQ. altar place to rneef! 

ylje ©aint wr)0se lije Was a prayer to (srod 

Y90 lines t!)at sprang jrorn tl)e darljsorne sod, 

^1)0 crjild wijose soul Was a rnirror aright 
ttzrjere tl)e anaels Wrote in lines of liqrjt, 
e dearest words to rrjorfals given: 
J sucr), of sucr), is trje r)inqdorn o[ 
Reaver). 






191 



5 I wait, Lord, patiently, 

To move Thee by my cry . 

Some help to give. 
Restore my faith in Thee ; 
In sweet assurance see 
Mercy and hope for me, 

Bidding me live. 

6 "What if the world shall judge 
My heart by secret grudge, 

Need I repine ? 
Since Thou dost understand 
Each thought in silence planned, 
Inciting heart and hand 

To actions fine. 

7 And should some dark wrong fall 
Around me like a pall, 

Let me not yield 
Or sink in blind despair, 
Thou wilt my way prepare, — 
Remove each treacherous snare, — 

My strength and shield. 

8 As my petitions rise, 
Dear Lord, do not despise 

Them, meekly given ; 
As Thou dost pardon me, 
May I each enemy 
Forgive most heartily, 

O Lamb of heaven. 

9 Ere the sweet Easter time 
Bury all sin and crime 

In Jesus' tomb ; 
And on the holy dawn 
Of resurrection morn, 
Celestial joy be born 

Out of the gloom. 



MARY AT THE SEPULCHRE. 



"Then the disciples went away again unto their own home. But Mary 
stood without the sepulchre weeping."— John n. 10—11. 

1 He is gone ! the tomb forsaken ! 

They have come where Jesus lay, 
Roll'd aside the stone, and taken 

Him they crucified away ! 
Here's the shroud we sorrowing made Him 

Whom they pierced with nail and spear : 
Murderers of our Lord! they've laid Him 

Far from sight — He is not here. 

2 Lo ! I see, where He was sleeping 

Pale, in death's cold, shadowy night, 

Watchmen ; they His place are keeping, 

Clothed in raiment dazzling; white! 



And, as consolation giving, 

'Twas of Him they sweetly said, 

"Weep Him not ; nor seek the living 
In the mansion of the dead." 

3 They are angels ! — and they know me ! 

Sinful mortal, I'm afraid ! 
Stranger, Sir. wilt thou not show me 

Where my blessed Lord is laid ? 
'Tis His voice ! — my name He calleth ! 

Hail Rabboni ! — Israel's King ! 
Conquer'd death beneath Thee falleth ! 

Broke his sceptre — lost his sting ! 



"THY WILL BE DONE.' 



1 On sad Gethsemane thick shadows hung, 

And whispering low to answering glade and hill, 
The soft wind projahesied with plaintive tongue, 
Making earth's throbbing pulses strangely still, 
Sad prophecies of sacrificial cries 
That should ere long from Calvary's summit rise. 

2 The moon withdraws her face ; One comes to pray ; 
The sinless One, His meek eyes raised to heaven, 
His patient lips imploring, " Take away 

This cup of anguish to my faint heart given ; 
Yet, if I die that life for these be won, 
My Father, it is well ; Thy will be done ! " 

3 The crimsoned drops that gathered on His face, 
Dropped like a dew upon the astonished earth : 
When lo ! the Passion Flower, with timid grace, 
Raised her sweet head to bless Him for her birth 
And pitying angels soothed Him while He wept ; 
For earthly love, alas ! forgot — and slept. 

4 Then, O my heart, came Calvary's day of gloom, 
The crown of thorns, the spear, the mocking crowd ; 
Earth shook with horror, and the shivering tomb 
Gave up her dead ; while from the God-head bowed 
Went up the mournful cry from Calvary's tree: 

" My God, my God ! hast thou forsaken me?" 

5 But not for long could death the victory claim ! 
In the gray morning, when the soldiers fly, 

The waiting Mary hears Him breathe her name ; 
And lo ! the Master stands in glory by ! 
Then earth and heaven their carols blend in one ; 
One glorious Easter hymn, " God's will is done ! " 

6 How oft, O Father, do we bring to Thee 

The prayers His lips made sacred : " Not this cup, 
My God, my God! hast thou forsaken me? 
And must I drink this bitter portion up ? " 
Then when grief goes by and peace is won ; 
Come grateful carols that Thy will is done. 

LUCY M. BLINM. 



WOMAN IN SACRED SOuuf. 



IMMORTALITY AND LIGHT 

1 Day of God, thou blessed day, 
At thy dawn the grave gave way 
To the power of Him within, 
Who had, sinless, bled for sin. 

2 Thine the radiance to illume 
First, for man, the dismal tomb, 
When its bars their weakness owned, 
There revealing death dethroned. 

3 Then the Sun of righteousness 
Rose, a darkened world to bless, 
Bringing up from mortal night 
Immortality and light. 

4 Day of glory, day of power, 
Sacred be thine every hour ; 
Emblem, earnest, of the rest 
That remaineth for the blest. 



HANNAH F. GOTJXD. 



THE PORTALS OF LIGHT- 



1 I know not the hour of His coming, 

I know not the day, nor the year, 
But I know that He bids me be ready 

For the step that I sometime shall hear. 
And whether on earth or in heaven, 

Down here, or 'mid scenes of the blest, 
I am sure that His love will surround me, 

And with Him I will leave all the rest. 

Chorus. — And when His voice calls in the morning, 
At noon-time, perhaps, or at night, 
With no plea but the one, "Thou hast called 
me," 
I shall enter the portals of light. 

2 I know not what lieth before me, 

It may be all pleasure, all care, 
But I know at the end of the journey 

Stands the mansion He went to prepare. 
And whether in joy or in sorrow, 

Through valley, o'er mountain or hill, 
I will walk in the light of His presence, 

And His love all repining shall still. 
Chorus. 

3 I know not what duties are waiting, 

For hands that are willing and true, 
And I ask but the strength to be faithful 

And do well what He gives me to do. 
And if He should bid me stand idle, 

Just waiting in weakness and pain, 
I have only to trust, and be faithful, 

And sometime He'll make it all plain. 
Chorus. 

M. E. 8ERVOS8. 

From "Heavenward," music by J. R. Murray, )>ub. by Bminard's Sons. 



JESUS, MY REDEEMER, LIVES. 

1 Jesus, my Redeemer, lives, 

Christ, my trust, is dead no more, 
In the strength this knowledge gives, 

Shall not all my fears be o'er ; 
Calm, though death's long night be fraught 
Still with many an anxious thought ? 

2 Jesus, my Redeemer, lives, 

And His life I soon shall see ; 
Bright the hope this promise gives, 

Where He is I soon shall be : 
Shall I fear then ? Can the Head 
Rise and leave the members dead ? 

3 Close to Him, my soul is bound 

In the bonds of hope unclasped, 
Faith's strong hand this hold hath found, 

And the Rock hath firmly grasped, 
And no ban of death can part 
From our Lord the trusting heart. 

4 I shall see Him with these eyes, 

Him whom I shall surely know ; 
Not another shall I rise, 

With His love this heart shall glow; 
Only there shall disappear 
Weakness in and round me here. 



ELECTRESS OF BRANDENBURG, 



EASTER. 

1 I have no frankincense, no myrrh 

I have no spice, no oil ; 
But here are snowy roses, Christ, 

Without a stain or soil. 
O fairest Lord, for Thy dear sake 

My roses take. 

2 I have no silver, and no gem, 

No virgin gold for Thee ; 
But here are lilies white as light 

And sweet with purity. 
O fairest Lord, for Thy dear sake, 

My lilies take. 



GOOD FRIDAY. EASTER. 

1 Muse on thy Lord's sharp pains, 

Borne, soul, for thee ; 
Think how He broke death's chains 
To set thee free. 

2 Muse on the joy He brought 

Forth from the tomb ; 
Think how thy life He bought, 
Bearing death's doom. 

3 Lilies of Easter-tide 

Blossom for thee ; 

Pardoned and purified, 

Rise, soul, set free ! 



MART L. M'LANATHAX. 

New York City. 



193 



LUELLA CLARK. 



1. Bean - ti 

2. Beau - ti 

3. Beau - ti 



ful morn 
ful morn 
ful morn 



BEAUTIFUL MORNING 



'He is not here but is risen."— Luke xxiv: 6. 



LUCY J. EIDER. 
By per. F. H. REVELL. 



ing! Day 
ing! All 



of hope, Dawn of a bet - ter life;., 
the week Wait - eth thy wel - come light,, 
and pain, Weep - ing be - fore the tomb, 



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thy first dawn 
at thy dawn 



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Far from earth's noise and 
Out of the dark - est 
Je - sus dispelled the 



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EASTER. 

1 Break, O Day, in beauty break ; 

Spread your tints of rarest rose : 
Morn on which our Lord doth wake 
Victor over all His foes, 

2 Haste, O Sun, thy light to shed : 

Let thy beams the garden bless 
Where He riseth from the dead-— . 
Greater Sun of righteousness. 

3 Nay : too late thy splendors shine : 

Empty is the sacred tomb. 
Early risen, His light divine 
Bids immortal hopes to bloom. 



4 Rise, my soul, in gladness rise. 

Christ, thy life, from death appears ; 
He who, loving, in Him dies. 
Dying, lives to endless years. 

5 Nevermore shall death and night 

Rule, since Christ forever lives. 
He, the Lord of life and light, 
Victory gaining, victory gives. 

6 Praise, my soul, break forth in praise. 

Praises sing all that hath breath. 

Heaven and earth your voices raise, 

Life hath triumphed over death. 



H'KLLA CLASS. 



194 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



AFTER ASCENSION. 

1 Saviour, ascended on high, 

Forget not our wants and our woe, 
Who only our needs can supply, 
Who only our sorrows can know. 

2 High now on the throne of Thy power, 

Whom seraph and cherubim praise, 
Forget not Gethsemane's hour 

When cries of contrition we raise. 

3 Forget not the cross and the thorn, 

Exalted in glory above, 
When prayers, of our suffering born, 
Ascend to the throne of Thy love. 

4 Dear Jesus, Thy life here below, 

Its hunger, its tears and its pain, 
Have taught us Thy kinship in woe. 
Oh ! crown us with joy in Thy reign. 

5 "Acquainted with grief," blessed word: 

Oh ! kindly our sorrows relieve, 

And after our cross, gracious Lord, 

Us into Thy glory receive. 



LUELLA. CLABK 



EASTER DAY. 



1 'Tis Easter Day ! glad Easter Day! 
The dear Lord's rising all obey; 
The sun, the birds, the verdure new, 
The sparkling stream and mountain, too, 
With Christian hearts His praises sing, 
As joyously sweet church bells ring. 

2 New life, this merry Easter morn, 
Bids earth her children to adorn ; 
Awaking out of death, our Lord 
Ascends, to be by us adored ; 

No more in depths of sin we bend, 
But lift our souls to Christ, our Friend. 

3 O He is risen ! as He said ; 

And through His grace may we be led 
To happiness beyond the skies, 
And earthly joys no more to prize ; 
May we be blessed by this our Lord, 
From sin and sleep to life restored. 

4 This joyous Easter, let us soar 
With Christ, in heart, and evermore 
With gratitude our service prove, 
As He doth by the spirit move, 
Nor yield to dark temptation's sway, 
Lest, flattering, .we lose the Way. 

5 The Way, the Light, the Life, is He 
Who now from sorrow is set free ; 
Who for us died, yet lives again ; 
That we, too, rise, with Him to reign. 
Oh ! deepest mercy ! promise great ! 
May we cling closer as we wait. 

HAZEL WYLDE. 

September, 1882 



THE MASTER IS SO FAIR. 

" Having a desire to depart and to be with Christ."— Phil. i. 23. 

"IHadadsaid unto Pharaoh, Let me depart, that 1 may go to mineown 
country. Then Pharaoh said unto him, But what hast thou lacked with 
me, that, behold, thou seekest to go to thine own country ? And he an- 
swered, Nothing ; howbeit let me go in any wise."— 1 Kings xi. 21, 22. 

1 And thus our hearts appeal to them, 

When we behold our dearest rise, 
And look towards Jerusalem 
With strangely kindling eyes. 

2 And thus we vainly seek to hide, 

With the poor curtain of our love, 
The shining gates that open wide 
To welcome our sweet saints above. 

3 Yet still to them from that bright land, 

Through our thin tent the glory gleams ; 
Already lost to us, they stand, 

Wrapped in a mist of golden dreams. 

4 For ah ! the Master is so fair, 

His smile so sweet to banished men, 
That they who meet it unaware, 
Can never rest on earth again. 

5 And they who see Him risen afar 

At God's right hand to welcome them, 
Forgetful stand of home and land, 
Desiring fair Jerusalem. 

6 Yet have we lavished at their feet 

The precious ointment of hearts that break 
For love ; we counted sorrow sweet. 

And pain — a crown for their dear sake : 

7 " What have ye lacked, beloved, with us," 

We murmur heavily and low, 
" That ye should rise with kindling eyes, 
Andbe so fain to go ? " 

8 And tenderly the answer falls 

From lips that wear the smile of heaven : 
" Dear ones," they say, "we pass this day 
To Him by whom your love was given. 

9 "And in His presence clear and true, 

We answer you with hearts that glow, 
No good thing have we lacked with you — 
Howbeit, let us go." 

10 And even as they speak their thoughts, 

They wander upward toward the throne. 
Ah, God ! we see, at length, how free 
All earthly ties must leave Thine own. 

11 Yet, kneeling low in darkened homes, 

And weeping for the treasure spent, 
We bless Thee, Lord, for that sweet word 
Our dear ones murmured as they went. 

12 It was not that our love was cold, 

That earthly lights were burning dim. 
But that the Shepherd, from His fold, 
Had smiled and drawn them unto Him. 

13 Praise God the Shepherd is so sweet! 

Praise God the Country is so fair ! 
We could not hold them from His feet ; 
We can but haste to meet them there ! 

M'ANDRE-W. 



195 



CHRIST'S RETURN. 

1 The golden gates are lifted up, 

The doors are opened wide, 
The King of glory is gone in, 
Unto his Father's side. 

2 Thou art gone up before us, Lord, 

To make for us a place, 
That we may be where now Thou art, 
And look upon God's face. 

3 And ever on Thine earthly path 

A gleam of glory lies ; 
A light still breaks behind the cloud 
That veiled Thee from our eyes. 

4 Lift up our hearts, lift up our minds, 

Let Thy dear grace be given, 
That while we tarry here below, 
Our treasure be in heaven ! 

5 That where Thou art, at God's right hand, 

Our hope, our love may be ; 
Dwell Thou in us, that we may dwell 
For evermore in Thee ! 

MRS. C. F. ALEXANDER. 

EASTER . OFFERINGS. 

" The Lord hath need of them." Matt, xxi : 3. 

What shall we offer of gift to-day — 

What treasure that Christ will heed ? 
What on Love's altar is best to lay — 

Of what can the Lord have need ? 
Once robes and branches of palm were strewed, 

While thrilled was the bending sky 
With floods of triumph, filling the road 

As the Holy One went by. 
What meed to-day shall leaven the throng 

With faith in the feet we kiss ? 
What spreading bloom and paean of song 

Move the question, " Who is this ? " 
Oh ! not the evergreen palms we wear, 

Or robes in His way we fling, 
Or floral gifts that to Him we bear, 

Most honor our Lord, the King ! 
These gifts are good, but worthier ones 

Lie hidden away beneath, 
And mellow the world, as latent suns 

That pierce through the winter's sheath. 
Of such are the childlike trust and peace 

That beam on the Christian's face ; 
Of such are the prayers that never cease 

Till they win a looked-for grace— 
Of such are the helping hand and heart, 

Oi such is sympathy's tear ; 
Of such is the soul that knows the art 

To gladden with godly cheer — 
Of such is the love that upward lifts 

The church in its onward way : 
Such, such are our spirits' priceless gifts 

That the dear Lord needs to-day. 

MARY B. DODGE. 



Srt. Slfjebt g. ianatm 



Rev. Phoebe A. Hanaford is a Baptist, but the regulations of that 
denomination not permitting a woman to enter the Christian ministry, and 
feeling called of God to assume such aposition, shetookchaigeof achurch 
in the TJmversalist faith, some years since, though still a Baptist in belief 
of certain outward forms, &c. She is an earnest, faithful pastor, be- 
loved and honored, doing much good as a Shepherd of Souls, both among 
the sheep and lambs of her fold, and is the author of many hymns and 
poems, besides being an excellent, writer of prose. She edited the " La- 
dles' Repository," Boston, three years. 

EASTER HYMN. 
(Air. --"Sock of Ages.") 

1 Christ is risen ! lo ! the day 
Glows with love's divinest ray ; 
Light is come, the gleam divine 
On each human path to shine ; 
So with grateful gladness sing, 
Christ is ris'n, our glorious King ! 

2 Christ is risen ! lo ! the grave 
Holds Him not who came to save, 
Save from sin and death and pain, 
Save from doubt's depressing reign ; 
So with joyful hope we sing, 
Christ is ris'n, our conquering King ! 

3 Christ is risen ! lo ! a voice 

Calls from heavenly heights, " Rejoice ! " 
Angels welcomed Him whose birth 
They had heralded on earth— 
Of His triumph let us sing, 
Christ is ris'n, our Saviour King! 

4 Christ is risen ! lo ! we'll be 
Witnesses, O Lord, for Thee ; 
Men and women strong and sweet, 
By Thy grace disciples meet : 
Till this song in heaven we'll sing, 
Christ is ris'n, behold our King ! 

PH03BE A. HANAFORD, 1883. 

Pastor Second Universalist Church, Jersey City, N. J. 
1886, Pastor Church of the Holy Spirit, New Haven, Conn, 

EASTER. 



O Earth, forget thy winter; O Nature, bud and 

bloom, 
And clothe the slopes with greenness that late were 

hung with gloom. 
O clustered Easter lilies, your gleaming censers lift, 
Forth comes the mighty Victor, the rocky tomb to 

rift. 

O gentle Easter angels, be swift to greet the day 

When from the guarded chamber the stone is rolled 
away, 

And Christ the King steps onward, with death be- 
neath him dead, 

And leads His ransomed homeward, with glory on 
His head. 



196 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



3 Three days ago they laid Him, all pulseless, on the 

bier ; 
The thorn-marked brow was pallid ; their hearts stood 

still in fear. 
Three days of solemn stillness, three days of grief 

sublime — 
A pause when seraphs waited to hear the throbs of 

time. 

4 And now ? No burst of music, as when a Babe He 

came, 

Though heaven is thrilled with rapture, and cherub- 
anthems flame. 

In soundless flight on sweeping, the shining ones de- 
scend 

To give our earth the key-note of songs that shall 
not end. 

5 What though there are who listen in vain for voices 

hushed, 
What though there are who languish o'er sweet hopes 

early crushed. 
Still peal the Easter chorals adown the lonely years, 
And yet the Easter promise hath solace for our tears. 

6 The Christ for us hath conquered our one relentless 

foe, 
Our vanished ones forever with Him are safe, we 

know. 
O fragrant Easter lilies, like tapers fair ye stand, 
To light the silent portals that guard the deathless 

land. 

7 Haste, gentle Easter angels, who rolled the stone 

away, 
Come, melt our loveless spirits, shame unbelief this 

day, 
And help us tread it under our footsteps as we sing 
The joyous hymns of Easter around our risen King. 

MARGARET E. 8ANGSTER. 

EASTER. 

As bowed with sin, 

My heart in anguish cried, 
I heard a voice within, 

" Go to the crucified." 
In that dark hour, 
Crushed by death's power, 

For me, the Master lay. 
Chilling with fear, 
As I drew near 
To the cold grave, 

I heard Him say, 
" If thou lovest me, 
This sacrifice must be ; 

Thy loved bring here." 

Then, to the icy bier, 
Trembling I gave 

The hand so dear. 

When, list ! I hear 
In songs of joy, 
" Jesus can save." 



And rising, with the morn, 
His shining form, 

In heavenly light, 

Threw radiance bright 
On my own boy ; 

Safe from sin's charms 

In Jesus' arms. 



MRS. L. S. TATLOfc, 

Streatot, DL 



DEI GRATIA. 



Lay Easter lilies on the breast of all thy dead, 
With blue forget-me-nots make soft their lowly bed, 
With tend'rest, hungriest tears baptize cold hands, dear 
head. 

Yet as thy last caress 
Falls on unanswering clay, 
Ah, what divine largesse 
Of life, dawns with the day 
Of immortality, what heavenly surprise ! 

The great death-angel is but usher for a King, 
A greater than he calls by every grave, Arise ! 
To hear that voice proves pow'r to follow where he flies, 
And mounting, mounting toward the God-like, cleave 
the skies ! 
The angel of the resurrection ! him we sing 
This blessed Easter morning, Christ is King, is King! 
Let our hosannas ring, 
To him our dead we bring, 
Our slain of death, our slain of sin, 
Oh ! gather all thy stricken in 
This blessed Easter morning, Christ, our King! our 
King! 



AN EASTER STRAIN. 

1 Fear not ! 

One by one God's little birds fly home, 
And sweetly sing, 
" Behold the spring ! " 

2 Fear not ! 

Each after each dear buds do softly reach 
The smiling light, — 
'Tis no more night ! 

3 Fear not ! 

All shadows lift ; in His own gift 
Is life and bloom ; 
There is no tomb 

4 But hath 

Its bondage riven since Christ has risen ; 
So do not fear ; 
But glad and clear 

5 The praise 

Most tuneful swell of songs that tell, 
How God is love 
All souls above ! 



197 



EASTER HYMN. 

1 Christ our Lord to-day is risen ! 

Strike the note and send it forth ; 
Let the wind bear on the tidings 

East and west and south and north t 

2 Christ is risen ! Joy and gladness 

Follow in His shining train ! 

Christ is risen ! victory ! victory ! 

Over sin and death and pain ! 

3 Christ is risen ! men exulting 

With new hope the strain prolong, 
And the angels tune their harp-strings 
To a newer, sweeter song ! 

4 Once again, this Easter morning, 

Sounds the promise glad and free; 
" Since I live, my chosen people 
More than conquerors shall be." 

5 See ! its rays light up the precincts 

Where your dead were wont to lie, 
Now the grave is but a pathway 
Leading to your home on high ! 

6 I have plucked from death its venom, 

Powerless is now his sting, — 
Let the choirs of earth and heaven 
" Glory, Alleluia ! " sing! 



LIGHT OF THE WORLD. 

1 Light of the world, across our paths, 

The devious paths of this dull shore, 

Oh ! send some bright, some cheering ray, 

That we may walk in night no more. 

2 Often, dear Lord, our footsteps sink 

In pitfalls strangely deep and wide, 
Or stumble on the rocky steep 

Where dang'rous beasts of prey abide. 

3 But let Thy light, Thy blessed light, 

All glorious with truth and grace, 
Shining from out the heavenly courts, 
Reveal to us Thy loving face. 

4 And we will tread the narrow path, 

Made holy by Thy bleeding feet, 
Till Thou shalt guide us where at last 
We with our risen Lord shalt meet. 



THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 

1 Thy miracles are no state splendors, 

Whose pomps Thy daily works excel ; 

A rock which breaks the stream, but rendert 

Its constant current audible. 

2 The power which startles us in thunders 

Works ever silently in light ; 
And mightier than these special wonders, 
The wonder daily in our sight. 



3 Rents in the veils Thy works that fold, 

They let the inner light shine through ; 
The rent is new, the light is old, 
Eternal, never ever new. 

4 And therefore, when Thy touch arrests 

The bearers of that bier of Nain, 
Warm on unnumbered hearts it rests, 
Though yet their dead live not again. 

5 And Thy compassionate " Weep not ! " 

On this our tearful earth once heard, 
For every age with comfort fraught, 
Tells how Thy heart is ever stirred. 

6 Nature repeats the tale each year, 

She feels Thy touch through countless springs, 
And, rising from her wintry bier, 

Throws off her grave-clothes, lives and sings. 

7 And when Thy touch through earth shall thrill 

This bier whereon our race is laid, 
And, for the first time standing still, 
The long procession of the dead, 

8 At Thy " Arise ! " shall wake from clay, 

Young, deathless, freed from every stain ; 
When Thy " Weep not ! " shall wipe away 
Tears that shall never come again ; 

9 When the strong chains of death are burst, 

And lips long dumb begin to speak, 
What name will each then utter first ? 
What music shall that silence break ? 

MRS). CHARLEB. 



■ EASTER. 

1 Dawn of dawns, the Easter Day 

Far and wide in splendor breaks 
Darkest shadows flee away 
Where it breaks. 

2 Veiled in its vernal light 

Christ, the Light of light, arose ; 
From the grave's unbroken night, 
He arose. 

3 Though beneath the cross He fell, 

Though upon the cross He died, 
Led He captive death and hell 
When He died. 

4 Overcome, He overcame ; 

Conquered, more than conqueror lives ; 
Crowned King with heaven's acclaim, 
Jesus lives! 

5 Through the gates of sacrifice 

He, the victim, victor went. 
Lo ! His triumph lights the skiea, 
Since He went. 

6 Darker than the night our sin, 

Silent as the tomb our life, 
Still His glory enters in, — 
Light and life. 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



7 •" Rise and follow me," He saith ; 

" Love as I have loved you ; 
Rise to life that I through death 
Won for you." 

8 Love that counts not sacrifice, 

Keeping nothing back from Him ; — 
To such love must we arise, 
Following Him. 

9 As He laid His garments by, 

With the bondage of the grave, 
Clothed in Love's own majesty 
Left the grave, 

10 Self, the earth's most earthly dress, 

Must we cast aside like Him, 
And, putting on His righteousness, 
Rise with Him. 

11 He hath rolled the stone away 

Through redemption's might for us ; 
Dawn of dawns, the Easter Day 
Breaks for us. 



THE LORD IS RISEN INDEED. 

1 The Easter praises may falter 

And die with the Easter Day, 
The blossoms that brightened the altar 

In sweetness may fade away ; 
But after the silence and fading 

There lingers, untold and unpriced, 
Above all changing and shading, 

The love of the living Christ. 

2 For the living Christ is loving, 

And the loving Christ is alive ! 
His life hidden in us is moving 

Us even to pray and to strive. 
Alas ! that e'en in our striving 

We labor like spirits in prison, 
Forgetting that Jesus is living, 

Forgetting the Saviour has risen \ 

3 We join in the Easter rejoicing, 

And echo each gladdening strain, 
While a pitiful minor is voicing 

Our own secret doubting or pain. 
We weave Him a shroud of our sadness, 

We cover His smile with our gloom, 
And drive back the angel of gladness 

Who waits at the door of the tomb. 

4 We know not our own hearts have hidden 

Our Christ in a grave of our own ; 
We know not our own hearts are bidden 

To roll from the threshold the stone. 
While our tearful eyes, drooping and weary, 

With watching in sorrow and fear, 
Might see, with the heart-broken Mary, 

That the Lord is alive — and is near ! 

MARY LOWE DICKINSON. 

In N. Y. "Independent." 



THE EASTER GUEST. 

1 I knew Thou wert coming, O Lord Divine, 
I felt in the sunlight a softened shine, 

And a murmur of welcome, I thought I heard, 
In the ripple of brook and the chirp of bird ; 
And the bursting buds and the springing grass, 
Seemed to be waiting to see Thee pass ; 
And the sky, and the sea, and the throbbing soc 
Pulsed and thrilled to the, touch of God. 

2 I knew Thou wert coming, O Love Divine, 
To gather the world's heart up to Thine ; 

I knew the bonds of the rock-hewn grave 
Were riven, that living, Thy life might save. 
But blind and wayward, I could not see 
Thou wert coming to dwell with me, e'en me. 
And my heart, o'er-burdened with care and sin, 
Had no fair chamber to take Thee in. 

3 Not one clean spot for Thy foot to tread, 
Not one pure pillow to rest Thy head ; 
There was nothing to offer, no bread, no wine, 
No oil of joy in this heart of mine ; 

And yet the light of Thy kingly face 
Illumed for Thyself a small dark place, 
And I crept to the spot by Thy smile made 
And the tears came ready to wash Thy feet. 

4 Now let me come nearer, O Christ Divine, 
Make in my soul for Thyself a shrine ; 
Cleanse, till the desolate place shall be 
Fit for a dwelling, dear Lord, for Thee. 
Rear, if Thou wilt, a throne in my breast, 
Reign, I will worship and serve my guest. 
While Thou art in me — and in Thee I abide — 
What end can there be to the Easter-tide. 



JESUS LIVES. 

John xiv : xix. 

1 Jesus lives ! no longer now 

Can thy terrors, Death, appall me ; 
Jesus lives ! and well I know, 

From the dead He will recall me ; 
Better life will then commence, 
This shall be my confidence. 

2 Jesus lives ! to Him the throne 

Over all the world is given ; 
I shall go where He is gone, 

Live and reign with Him in Heaven : 
God is pledged , weak doubtings, hence 
This shall be my confidence. 

3 Jesus lives ! I know full well, 

Naught from Him my heart can sever 
Life nor death, nor powers of hell, 

Joy nor grief, henceforth, forever : 
God will power and grace dispense, 
This shall be my confidence. 




EASTER HYMN. 



199 



4 Jesus lives ! henceforth is death 

Entrance into life immortal ; 
Calmly I can yield my breath, 

Fearless tread the frowning portal ; 
Lord, when faileth flesh and sense, 
Thou wilt be my confidence ! 

ELECTB.ESS OF BRANDENBUKU, 1841. 

Tr. by Frances Elizabeth Cox. 

EASTER HYMN. 

1 O'er the eastern hills arise 
Rays of glory, and our eyes 
Gaze upon the wondrous scene, 
Lightning's flash and snowy gleam 
Of the seraph clothed in white. 
From the realms of life and light. 
Lo ! He rolls away the stone, 
Christ now reigns on earth alone. 

2 Hark ! a sleeping world awakes, 
Into songs of gladness breaks ! 
Fields and dells in joyous haste 
Deck with flowers their dreary waste. 
Birds among the leaf} 7 trees 
Warble to the wildwood breeze. 
Mortals, Christ now reigns on earth, 
He who gave e'en nature birth. 

3 "Women, waiting at the tomb, 
Overawed with sense of gloom — 
" Fear ye not," the angel said, 

" Christ has risen from the dead." 
Hail the resurrection morn ! 
He who has our sorrows borne 
Lives again ! rich offerings bring 
To our Sovereign, Lord and King ! 

LIZZIE CAMPBELL SMITH. 

RING, RING THE BELLS. 

",Now is Christ risen from the dead."— I Cor. xv : 20. 

1 Ring, ring the bells over ocean and shore, 
Jesus, the Risen, shall suffer no more ; 
Jesus, the Risen, is mighty to save ; 

Where is thy strength and thy vict'ry, O Grave ? 

2 Break from your bondage of winter, O Earth, 
Wake to a spring-time of music and mirth ; 
Blossom and sing, for your darkness is done ; 
Jesus hath risen, thy life-giving Sun. 

3 Ring, ring the tidings with joy in the chime, 
Down through the shadows of error and crime ; 
Ring to the spirit of bondman and free, 

" Jesus is risen, and liveth for thee." 



FLORA L. BEST. 



EASTER MORNING. 

Let joy bells be ringing ! 
All nature upspringing, 

Feels new life through every vein ; 
For Christ has arisen, 
Has broken death's prison, 

On earth He will evermore reign ! 



2 Come, children, bring showers 
Of loveliest flowers ! 

No offering for Easter more sweet ; 
With grateful adoring, 
And humble imploring, 

Oh ! cast them at Jesus' dear feet ! 

FANNY E. NEWBERRY, 1881. 

CHILDREN'S EASTER. 

1 Breaks the joyful Easter dawn, 

Clearer yet, and stronger ; 
Winter from the world has gone ; 

Death shall be no longer. 
Far away good angels drive 

Night and sin and sadness ; 
Earth awakes in smiles, alive 

With her dear Lord's gladness. 

2 Rousing them from dreary hours 

Under snowdrifts chilly, 
In His hand He brings the flowers, 

Brings the rose and lily. 
Every little buried bud 

Into life He raises ; 
Every wild flower of the wood 

Chants the dear Lord's praises. 

3 Open happy buds of spring, 

For the sun has risen ! 
Through the sky sweet voices ring, 

Calling you from prison. 
Little children, dear, look up ! 

Towards His brightness pressing, 
Lift up every heart, a cup 

For the dear Lord's blessing ! 

LTJCY LAitCOM, 

In Youth's Companion, 1884. 

AN EASTER LILY. 
Pale, pale as any fair Annunciation lily, 

With head drooped on her breast, 
As flow'r that 'neath the night dew, trembling, cold 
and stilly, 
Leans upon earth for rest ; 
Thus, smiling, passed she unto God's great resur- 
rection, 
A lily in her hand, « 

No more to feel life's woe ; its pain and its correction, 

No more to understand. 
For her there dawneth ever one white Easter morn- 
ing, 
That knows not noon, nor night. 
No pleading litanies, no tapers for adorning, 

The Lamb is there the Light. 
For us, the surpliced priests, the choir's thrilling 
vesper, 
The solemn tolling bell ; 
" Is it well with the child ? " they ask us, and we 
whisper, 
For answer, " It is well." 

BERTHA 8CRANTON POOL. 

In the "Hospital Review." 1884. 



200 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

IN THEE, O LORD. 



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FAITH AND TRUST. 



201 



THE UNSEEN HAND. 

1 I placed my hand in the Hand of God 

In the days of the long ago, 
'Twas sweet as a thrill of the mother-love, 

And pure as the. mountain snow. 
I link'd my little life to Christ 

In my youthful days of hope, 
Then Jesus with His gentle touch 

The pearly gates did ope. 

2 Along the current of the stream 

Of life's resistless tide, 
That Hand has clasped mine firm and strong, 

Whatever else betide. 
I've wander'd thro' the flow'ry paths 

Of life with many a joy, 
I've gathered gold from busy toil, 

But not without alloy. 

3 I see beyond the portals fair 

No shade of gloom or night, 
I see the white-rob'd angels there 

In yonder realms of light, 
I feel God's loving, tender Hand, 

Like dew-kiss'd flowers at eve, 
It guides me on, beyond, afar, 

To joys I shall receive. 

4 And when I touch the Jordan wave 

He'll hold it out to me, 
Each crest shall beam with glory's star 

While crossing o'er the sea. 
Then with the same unfailing love 

He'll bear me to the shore, 
The Hand that now I cannot see 

Will be unseen no more. 



EMMA PITT. 



WHOM NOT HAVING SEEN, YE LOVE. 

1 " Not seen ! " The veil of flesh 

Doth dim our spirit's eyes, 
Nor shall we see, until 

We mount the vaulted skies. 
But we will love Thee still, our Lord ! 
Believing all Thy gracious word. 

2 " Not seen : " but near and far 

The workings of Thy hand 
Illume the silent sea, 

And beautify the land. 
The spangled heavens reveal, at night, 
The hand that brings at dawn the light. 

3 But grander far Thy work 

Within the deathless soul ! 
Where doubt and sin and sloth 

Yield to Thy loved control, 
And struggling hope and faith arise, 
With peace and truth, in glad surprise. 



4 " Not seen : " but dearer far 

Than aught that greets the sight ; 
We seek Thee through the day, 

And trust Thee through the night. 
In busy toil or silent sleep, 
Thy loving watch around us keep. 

5 We'll lean our weary souls 

Upon Thy strengthening grace, f 
And seek Thy counsels wise, 

To guide in each dark place ; 
And walk by faith, until the light 
Of heaven reveals all truth to sight. 

EMILY PUTNAM WILLIAMS. 

FAITH. 

C. M. (Brown.) 

1 Oh ! for that faith whose voice can still 

The doubts that vex the soul ; 
That seeks to know no other will, 
But God's supreme control. 

2 Oh ! for a sweet and holy rest 

On God's divine decree, 
Knowing that if with trust I'm blest, 
There's naught but love for me. 

3 Although the clouds that hide His hand 

Sometimes obscure the light, 
I'd meekly tread the darkened land, 
And wait the morning bright. 

4 Lord, I believe ; but fain would pray 

Like him who sought relief, 
Ere Thou from earth didst pass away, 
" Help Thou my unbelief." 

5 Then through each dark and trying hour, 

Thy guiding hand I'll see ; 
And lift, though clouds may round me lower, 
A trusting heart to Thee. 

EMILY P. WILLIAMS, 188L, 

I LEFT IT ALL WITH JESUS. 

' Casting all your care upon Him ; for He careth tor you."— I Peter v : 7. 

1 I left it all with Jesus 

Long ago ; 
All my sins I brought Him, 

And my woe. 
When by faith I saw Him 

On the tree, 
Heard His small, still whisper, 

"'Tis for thee," 
From my heart the burden 
Rolled away — happy day ! 

2 I leave it all with Jesus, 

For He knows 
How to steal the bitter 

From life's woes ; 
How to gild the tear-drop 

With his smile, 
MaLe the desert garden 

Bloom awhile : 
When my weakness leaneth 
On His might, all seems light. 



202 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



3 I leave it all with Jesus 

Day by day ; 
Faith can firmly trust Him 

Come what may. 
Hope has dropped her anchor, 

Found her rest 
In the calm, sure haven 
•» Of His breast : 
Love esteems it heaven 
To abide at His side. 

4 Oh! leave it all with Jesus,, 

Drooping soul ! 
Tell not half thy story, 

But the whole. 
Worlds on worlds are hanging 

On His hand, 
Life and death are waiting 

His command ; 
Yet His tender bosom 
Makes thee room — Oh! come home ! . 

MISS ELLEN H. -WILLIS. 

THE PATH OF FAITH. 

"Lord, if it be Thou, bid me to come unto Thee on the water."— Matt, xiv : 

1 If it be Thou, my Lord, 

Above the roar of the tempestuous sea, 
Let but Thy voice be heard, 

And I will venture forward " unto Thee." 



2 " Forth unto Thee," my Lord, 

Heeding not those who fain would hold me back ; 
If I have but Thy word, 

I can " go forward " o'er the ocean's track. 

3 Not that I have the strength 

To plant one footstep on that raging wave ; 
Much more to cross the length 

That severs me from Thee : but Thou canst save. 

■4 Yes, Thou canst keep my feet 

From sinking in the drifting, surging tide ; 
And though the winds may beat, 

Thy power shall bring me safely to Thy side. 

5 Even if I should fail, 

Through looking at my weakness, or around, 
One faltering cry to Thee, 

And in Thine arms I know I shall be found. 

6 " Bid me to come " then, Lord, 

For love's constraining power shall conquer fear, 
And hope shall buoy me up, 

And faith's safe pathway soon shall bring me near. 

7 Near to Thyself, my Lord, 

Into Thy presence realized and sweet, 
To gaze in rapturous joy, 

To listen, learn, and worship at Thy feet. 



GEORGIANA M. TAYLOR. 



ALL I LEAVE TO FOLLOW THEE. 






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IT IS THE SOUL SHINING THROUGH THE FACE." 



FAITH AND TRUST 



203 



MY PRECIOUS BIBLE. 

1 My Bible, precious treasure ! 

Worth more than gems of gold ; 
Be it my choicest pleasure 

Thy covers to unfold. 
Thy fair illumined pages 

With God's own glory shine ; 
Down through the long, long ages, 

It gleams in every line. 
Cho. My precious Bible ! 'tis a book divine; 
Where heavenly truth and mercy shine, 
And wisdom speaks in every line, 

Speaks to me, speaks good news to me. 

2 For God's exceeding glory, 

His very life is love ; 
All through His sacred story 

Its splendor is inwove. 
It glows in man's creation, 

And Oh ! more radiant still, 
In his complete salvation, 

From sin and mortal ill. 
Chorus. 

3 I read and weep and wonder 

How God, a holy God, 
Could still the law's wild thunder, 

With mercy, gentle word. 
How raise the pale transgressor, 

Bowed low with pain and fear, 
And make him heaven's possessor, 

With Christ, the Son, an heir. 
Chorus. 

4 O marvellous revelation ! 

O tender, pitying love ! 
Of saints the admiration, 

The song of hosts above. 
Be this my wondrous story, 

My daily, fresh delight, 
And in this flood of glory 

My soul be ever bright. 
Chorus. 

MRS. H. E. BROWN. 
' Editor N, Y. "Advocate and Guardian." 
Bom at Portsmouth, ST. H., April 16, 1819. 

HE LEADETH US EVER. 

" He leadeth us beside the still waters."— Ps. xxiii : 2. 

1 If through the lone desert 

Life's pathway doth lead, 
Or the wilderness waste, 

God's hand let us heed ; 
He leadeth us ever, 

God's hand let us heed, 

2 If out on the ocean, 

Where dark the storms lower, 
Where wrecking waves dash 

He will lead us to shore ; 
He leadeth us ever, 

God's hand let us heed. 



3 His voice stills the tempest, 

His hand holds the storm ; 
He knoweth the harbor, 

The night's brightest morn ; 
He leadeth us ever, 

God's hand let us heed. 

4 His wisdom unerring, 

His providence kind, 
His love, a sure solace, 

He gives to mankind ; 
He leadeth us ever, 

God's hand let us heed. 

MRS. 
From "Joy Bells," 

HE KNOWS. 

1 I know not what will befall me ! 

God hangs a mist o'er my eyes ; 
And o'er each step of my onward path 

He makes new scenes to rise, 
And every joy He sends to me 

Comes as a sweet and glad surprise. 

2 I see not a step before me, 

As I tread the days of the year, 
But the past is still in God's keeping, 

The future His mercy shall clear, 
And what looks dark in the distance 

May brighten as I draw near. 

3 For perhaps the dreaded future 

Has less bitterness than I think; 
The Lord may sweeten the water 

Before I stoop to drink, 
Or, if Mar ah must be Marah, 

He will stand beside its brink. 

4 It may be there is waiting 

For the coming of my feet 
Some gift of such rare blessedness, 

Some joy so strangely sweet, 
That my lips can only tremble 

With the thanks I cannot speak. 

5 O restful, blissful ignorance ! 

'Tis blessed not to know, 
It keeps me quiet in those arms 

Which will not let me go, 
And hushes my soul to rest 

On the bosom which loves me so. 

6 So I go on not knowing ; 

I would not if I might ; 
I would rather walk on in the dark with God, 

Than go alone in the light, 
I would rather walk with Him by faith, 

Than walk alone by sight. 

7 My heart shrinks back from trials 

Which the future may disclose, 
Yet I never had a sorrow 

But what the dear Lord chose ; 
So I send the coming tears back, 

With the whispered word " He knows." 

At A BY o. BRAINARp 









204 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



GOD OUR FATHER. 

1 Here 1 can firmly rest ; 

I dare to boast of this, 
That God, the highest and the best, 
My Friend and Father is. 

2 Naught have I of my own, 

Naught in the life I lead ; 
What Christ hath given, that alone 
I dare in faith to plead. 

3 I rest upon the ground 

Of Jesus and His blood ; 
It is through Him that I have found 
My soul's eternal good. 

4 At cost of all I have, 

At cost of life and limb, 
I cling to God who yet shall save ; 
I will not turn from Him. 

5 His Spirit in me dwells, 

O'er all my mind He reigns ; 

My care and sadness He dispels, 

And soothes away my pains. 

6 He prospers day by day 

His work within my heart, 
Till I have strength and faith to say, 
" Thou, God, my Father art ! " 



FAITH IN DIVINE GOODNESS. 

1 He sendeth sun, He sendeth shower, 
Alike they're needful to the flower, 
And joys and tears alike are sent 
To give the soul fit nourishment. 
As comes to me or cloud or sun, 
Father, Thy will, not mine,be done ! 

2 Can loving children e'er reprove 

With murmurs whom they trust and love? 

Creator, I would ever be 

A trusting, loving child to Thee. 

As comes to me or cloud or sun, 

Father, Thy will, not mine, be done ! 

3 Oh ! ne'er will I at life repine ! 
Enough that Thou hast made it mine. 
When falls the shadow cold of death, 
I yet will sing, with parting breath, 
As comes to me or cloud or sun, 
Father, Thy will, not mine, be done ! 

MRS, SARAH F. ADAMS. 



In each event of life, how clear 

Thy ruling hand I see — 
Each blessing to my soul more dear, 

Because conferred by Thee ! 
In every joy that crowns my days, 

In every pain I bear, 
My heart shall find delight in praise, 

Or seek relief in prayer. 
When gladness wings my favored hour, 

Thy love my thoughts shall fill ; 
Resigned, when storms of sorrow lower, 

My soul shall meet Thy will. 
My lifted eye, without a tear, 

The gathering storm shall see ; 
My steadfast heart shall know no fear ; 

That heart shall rest on Thee. 

MISS HELEN M. WILLIAMS. 
fBorn 1762. 
( Died 1827. 



I CAN ALWAYS TRUST IN JESUS. 

"I will never leave thee nor forsake thee." 

1 I can always trust in Jesus, 

In the dark or in the light, 

In the gloomiest vale of shadow, 

Or the silence of the night. 

Chorus. — Always trusting, always trusting, 
In His word and in His love, 
Ever resting all on Jesus, 
Till I reign with Him above. 

2 I can always trust in Jesus, 

Though all earthly hope shall fail, 
I can rest on my Redeemer, 
Over all I shall prevail. 

3 I can always trust in Jesus, 

He can ev'ry weakness heal, 
On the Rock of Ages founded, 
Strength and comfort He'll reveal. 

4 I can always trust in Jesus, 

In the sunshine He is near, 

In the fiercest storm He whispers, 

I am with thee, do not fear. 



I 



PROVIDENCE. 



Set to musi 
Copyright, 1883, by Emma Pitt, 



SONGS OF FAITH. 



EMMA PITT. 

by F. W. Nicholi. 
in " Gospel Lights" 



1 While thee I seek, protecting Power, 

Be my vain wishes stilled ; 
And may this consecrated hour 

With better hopes be filled. 
Thy love the power of thought bestowed 

To Thee my thoughts would soar ; 
Thy mercy o'er my life has flowed : 

That mercy I adore. 



O songs of faith that pilgrims sing I 
To you our hearts forever cling : 
You guide us where the saints have trod, 
You lead us to the throne of God. 
O music soft ! O music sweet ! 

Borne upward by your song, 
Though storms of time around us beat, 

The weakest heart grows strong. 



FAITH AND TRUST. 



205 



2 O songs of love that angels sing ! 
What peace ami joy your sweet notes bring : 
They float so sweetly down the way 
That leads us up to endless day. 

music soft ! O music sweet ! 
With Heaven in the strain ; 

Our waiting ears your sweet songs greet, 
They calm our weary pain. 

3 And now, O joy ! at last, at last 
The years of toil and woe are past, 
And Zion's golden gate appears ; 
We pass for aye from grief and tears. 

music soft ! O music sweet ! 
We lay our burdens down, 

For evermore at Jesus' feet, 
And there receive our crown. 

FANNY CHURCH. 
Set to musio by J. H. Tenney. 

From "The Little Sower." 

NO BOOK LIKE THE BIBLE. 

1 No book is like the Bible, 

For childhood, youth, and age ; 
Our duty, plain and simple, 

We find on every page. 
It came by inspiration, 

A light to guide our way, 
A voice from Him who gave it, 
Reproving when we stray. 
Chorus. — No book is like the Bible, 

The blessed book we love ; 
The pilgrim's chart of glory, 
It leads to God above. 

2 It tells of man's creation, 

His sad primeval fall ; 
It tells of man's redemption, 

Through Christ who died for all. 
Iu sacred words of wisdom, 

It bids us watch and pray, 
And early come to Jesus, 

The Life, the Truth, the Way. 

3 Oh ! let us love the Bible, 

And praise it more and more ; 
Our life is like a shadow, 

Our days will soon be o'er. 
But if we closely follow 

The counsel God has given, 
We then may hope with angels 

To sing His praise in heaven. 

FANNY CROSBY. 

Set to music by Asa Hull. 

From " Casket, No. 2," by permission. 

FAITH. 
1 I will not doubt, though all my ships at sea 

Come drifting home with broken masts and sails ; 

1 shall believe the hand which never fails, 
From seeming evil, worketh good for me. 
And though I weep because those sails are tattered, 
Still will I cry, while my best hopes lie shattered, 

"I trust in Thee." 



2 I will not doubt, though all my prayers return, 

Unanswered, from the still white realm above. 

I shall believe it is an all-wise love, 
Which has refused these things for which I yearn. 
And though at times I cannot keep from grieving, 
Yet the pure ardor of my fixed believing 
Uudimmed shall burn. 

3 I will not doubt, though sorrows fall like rain, 

And troubles swarm like bees about a hive, 
I shall believe the heights for which I strive 
Are only reached by anguish and by pain ; 
Aud though I groan and writhe beneath my crosses, 
I yet shall see, through my severest losses, 
The greater gain. 

4 I will not doubt. Well anchored in this faith, 

Like some staunch ship, my soul braves every gale. 

So strong its courage that it will not quail, 
To breast the mighty unknown sea of death. 
Oh ! may I cry, when body parts with spirit, 
" I do not doubt," so listening worlds may hear it, 
With my last breath. 

F.LLA WHEELER. 

Madison, Wis. 

CLINGING TO CHRIST. 

1 O Holy Saviour ! Friend unseen, 
Since on Thine arm Thou bid'st me lean, 
Help me, throughout life's changing scene, 

By faith to cling to Thee ! 

2 What though the world deceitful prove, 
And earthly friends and hopes remove ; 
With patient, uncomplaining love, 

Still would I cling to Thee. 

3 Though oft I seem to tread alone 

Life's dreary waste, with thorns o'ergrown, 
Thy voice of love, in gentlest tone, 
Still whispers, " Cling to me ! " 

4 Though faith and hope are often tried, 
I ask not, need not, aught beside ; 

So safe, so calm, so satisfied, 

The soul that clings to Thee ! 

CHARLOTTE ELLIOTT, 1834. 

TRUST IN GOD. 

"Trust in God."— I Pet. v: 7. 

1 Where wilt thou put thy trust? 

In a frail form of clay, 
That to its element of dust 
Must soon resolve away ? 

2 Where wilt thou cast thy care ? 

Upon an erring heart, 
Which hath its own sore ills to bear, 
And shrinks from sorrow's dart ? 

3 No, — place thy trust above 

This shadowy realm of night, 
In Him, whose boundless power and love 
Thy confidence invite. 

4 His mercies shall endure 
When skies and stars grow dim, 

His changeless promise standeth sure, — 
Go, — cast thy care on Him. 

MRS. SIGOUKNEY. 



206 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



TRUST. 

"None of them that trust in Him shall he desolate."— Ps. xxxiv: 52. 

1 Though the rain may fall and the wind be blowing, 

And cold and chill is the wintry blast, 
Though the cloudy sky is still cloudier growing 

And the dead leaves tell that summer h 
My face I hold to the stormy heaven, 

My heart is as calm as the summer sea, 
Glad to receive what my God has given, 
Whate'er it be. 

2 When I feel the cold I can say, " He sends it," 

And His wind blows blessing I surely know, 
For I've never a want but that He attends it, 
And my heart beats warm though the winds may 
blow. 
The soft sweet summer was warm and glowing ; 

Bright were the blossoms on every bough ; 
I trusted Him when the roses were blowing, 
I trust Him now. 

3 Small were my faith should it weakly falter, 

Now that the roses have ceased to blow, 
Frail were the trust that now should alter, 

Doubting His love when storm clouds grow. 
If I trust Him once I must trust Him ever, 

And His way is best, though I stand or fall, 
Through wind and storm He will leave me never, 
He sends it all. 

MBS. PRANK TAYLOR, 

Philadelphia, Pa., 1882. 



REFUGE. 

"And a man shall be as an hiding-place from the wind, and a covert 
from the tempest,"— Isa. xxxii : 2. 

(Tune— " The Solid Bock.") 

1 Though buffeted and tempest-worn, 
Though burdened, weary and forlorn ; 
Though wand'ring in temptation's night, 
Fainting and longing for the light, 
Adown life's wildest, loneliest spot, 
One walks by me, whom I see not. 

2 No surer is His word of grace, 
When not a cloud obscures His face, 
Than when the wildest tempests roll, 
And darkness curtains all my soul ; 
His truth so sure, His grace so free, 
His righteousness is all my plea. 

3 And, reaching through the dark, I know 
A hand upholds me where I go ; 
Though in the dark I may not see 

The hand that reaches after me ; 

Dear pierced hand ! Oh ! clasp and hide 

E'en me, within a riven side. 

MARY A. LEAVITT, 1881. 



OUT OF THE NIGHT. 

"The lord shall be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy 
mourning shall be ended." 

What though we are late in the cold, starless night, 
Still nearer we draw to our own Father's door, 

And out from the tempest and into the light 
We surely shall come when our journey is o'er. 

The burdens that crush us well-nigh to the dust, 
The anguish that tortures, the terrors and fears, 

Are known to the Heart in whose love we may trust, 
That watcheth our stumbling, that counteth our 
tears. 

The way groweth lonely, the sky is more drear, 
The helpers who loved us have passed through the 
tomb ; 
But He who is mightiest still is most near ; 

Let us reach forth our hand and meet His in the 
gloom. 

The false fires are dancing to dazzle our sight ; 

There is danger around, there is darkness before. 
But look ! through the casement doth shine out the 

light, 
As nearer we draw to our own Father's door ! 

UNA LOCKE BAILEY. 



TO A STAR. 

1 Thou beauteous star, that lifts thy silver head 

Above the dusky shoulders of the world, 

And trembles, like a drop of glory pearled 

Upon the flower of darkness, wide out-spread; 

2 How many ages, in thy circles whirled, 

Hast thou been reaching with thy beams of light, 
Through sweep on sweep of starry spaces bright, 
And feeling for this weary, shuddering world ? 

3 What noble Titans dwell in thy rare clime ? 

Surely, thou dost embower some godlike race ; 
Oh ! what am I that dost behold thy face ? 
A speck of dust upon the web of time. 

4 Unheeding time, thou threadst the woof of spheres, 

All glowing from the finger-touch of God, 
While I must cleave unto this heap of sod, 
A worm, with neither might nor length of years. 

5 But hold ! knowest thou the wondrous thing thou art ? 

Dost thou not run through the harmonious theme 
Of rhythmic spheres, that round thy pathway teem, 
Unconscious of thine own majestic part ? 

6 I know the fount in which my life begun, 

But thou knowest not the source of all thy light ; 
Thou sweepest on, ignipotent and bright ; 
Still through thy glorious circles, blindly run. 



FAITH AND TRUST. 



207 



7 When this wrapped soul has cast its fetters far, 
And, naked, leaped to heaven's highest noon, 
As bursts a bright-winged moth from its cocoon, 
Lo ! then shall I transcend the brightest star. 



LILLIAN BLANCHE FEARING. 
Davenport, la., 1884. 



A HEART MELODY. 
In quietness and in confidence shall be your strength."— Isa. xxx: 15. 

1 " In quietness, in confidence," 
A whispered soft refrain 

Of just these two — these simple words 

In oft-repeated strain, 
Breathes o'er my heart's foreboding fears, 

A rest from care and pain. 

2 " In quietness, in confidence ; " 
What is the power that lies 

Hidden beneath this melody, 

Bidding my courage rise, 
Chasing the gloom from darkest scenes, 

The tears from weeping eyes ? 

3 "In quietness, in confidence ;" 

It was the Master's word 
That woke the echo in my heart ; 

The still, small voice I heard : 
'Twas the same voice that fills all heaven 

My inmost soul that stirred. 

4 " In quietness, in confidence ; ". 

No marvel it should thrill 
My soul with rapture ; that its sound 

My restless heart should still ; 
No storm so fierce, no waves 'so high, 

But He can calm at will. 

5 '■ In quietness, in confidence ; " 

My little whispered psalm 
Still falls in sweet and holy power, 

Like fragrant, soothing balm, 
Hushing the heaving billows in 

The Lord's own wondrous calm. 

GEORGIANA M. TAYLOR. 



SATISFIED. 

1 " I have found for world-worn spirits 

One sweet spot of sheltering shade, 
Like an Elim in the desert, 

Spot where none dare make afraid ; 
'Tis the human heart of Jesus, 

Resting-place for sinners made. 
2 " 'Tis the human heart of Jesus 

In the light of Godhead seen, 
Heart that suffered, heart that sorrowed, 

Now the place where I may lean : 
Safer shelter, surer refuge. 

Sweeter home, has never been 1 



3 " God in Christ has come to meet me ; 

He has stooped from His high throne, 
. He has taken human nature, 

He has made my cause His own; 
He has pitied, He has loved me, 
He has died for sin t' atone. 

4 " Ah ! my eyes can see new beauty, 

As the God-Man stands revealed, 
And His heart that once was riven 

Melts my heart that once was sealed, 
And my wounds of sin and sorrow 

By His wounded side are healed. 

5 " He is chief among ten thousand, 

None His Kingship can contend ; 
He is peerless, He is matchless, 

His perfections have no end ! 
He is altogether lovely, 

My beloved and my Friend ! 

6 " Yet the world refused to own Him, 

Of His beauty nothing guessed ; 
Heeded not His tender pity, 

Spurned Him when He would have blessed : 
Crucified the Lord of glory 

When He came to give it rest ! 

7 " So the world no longer charms me 

With its baubles and its toys ; 
I can leave them all forgotten 

As I drink of deeper joys : 
Jesus crucified and risen 

All their witching spell destroys. 

8 " I have found a new ambition, 

One to live for, One to please : 
Motive-power all toil ennobling, 

Love that from self-seeking frees ; 
Service which is never irksome, 

Labor which is truest ease. 

9 "So I walk, a pilgrim-stranger, 

Through the world that loved Him not : 
If it hate me, like my Master, 

Need I murmur at my lot, 
While I know my humblest service 

Ne'er will be by Him forgot ? 

10 "And He loves me, this sweet Saviour, 

With a changeless love and true ; 
Saves me, keeps me, guards me, guides me, 

All the desert journey through ; 
And the fellowship of heaven 

Gilds my way with beauty new. 

11 " Thus with gladsomeness of childhood 

Is my daily pathway trod, 
And with childhood's unsuspicion 

Now no evil I forebode, 
But like rest on mother's bosom 

Is my inward peace with God." 



208 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



"REJOICING IN HOPE." 

1 Changeful hath been my lot below, 
Sometimes I've basked in joy's bright glow, 
And sometimes sunk 'neath clouds of woe 

Which lowered above my head. 

2 Sometimes the blossoms fair aud sweet 
On velvet sward my vision meet, 
And sometimes brambles tear my feet 

While toiling thro' the world. 

3 I know not what the future holds 
In store for me — I know He folds 
Me in His might}' arms and moulds 

My spirit at His will. 

4 How much I shall be called to bear 
Ere He can see His image there 
Reflected as in silver fair, 

Is all to me unknown. 

5 I only know that when to me 
The scenes of earthly life shall be 
No more, that thro' Eternity 

My soul His face shall see. 

6 For said He not, " I will prepare 
A place for you, a mansion fair, 
Where you shall in my glory share, 

And ever be at rest?" 

7 I know not where th#t home will be, 
Its form He hath not shown to me, 
Nor who will be my company 

In that fair land of light ; 

8 But if my Lord with me abide, 
My elder Brother, true and tried, 
Sure, with my portion satisfied, 

I cannot ask for more ! 

9 And so, what matter whether joy, 

Or grief, or pain these hours employ ? 
Soon, soon, that bliss without alloy 
Shall on my spirit dawn. 

10 And I, while years unnumbered 
Shall ever on His beauties feed, 
Content if I in word or deed 
His blessed image show. 



I WILL NOT LET THEE GO. 



2 I will not let Thee go— should I forsake my bliss ? 

No, Lord, Thou'rt mine, 
And I am Thine ! 
Thee will I hold when all things else I miss. 
Though dark and sad the night, 
Joy cometh with the light ; 
O Thou, my Sun ! should I forsake my bliss ? 
I will not let Thee go ! 

3 I will not let Thee go — my God, my life, my Lord 

Not death can tear 
Me from His care 
Who for my sake His soul in death outpoured ; 
Thou died'st in love to me ; 
I say in love to Thee, 
E'en when my heart shall break, my God, my life, my 
Lord, 
I will not let Thee go ! 



THE LORD WILL PROVIDE. 

"Casting all your care upon Him, for He careth for you,"— I Peter, v: 6. 

1 In some way or other the Lord will provide ; 

It may not be my way, 
It may not be thy way ; 
And yet in His own way, 
" The Lord will provide." 
Cho. — Then, we'll trust in the Lord, 
And He will provide ; 
Yes, we'll trust in the Lord, 
And He will provide. 

2 At some time or other the Lord will provide ; 

It may not be my time, 
It may not be thy time ; 
And yet in His own time, 
"The Lord will provide." 

3 Despond then no longer ; the Lord will provide ; 

And this be the token — 
No word He hath spoken 
Was ever yet broken : 
" The Lord will provide." 

4 March on then right boldly ; the sea shall divide ; 

The pathway made glorious, 
With shoutings victorious, 
We'll join in the chorus, 
" The Lord will provide." 



1 I will not let Thee go, Thou help in time of need, 
Heap ill on ill, 
I trust Thee still, 
E'en when it seems as Thou would'st slay indeed ! 
Do as Thou wilt with me, 
I yet will cling to Thee ; 
Hide Thou Thy face, — yet Help in time of need, 
I will not let Thee go ! 



HOPE IN DEATH. 

1 Who knows how near my life's expended ? 

Time flies, and death is hasting on : 
How soon, my term of trial ended, 

May heave my last expiring groan ! 
For Jesus' sake, when flesh shall fail, 
With ma, O God, may it be well ! 



FAITH AND TRUST 



209 



i 7 



10 



Death comes when night the world is hiding, — 
He comes too in the glare of day, — 

Wherever I am here abiding, 
At once I may be call'd away : 

For Jesus' sake, when flesh shall fail, 
With me, O God, may it be well ! 

Lord, lead me oft to think of dying, 
That when the hour of trial's come, 

My soul may then, on Christ relying, 
Sink all its terrors in His tomb : — 

And for His sake when flesh shall fail, 

With me, O God, may it be well ! 

And now, betimes, would I provide me 
That sure support whereon to rest, 

And cheerful say — " What shall betide me, 
Choose, Lord, as Thou shalt see it best ! " 

And when my heart and flesh shall fail, 

For Jesus' sake, may it be well ! 

Awake in me desires for heaven ! 

Help me to view the world aright ; 
Far from my heart its wiles be driven 

While endless joys allure my sight : 
For Jesus' sake, when flesh shall fail, 
With me, O God, may it be well ! 

My many sins ! — Oh ! veil them over 

With merits of Thy dying Son ! 
I here Thy richest grace discover, — 

Here find I peace, and here alone : 
And, for His sake, when flesh shall fail, 
With me, O Lord, may it be well ! 

His bleeding wounds give me assurance 

That Thy free mercy will abide ; 
Here strength I find for death's endurance, 

And hope for all I need beside : 
For Jesus' sake, when flesh shall fail, 
With me, O God, may it be well ! 

Nothing from Christ my soul shall sever, 
Nor life, nor death, — things high nor low • 

I take Him as my Lord forever, 
My future trust, as He is now : 

And for His sake, when flesh shall fail, 

With me, O God, may it be well ! 

Then come my end to-day, to-morrow, 

I know, through Christ, 't will work my good : 

The world may in the prospect sorrow, — 
But I rejoice through Jesus' blood : 

And for His sake, when flesh shall fail, 

With me, O God, may it be well ! 

I live, meantime, in Thee confiding, 

Of death have no appalling fear ; 
Enough for me — my God is guiding, 

Through faith my future hopes are clear : 
Thy grace in Christ will never fail, 
And when I die, 't will all be well. 

AMELIA TOXIANA, CO0NTESS OF SCHT7ABZBTJRG. 

Died 1706. 

Budolstadt, Germany (Translated by Prof. Wills, 1856!. 



CLING TO THE BIBLE.. 

1 Cling, to the Bible, though all else be taken,, 

Lose not its promises precious and sure, 
Soul with lips thirsty by fever o'ertaken, 
Drink from its waters, the fountain is pure. 

2 Cling to the Bible. This jewel, this treasure 

Lifts out of darkness and saves fallen man ; 
Pearl whose great value no mortal can measure, 
Seek and secure it, O soul, while you can. 

3 Lamp for the feet that in by-ways have wandered, 

Guide for the youth that would otherwise fall, 
Hope for the sinner whose best days are squandered, 
Staff for the a°;ed — the best book of all. 



ASSURANCE 

1 You tell me that the summer hours 

Have gone forever by ; 
That, dead and cold, the summer flowers 
Enwrapped in snow-shrouds lie. 

2 You tell me youth will fade away, 

Like summer's wealth of bloom ; 
Our hopes, our thoughts, our work decay — 
That earth is one great tomb. 

3 You tell me life is like the year — 

That death will come to all, 
And over human joy and fear 
The silent snows will fall. 

4 I tell you that the summer days- 

Are coming back again ; 
The flowers will bloom in woodland, ways, 
To cheer the hearts of men. 

5 I tell you that this youth of trust 

May come to us once more ; 
The blossoms spring from out the dust, 
As lovely as before. 

6 I tell you Christ of Nazareth 

Has snapped the dreaded bond, 
And life in Him leads not to death, 
But to a life beyond. 

JESSIE H. BKOTTO. 

Cleveland, O., 1883. 



AFTERWARD. 

A glorious word rings in my soul, 

E'en like a song of cheer, 
And even in the darkest hour 

Its melody I hear. 

" No chastening bringeth present joy,' 

We cry in life's distress, 
But in the afterward of God, 

Grow " fruits of righteousness." 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



3 O afterward, grand afterward, 

Thou harvest-time of peace, 
How far away is thy fair day ! 
When shall the chastening cease ? 

4 The pain, the sigh, the weariness, 

Must these prepare thy way ? 
Then welcome, chastening ministry, 
Not long shall be their stay. 

5 O chastened heart, lift up a song, 

Nor faint beneath the rod ; 
A night of pain, and then the dawn, 
Grand afterward of God ! 



IN THE VESTIBULE. 

1 Is it all a dream, of a wider life 

That waiteth, beyond the struggle and strife ? 
And is it for this men are found to die ? 
Nay, more, would they live for a baseless dream, 
For a splendid lie ? 

2 For the land that lieth beyond the death — 

Men have fought for that, with their parting breath, 
And down in the trenches they're fighting to-day — 
As patriots stand for their native land, 
So, for theirs, stand they. 

3 Ye who cover the dust, saying, "Alas! alas! 

It blossoms no more, save in flowers and grass," 
What answer have ye, for the men who climb, 
By trampling their lives in the very dust, 
To a life sublime ? 

4 Would they die the death of the Christ that died ? 
Could they live the life of the crucified ? 

Have they never a glimpse through the portal fair, 
As they watch and wait at the beautiful gate, 
Of the life up there ? 

5 Nay, 'tis but the vestibule, narrow and dim, 
Where we catch the sound of song or of hymn, 
Or a gleam of light from the chancel within, 
But we'll see it all, when the doors fling wide, 

And we enter in. 

MARIA L. EVE. 



SILENCE. 

"My soul waiteth upon God." 
Psalm lxii. : 1. The marginal reading is—" My soul keepeth silence unto God." 

1 My soul keeps silence unto Thee, my God ! 

As lutes are silent till the master's power 
Wakes to sweet music each responsive chord. 

A refuge art Thou in the darkest hour, 
And fondly trusting where I cannot see, 
Would I keep silence, O my God, to Thee ! 

2 Thus on my spirit shall repose descend, 

Like the deep hush that on the forest falls, 
Lulling the birdling which its shades befriend. 

While stillness steals throughout the leafy halls, 
Until at last the genial summer shower 
Shall send a richer life through bud and flower. 



3 Or, as in moments that precede the dawn, 

When seas are silent, and the winds are calm, 
Not now the flush and triumph of the morn, 

Yet is the air enriched with choicest balm ; 
Nor shall dark shadows from the streamlet bar 
The gentle radiance of some lingering star ; 

4 But soon the joyous birds, in concert sweet, 

Shall hail the coming of the glorious sun ; 
His royal rising the glad waters greet ; 

Each sends on high a fervent orison. 
The wakened wind an argosy shall be, 
To bear its treasures o'er the shining sea. 

5 So in the morning twilight of the soul, 

Would I keep silence, O my God ! to Thee, 
That thus some starry promise may unroll 

Its beauty and its brilliancy for me ; 
And from my mind, with all its various powers, 
Shall rise sweet incense as the breath of flowers, 
Till God's own glory gilds the glowing hours ! 



ANNIE IBN'IHAL SMITH. 



NAUGHT OVERHEAD. 

1 With no pillowed head on the stormy deep, 
When "Master ! " we cry, "Awake from Thy sleep, 
For the skies are black and the tempest raves," 

To say, " Peace, be still ! " to the tossing waves, 
To the fearful waves. 

2 When our light goes out, where the way is wide, 
When the very stars all their faces hide. 

If we could not reach for an unseen hand, 
How lost should we be in the desolate land, 
In the lonely land. 

3 When we miss the strength of a stronger arm, 
The warmth of a hand that was ever warm, 
Oh ! where should we turn, if we could not rest 
On a stronger arm and a truer breast, 

And a truer breast ! 

4 For the Father hears when His children cry 
Not alone for things in the great " By-and-by," 
But the lesser things, that we want so much — 
Our poor human needs, of time and of touch — 

He remembereth such. 

5 But lonely indeed are the feet that tread 
Thro' a world like this with naught overhead ; 
For our human strength is a broken reed, 
And had we none else in the hour of need 

We were poor indeed. 

6 Who walketh alone, where nature is cruel, 

To what shall he cry ? For the stones are dead, 
The mountain cares not, the sea pities not, 
And naught but the sky, a canopy spread, 
And the stars overhead. 

7 No answering voice, no answering hand, 

In uttermost need, when he cries for bread ; 
No path leading upward and homeward for him, 
When lights are kept burning and table is spread, 
Overhead, overhead ! 

(Writte 



FAITH AND TRUST. 



211 



CHRIST STILLING THE TEMPEST. 
St. Mark iv : 37-39. 

1 There was tumult on the water, 

And a tempest rocked the deep ; 
But the Saviour on His pillow 
Lay in calm and peaceful sleep. 

2 Vainly did the poor disciples 

Toil and strive to gain the shore ; 
Fiercely, wildly, wind and tempest 
Beat them backward faint and sore. 

3 Hear us, Lord ! Oh ! save ! we perish ! 

Without Thee we can but die ! 
All in vain our toils and efforts, 

Save, dear Lord ! Oh ! hear our cry I 

4 Doth He hear ? Ah ! yes, He rises ; 

Bids the raging tumult cease. 
At His voice the tempest lulleth, 
In a moment all is peace. 

5 Do the waves of fierce temptation 

Beat upon thy troubled breast ? 
Do the storms of tribulation 

Leave thy heart no place of rest ? 

6 Go to Jesus. He will hear thee, 

Bid the raging tempest cease. 
All in vain our tears and efforts, 
Hark ! He speaks and all is peace. 



TRUST 

1 O gracious Lord, how can I doubt 

Thy ever-watchful care ? 
My coming in, my going out. 
Thou dost in love prepare. 

2 Thy gifts of providence and grace 

The hastening dawn outrun : 
I see the shining of Thy face 
Before the rising sun. 

3 And when at length in twilight vales 

The light of cheerful day, 
Thy grateful presence never fails 
To guide my shadowed way. 

4 For, loving Lord, Thou dost not bless 

With plenteous gifts alone ; 
In pain and loss and lack, no less 
Is Thy great goodness shown. 

5 So I will praise Thee in the light, 

When I Thy blessings see, 
Nor cease to trust in darkest night, 
Since darkness hides not Thee. 



LUELLA CLAEK, 



PATIENT AND PURE. 

"For ye have need of patience." "Keep thyself pure." 

1 Pure and patient ! Lord, the plea 
Of my soul must rise to Thee, 

For Thou dost know 
All the bitterness I bear ; 
All the way of heavy care 
In which I go. 



2 Patient in my weariness, 
Patient in the ills that press, 

- ■ I would be still. 
Thou, who knowest temptation's power, 
Keep me in each trial hour 
Pure as Thy will. 

3 Make rebellious thought of mine 
Captive to Thy thought divine, 

Obedient. 
Though my weary feet must bleed, 
Let me go where Thou dost lead, 

E'en thus content, 
i Teach me, make me what Thou wilt, 
Take away each thought of guilt 

That would allure. 
Trembling I seek Thy side ; 
Keep me, O Thou crucified, 

Patient and pure ! 



SAVED BY FAITH. 

1 Lo ! the Saviour passeth by ; 

See the people round Him press ! 
Would He notice such as I ? 
Condescend to heal and bless ? 

2 Dare I seek Him in the crowd 

Pressing close on every side \ 

Hear the voices harsh and loud ! 

Let me from their faces hide ! 

3 Let me touch His garment's hem, 

In the mulcitude concealed ; 
Surely He would not condemn. 
Lo ! I touch, and I am healed. 

4 Saith His voice, in accents mild, 

Daughter, peace be in thy soul ; 
Thou to God art reconciled, 

For thy faith hath made thee whole. 



REJOICE, YE SAINTS. 



1 Rejoice, ye saints, in Christ the Lord, 
And praise His name with one accord ; 
Let every heart rejoice with song, 
For thanks and praise to Christ belong. 

2 Rejoice ! He came your soul to save ; 
Rejoice ! He triumphed o'er the grave ; 
Rejoice for Him who once was slain ! 
Rejoice for Him who rose again ! 

3 Rejoice ! the Comforter has come ; 
Within your heart He makes His home 
He feeds you with divinest food, 
Fresh every morn, at eve renewed. 



212 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



4 Rejoice o'er sins now washed away, 
For hope of an eternal day ; 

For present peace and rest of mind, 
For will subdued and all resigned. 

5 Lord, keep us ever at Thy feet, 

In faith, hope, love and rest complete ; 
Joying in all our pathway here, 
That Christ the Lord is always near. 



THE FIGHT OF FAITH. 



(One of the viotima of the persecuting Henry VIII., the author was 
burnt, to death at Smithfield in 1546. The following was written and 
sung by her while a prisoner in Newgate.] 

1 Like as the armed Knighte, 
Appointed to the fielde, 
With this world wil I fight, 
And faith shal be my shilde. 

2 Faith is that weapon stronge, 
Which wil not faile at nede ; 
My foes therefore amonge, 
Therewith wil I procede. 

3 As it is had in strengthe, 
And forces of Christes waye, 
It wil prevaile at lengthe, 
Though all the devils saye naye. 

4 Faithe of the fathers olde 
Obtained right witness 
Which makes me verye bolde 
To fear no worldes distress. 

5 I now rejoice in harte, 
And hope bides me do so; 
For Christ wil take my part, 
And ease me of my wo. 

6 Thou sayst, Lord, whoso knocke, 
To them wilt thou attende ; 
Undo, therefore, the locke, 
And thy stronge power sende. 

7 More enimies now I have 
Than heeres upon my head ; 
Let them not me deprave, 
But fight thou in my steade. 

8 On thee my care I cast, 
For all their cruell spight ; 
I set not by their hast. 
For thou art my delight. 

9 I am not she that list 
My anker to let fall 
For every drislinge mist ; 
My shippe's substancial. 



10 Not oft I use to wright 

In prose, nor yet in ryme ; 
Yet wil I shewe one sight , 
That I sawe in my time. 

11 I sawe a royall throne, 
Where Justice shulde have sitte, 
But in her steade was One 

Of moody cruell witte. 

12 Absorpt was rightwisness, 
As by the raginge floude ; 
'Sathan, in his excess 

Sucte up the guiltlesse bloude. 

13 Then thought I — Jesus, Lorde, 
When thou shalt judge us all, 
Harde is it to recorde 

On these men what will fail. 

14 Yet, Lorde, I thee desire, 
For that they doe to me, 
Let them not taste the hire 
Of their iniquitie. 



ANNE ASKEWE, 1546. 



CHRIST THE HELPER. 



1 Hold my hand, O blessed Saviour, 

Lest I sink in shame and sin ; 
Open wide my heart's closed windows, 
Let Thy heavenly truth shine in. 

Cho. — Hold my hand, blessed Saviour, 

Lest the waves of sin should drown. 
Storms of life, with such a Helper, 
I shall never fear your frown. 

2 Hold my hand, Oh ! hold it firmly ; 

Snares through all my ways abound, 
Keep my weary eyes from slumber 
When I tread enchanted ground. 

3 Hold it when the sinful pleasures 

Of the world would beckon on ; 
Hold it when my earthly treasures, 
And the hopes they held, are gone. 

4 Hold it when the dark death-angel 

Beckons from the shadowy land ; 
When I cross the swelling river, 
Blessed Saviour, hold my hand. 

CLARA B. HEATH. 
From "Songs of Delight," by per. 



FAITH AND TRUST. 



213 



FROM A POEM ENTITLED 
TRUST. 
" Thy Maker is thy husband— the Holy One of Israel— his name.— Is. liv: 5. 

1 No mortal lover is like mine ; 

There is no spot in Thee ; 
I trust Thee with a perfect trust' 
That toward none else may be. 

2 Thou hast a human heart, Belov'd, 

Though Thou art God beside, 
And every human need I feel 
In Thee is satisfied. 

3 The wife has secrets never breathed 

To him whom she loves best ; 
The husband tells not every thought 
To th' wife upon his breast. 

4 Each soul a lonely chamber hath 

The nearest may not see, 

But every secret of my heart — 

I tell it straight to Thee. 

REV. ANNA OLIVER. 

Pastor Willowby At., M. E. Church. 

Brooklyn, N. Y., 1882. 



PRAYER BY MARY, QUEEN OF HUNGARY.' 



What though the heavens are dark with clouds 

That hide the smiling sky ? 
What though the thunder's fearful peal 

Proclaim the storm is nigh ? 
It cannot harm unless His voice 

Shall utter its command — 
He makes the clouds His chariot, 

And subject to His hand ! 
What though we toss upon a sea 

Piled high with wreaths of foam, 
And many a league of danger be 

Between us and our home ? 
The voice that bade Gennes'ret's wave 

In peaceful calmness lie, 
Still whispers o'er the surging deep, 

" Be not afraid ! 'tis I ! " 
Thus watched and guarded, every step 

Is under His control, 
The children of the Lord are safe, 

Though worlds in conflict roll ! 
For He who won the vict'ry lives 

A mansion to prepare, 
And His unfailing word is pledged 

To bring them safely there. 



SUSIE V. ALDRICH. 



1 O God ! though sorrow be my fate, 
And the world's hate 

For my heart's faith pursue me, 
My peace they cannot take away ; 
From day to day 

Thou dost anew imbue me ; 
Thou art not far ; a little while 
Thou hid'st Thy face with brighter smile 

Thy father-love to show me. 

2 Lord, not my will, but Thine, be done ; 
If I sink down 

When men to terrors leave me, 
Thy father-love still warms my breast, 
All 's for the best ; 

Shall man have power to grieve me 
When bliss eternal is my goal, 
And Thou the keeper of my soul, 

Who never will deceive me ? 

3 Thou art my shield, as saith the Word. 
Christ Jesus, Lord, 

Thou standest pitying by me, 
And lookest on each grief of mine 
As if 't were thine : 

What then- though foes may try me, 
Though thorns be in my path concealed ? 
World, do thy worst ! God is my shield ! 

And will be ever nigh me. 

Translation. From "Bryant's Library of Poetry and 3ong.' 



ABIDE WITH ME. 

1 Abide with me ; the sunset's golden finger 

Has drawn a veil between the world and me ; 
Upon the mountain top his rays still linger, 
But in the valley I deep darkness see, 
And whelming shadows hover over me. 

2 Abide with me ; the way is drear and lonely, 

And frightful phantoms start from every side 
Which battle for my soul, that soul which only 
Knows Thee on earth, in Heaven, O Crucified ! 
For that dear reason keep Thou near my side. 

3 Abide with me : earth's blandishments beset me ; 

They rise like clouds between my soul and thine, 
Hiding Thee, so that soon I must forget Thee, 
Unless a beam from loving eyes divine 
Shall through them cast its radiance to mine. 

4 Abide with me ; dear Lord, let me not perish ! 

Chase from heart and way these phantoms dire ; 
Thine " altar coals " on my heart's altar cherish, 
So that each sin consumed in love's pure fire 
May clog no more my soul's deep, strong desire. 

5 And when at last through earth's dark vale ascending 

I reach the heavenly hills, and at Thy feet 
Look, Lord, upon Thee, doubts and fears all blending 
In one long gaze of joy so deep, so sweet, 
Then satisfied, I need no more repeat 
Abide with me ! 



214 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

ONWARD! CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS! 



Written for, and sung at the fifth anniversary of the 
Y. M. C. A. Springfield, III., 1879. 
Moderato. 



by MES. G. C. SMITH. 




you; With His own right arm 
steep; Still be faith - ful and 
o'er; And His voice you'll, sure 



All the toil • 

You'll a - bund 
Bove the an • 

Rit. 




throuj 
reap. 



m 



h. In the 

Tho' the 
He'll not 

"~~~~"~~'a tempo. 



bam - lets of the 
bil - lows surge a ■ 
suf - fer a - ny 



low - ly, In the homes of sorrowing 
bout thee, Tho' the an - gry waves of 
fail - ure, In a work so no - ble, 



H 



2-tt 



ITT 



Ritard. 



a tempo. 



Rit. 

HA. 






poor, Now, as in the past, He'll bless thee, On - ward! broth -ers, work! en - dure! 

sin Threat-en to en - gulf, o'erwhelm thee, God still rules with - out, with - in. 

true; But will guide, sus -' tain and com- fort, Give you heart and zeal a - new. 

Ritard. ^ _.,_ 

a tempo. _ Rit._t 






CHRISTIAN ENCOURAGEMENTS, DUTIES AND GRACES. 



215 



gtiss It. & Strtooss. 



It has been well said, that the writing of a good hymn is a surer em- 
balmment than the art of the Egyptians could ever compass. Miss M. 
E. Servoss, of Chicago, has the honor of truly interpreting a high plane 
of religious emotion, and associating it with sentiment and imagery 
which Christian hearts will ever love and cherish, and in which they 
will find refuge and oomfort. Such hymns as her's strike light across 
the consciousness of Christians everywhere. A recent extended article 
by her, on Hymnology, giving her views as to what constitutes a good 
hymn, or what are the chief characteristics, demonstrates her clear per- 
ceptions on this subject, and proves her to be a faithful student in this 
line of thought and work. She has written hymns for thirty-five differ- 
ent collections, on topics appropriate for general worship, for seasons of 
revival, missionary and temperance meetings, and also for use in the 
home. She is best known by the celebrated hymn, "He will hide me," 
sung so much in the Moody and Sankey meetings. She is the author 
and designer of Prang's Christmas Sheaf, a neat work of art. 



HE CARETH. 

"For he eareth for you."— I. Peter, v: 7. 

When toiling along over desert and plain, 

My pathway seems lost in yon mount-shadow'd lea, 
I hear like an echo the heavenly strain, 

" He eareth, he eareth, he eareth for thee." 
Ref. — He eareth for you, he eareth for me, 

From pitfalls of evil he keepeth us free, 
And this be our comfort where'er we may be, 
He eareth, he eareth for you and for me. 
I know, then, tho' shadows creep over my way, 

And dangers surround that I cannot foresee, 
No harm can befall me, no terror dismay, 

" He eareth, he eareth, he eareth for me." 
What need I to know of what lieth beyond, 

Since Jesus each step of my way doth o'ersee ? 
My heart in its trusting can never despond, 

He eareth, he eareth, he eareth for me. 
My path may be stony, the stars may have set, 

And night-winds roar loud like the waves of the sea, 
But Jesus his loved ones will never forget, 

He eareth, he eareth, he eareth for me. 



Copyrighted by I 



MISS M, E. SERVOSS. 

From "Royal Gems." Music by A. GeibeL 

Brainard's Sons. Edited by J. K, Murray. 

Used by per. 



3 Enemies may strive to injure, 

Satan all his arts employ ; 
He will turn what seems to harm me 
Into everlasting joy. 

4 So, while here the cross I'm bearing, 

Meeting storms and billows wild, 
Jesus for my soul is caring ; 

Naught can harm his Father's child. 

MISS M. E. SEKVOBB. 

Set to music by Jas. McGranahan, in G. H. No. 3, 

and U6ed by per. Copyright, 1878, 

GOLDEN STAIRS. 

1 Oh ! those beautiful golden stairs, 

Which heavenly feet have trod, 
Where, 'mid soft, sweet and balmy airs, 

We, too, may mount toward heaven and God. 

2 Love is the first stair, broad and grand, 

Joy, we press with happy feet, 
Peace, calm and restful, here we stand, 
And grasp the hand of friends we meet. 

3 Long suffering toward all human kind, 

Gentleness, in look and tone, 
Goodness of heart, and soul, and mind, 
Mark these toilers as God's own. 

4 Faith in God bears us upward still, 

Meekness in life and spirit. 
Temperance, Oh ! what raptures thrill, 
Life eternal, we inherit. 

5 These beautiful stairs ! up and down, 

Lord, help us ever to go, 
Till, for earth's cross, a glorious crown, 
Thou wilt with Thine own hand bestow. 

IRENE H, SMITH. 

Quincy, 111., Sept., 1883. 



to. Jjttat <&. gnjtoi. 



HE WILL HIDE ME. 



Bom in Portsmouth, N. H. , about the year 1840. She is the successful 
Editor of the New York Advocate and Guardian, and has writtensome 
rare gems in hymnology and sacred poesy. 



FROM DAY TO DAY. 



1 When the storms of life are raging, 

Tempests wild on sea and land, 
I will seek a place of refuge 
In the shadow of God's hand. 
Cho. — He will hide me, he will hide me, 

Where no harm can e'er betide me ; 
He will hide me, safely hide me, 
In the shadow of his hand. 

2 Though he may send some affliction, 

'T will but make me long for home 
For in love, and not in anger. 
All his chastenings will come. 



My days are stairs that lead to life's great end, 
And one by one I steadily ascend ; 
Climbing, with purpose true, the upward road, 
That brings me to the city of my God. 
Sometimes the step is bright with the full sun 
That shines in cloudless radiance thereon ; 
Sometimes a shadow falls upon the way, 
But, dark or light, I need not go astray. 
One stair is rough with thorn-points all bestrown, 
But shoes of iron tread the nettles down ; 
And one so steep, my weary, crippled feet 
The painful ascent scarcely can complete. 



, 



216 



WOMAN IN S ACRED SONG. 



i Sometimes upon a slippery step I tread, 
And fierce temptations make my soul afraid ; 
But held in Christ's dear hands, so tender, strong, 
The next I mount with courage and a song. 

5 Each step in the long course a history has ; 
I make a mark as one by one I pass, — 

A gladsome record here, a tear-spot there, 
A rescued soul, a struggle or a prayer. 

6 And on life's mystic ladder to the skies 
Bright angels come and go to Paradise ; 

And work grows dearer as the end draws near, 
Until I reach at last the golden stair, 

7 And enter through the open pearly gate, 

Where, with our King, souls watch for me and wait ; 
There at His feet I'll cast my trophies down, 
And shout the victory which His love has won. 

MRS. HELEN E. BROWS, 1884. 



THE CHRISTIAN FAITH 

"The pure in heart shall see God." 

1 We see Him not — yet daily walk 

Upon the turf so green, 
He laid beneath our weary feet, 
With gems dropped in between. 

2 We see Him not — yet o'er our heads 

Is His own beauteous blue ; 
We see Him not — and yet the stars 
Like angel-eyes peep through. 

3 We see Him not — yet every flower 

That hold its tiny cup 
To catch the sparkling dew-drop, ere 
The sun-god drinks it up ; 

4 And every little songster 

That warbles in the trees ; 

And every wand'ring zephyr 

That sighs amid the leaves, 

5 Bear each a loving token 

Of the Father-hand divine, 
And leave a trace on Nature's page, 
A mystic, golden line. 

6 We see Him not — and yet the breeze 

Brings healing in its wings ; 
We see Him not — -and still the leaf 
Its balmy odor flings ; 

7 And e'en the bow of promise bends 

To clasp both earth and heaven ; 
In all these tokens of His love 
To erring creatures given, 

8 We see Him not — our eyes are dim, 

The veil of sense enshrouds ; 
We upward look to view the heavens 
And see but fleecy clouds. 

9 With deadened sense we deeper plunge 

Into obscurity ; 
Dear Lord ! touch Thou these sightless orbs, 
That we may look on Thee. 



10 Then as the crystal stream reflects 

The shining stars at even ; 
So our purged souls, from sin set free, 
Shall glow with light from heaven. 

11 And wheresoe'er our eyes we turn, 

On firmament or sod ; 
We shall behold above, below, 
Our Father and our God. 



MARY E. OILMAN. 



LOVEST THOU ME MORE THAN THESE.' 



1 The voice of Jesus ! Hark ! my soul, 

A lesson 'tis for thee, 
Hast thou believed and then denied — 

Art sure thou lovest me ? 
Or hast thou seen some weak one fall, 

And thou, perchance, at ease, 
And ever whispered to thyself, 

Sure I love more than these ? 

2 Beware, my soul, the tempter's there 

With his beguiling pleas ; 
Beware thy answer when thou'rt asked, 

" Lovest thou more than these ? " 
We look at sin with human eyes ; 

Sin we in others see 
May e'en be less than some dark thoughts, 

Or lack of charity. 

3 And how shall I say aught but this : 

Dear Lord, thou knowest all. 
I would love Thee. But I'm so weak 

It scarce seems love at all. 
And I would feed Thy sheep, my Lord, 

To show my love to Thee, 
Would lead the lambs within the fold, 

But Thou must strengthen me. 

4 For I'm not worthy to receive 

Thy kindness shown to me ; 
Not worthy the blest privilege 

Of working, Lord, for Thee. 
Yet, dearest Lord, for strength I pray, 

Some little work to do 
To show my love for Thee. O Christ, 

Wilt Thou my strength renew ? 

5 And, Oh ! may I, while here on earth, 

The " cup of water " give 
In Thy dear name ; for Thy dear sake, 

Oh ! teach me how to live. 
To live or suffer for Thy sake, 

Whate'er Thy will may be, 
And often whisper to my soul, 

Lovest thou — follow me. 



CHRISTIAN ENCOURAGEMENTS, DUTIES AND GRACES. 



217 



I SLEEP, BUT MY HEART WAKETH. 

1 The fire-light flickers from the burning ember, 

Curtained and close I dream of days of old, 
From broken sleep I start when I remember 
That while I rest so warm, the poor are cold. 

2 The wind blows fierce without. Upon the billow 

The seaman struggles with the raging storm, 

From cold, close wrapped, I lie upon my pillow 

And pray for all without who are not warm. 

3 O Thou, who once to this poor world of sorrow 

In sweet compassion left Thy throne above, 

Rebuke the storm and send a bright to-morrow, 

Oh ! help the needy, for Thy name is Love. 

4 All that we have we owe but to Thy favor, 

The earth is Thine with all its boundless store ; 
Impart to us from Thine own heart the savor 

That we may cheer and bless hearts sad and sore. 

5 The poor Thou leavest always to pur care, 

And what we do for them we do for Thee. 
Thou lovest them. Then be our deeds our prayer. 
Who helps My loved ones doeth most for Me. 

ANNA HOLYOKE HOWARD. 



CHARITY. 



''Charity never faileth.' 



.."And have not Charity I 



nothing." 



Charity ! it faileth never ; 

Thus is proved — the true, the right,— 
This, the strong up-heaving lever 

Raising souls to purer light. 
Though with tongues of angels speaking, 

Though all knowledge nmy be thine, 
Prophet gifts reward thy seeking, — 

Mystery unveil her shrine ; — 
Though thy faith may give thee power 

To remove the mountains high ; 
Though thy zeal may court the hour 

In a martyr's flame to die ; — 
Lacking this, the greatest treasure, 

Thou shalt be as nothing worth ; 
More than faith, and hope, its measure, — 

Charity, of heavenly birth ! 
Charity, the never-failing, 

Charity, that suffers long ; 
Charity, the all-prevailing, 

Charity, the ever-strong ! 
Bearing all, believing ever ; 

Meek and without thought of ill ; 
Hoping on, despairing never, 

Holding an enduring will. 
Be it ours, this lamp to cherish 

That shall guide our steps aright ; — 
Then, though all things earthly perish, 

This shall beam with fadeless light. 



Prophesies shall fail or falter, 
Earthly knowledge fade away ; 

Tongues shall cease, and all things alter, 
Charity will ne'er decay ! 



MARY C. WEBSTER. 
Rocky Hill, Conn., 1883. 



BLEST IS THE MAN. 



1 Blest is the man whose softening heart 

Feels all another's pain, 
To whom the supplicating eye 
Was never raised in vain ; 

2 Whose breast expands with generous warmth, 

A stranger's woes to feel ; 
And bleeds in pity o'er the wound 
He wants the power to heal. 

3 He spreads His kind supporting arms 

To every child of grief ; 
His sacred bounty largely flows, 
And brings unasked relief. 

4 To gentle offices of love 

' His feet are never slow ; 
He views, through mercy's melting eye, 
A brother in a foe. 

5 Peace from the bosom of his God 

The Saviour's grace shall give ; 
And when he kneels before the throne, 
His trembling soul shall live. 

ANNA L. BARBAUI.D. 



SYMPATHY. 

1 Bear ye one another's burden, 

So fulfill the law of Christ ; 
Loving sacrifice hath guerdon 

Human language ne'er hath priced. 

2 Weep o'er one another's sorrow ; 

Prove thy grief in loving deed ; 
Earth is fickle, thy to-morrow 
May find thee in sorest need. 

3 Sin;; o'er one another's gladness, 

Praise with harp of sweetest tone ; 
Earth hath full enough of sadness, 
Joy should never sing alone. 

4 Pray with one another often ; 

God hath promised all to meet ; 
He will hardest trial soften 
When we gather at His feet. 

ISADORE G. JEFFERY. 
Chicago, 1883. 






218 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



taline |rj. (Ins. Wilson.) 

Caroline Fry was born at Tunbridge Wells, Eng., December 31, 1787. 
Her father was a farmer in good circumstances. She was educated at 
home. While yet a child, she read much, and wr.s acquainted with 
many works little known to the people of ordinary schools. Before she 
was fourteen years of age, her father had published her "History of 
Education in Verse." She afterwards edited and published " Serious 
Poetry," " The Assistant of Education," "The Listener," and other well- 
known religious works. Her autobiography is extremely interesting. In 
1831 she married Mr. Wilson. She died at Tunbridge Wells, September 
17, 1846. 



GRACE OF GOD. 

1 Grace does not steel the faithful heart, 

That it should know no ill ; 
We learn to kiss the chastening rod, 
And feel its sharpness still. 

2 But how unlike the Christian's tears 

To those the world must shed ! 
His sighs are tranquil and resigned 
As the heart from which they sped 

3 The saint may be compelled to meet 

Misfortune's saddest blow -, 
His bosom is alive to feel 
The keenest pang of woe. 

4 But, ever as the wound is given, 

There is a hand unseen 
Hasting to wipe away the scar, 
And hide where it has been. 

5 The Christian would not have his lot 

Be other than it is : 
For, while his Father rules the world, 
He knows that world is his. 

6 He knows that He who gave the best, 

Will give him all beside ; 
Assured that every good he asks 
Is evil, if denied. 

7 When clouds of sorrow gather round, 

His bosom owns no fear : 
He knows, whate'er his portion be, 
His God. will still be there. 

8 And when the threatened storm has burst, 

Whate'er the trial be, 
Something yet whispers him within, 
" Be still, for it is He ! " 

9 Poor nature, ever weak, will shrink 

From the afflictive stroke ; 
But faith disclaims the hasty plaint 

Impatient nature spoke. 
10 He knows it is a Father's will, 

And therefore it is good -, 
Nor would he venture, by a wish, 

To change it if he could. 



CHARITY. 

Corinthians iii. 

1 Charity is meek and tender, 

Seeking not herself to raise ; 
Pardoning the rash offender, 
Praising God in heartfelt lays ! 

2 Charity no envy beareth 

In her breast, nor fulsome pride ' f 
Only for the truth she careth, 
Casting pomp and sin aside. 

3 Nobly bearing, all believing ; 

Hoping firmly to the end ; 
For her trust, best gifts receiving 
From her only faithful Friend ! 

4 Cheerful in her frequent giving, 

Sick and poor her presence bless, 
Not alone for self her living, 
In the world's tumultuous 



5 All things she doth well endure, 

Never failing in her love ! 
All her deeds are bright and pure, 
While she waits for rest above. 

6 Faith, and hope, and love abiding, 

Are the three of heaven blest ; 
But, if in our Lord confiding, 
We shall know that love is best 



ELLA A. HOTCHKISS, 

Westville, New Haven, Conn., 1882. 



11 He comes to soothe my fears, 
And draw my soul above — 
Joyful now the strain should be, 
When I sing of Calvary. 



CAROLINE FRY TVILSON. 



PEARLS AND DIAMONDS. 



"Pearls and diamonds may adorn royalty, regardless of personal worth ; but 
jewels of thought render even poverty illustrious and sublime." 

"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, good- 
ness, faith, meekness, temperance."— Gal. v : 22. 

1 Not material jewels rare, 

Will my song their praises sing, — 
Wondrous though they be and fair, 
Sought by beauties who would wear, — 

Priceless are these of our King ; 
Rarer, purer, choicer far, 
Gems my song will sing of, are. 

2 Not by those, alone, with gold 

Are these precious jewels found ; 
Never one of them is sold, 
Though such value each doth hold, 

He who owns them is renowned; — 
Sovereign of all the earth, 
His are we, by royal birth. 

3 Know you, now, the gems I mean ? 

Seen and unseen jewels bright ; 
You've beheld them oft, I ween, 
In the glistening, pearly sheen ; 

Pendant e'en at morn or night 
From each beauteous shrub and tree, 
Yielding worship silently. 



CHRISTIAN ENCOURAGEMENTS, DUTIES AND GRACES. 



219 



4 And the unseen gems, you know, 
' Are the ones of priceless worth ; 
Let us wear thern well below, 
"Wear them when or where we go ; 

Spirit ornaments on earth 
Fit the wearer for above, 
There to have a crown of love. 

HAZEL WYLDE, 1883. 



JESUS IS GLORIFIED. 

(Tune.— "Satisfied By and By.") 
"The poor ye have always with you ; Me ye have not always." 

1 The man of sorrows died ; 

The Prince of glory lives ; 
Oh ! the sweet joy to humble souls, 
This blest assurance gives ! 

Jesus is glorified, 

Jesus is glorified, 

Now on the other side 

He waits for thee. 

2 No more with weary feet 

He treads Judea's hills ; 
No more upon the mountain side 
His voice the soft air thrills. 

Jesus is glorified, 

Jesus is glorified, 

Now on the other side 

He waits for thee. 

3 Oh ! many mansions there 

He has for them prepared, 

Who meekly in the narrow way 

His lowly life hath shared. 

Jesus is glorified, 

Jesus is glorified, 

Now on the other side 

He waits for thee, 

4 But still the Lord's own poor 

Are here to test our love : 
Our tenderness to them, he says, 
For Him our love shall prove. 

Jesus is glorified, 

Jesus is glorified, 

Now on the other side 

He waits for thee. 

EMILY P. WILLIAMS. 

Lawndale, 111., 1882. 



PREPARATION FOR HEAVEN. 

1 Far from these narrow scenes of night 

Unbounded glories rise, 

And realms of infinite delight 

Unknown to mortal eyes. 

2 Fair distant land ; could mortal eyes 

But half its joys explore, 
How would our spirits long to rise 
And dwell on earth no more ! 



3 There pain and sickness never come, 

And grief no more complains ; 
Health triumphs in immortal bloom, 
And endless pleasure reigns. 

4 No cloud those blissful regions know, 

Forever bright and fair ; 
For sin, the source of mortal woe, 
Can never enter there. 

5 There no alternate night is known, 

Nor sun's faint, sickly ray ; 
But glory from the sacred throne 
Spreads everlasting day. 

6 The glorious Monarch there displays 

His beams of wondrous grace ; 
His happy subjects sing His praise, 
And bow before His face. 

7 Oh ! may the heavenly prospect fire 

Our hearts with ardent love, 
Till wings of faith and strong desire 
Bear every thought above ! 

8 Prepare us, Lord, by grace divine, 

For Thy bright courts on high ; 
Then bid our spirits rise, and join 
The chorus of the sky. 



ANNE STEELE, 1760. 



ALL- THE WAY MY SAVIOUR LEADS ME 

"The Lord alone did lead him."— Deut. xxxii : 12. 

1 All the way my Saviour leads me ; 

"What have I to ask beside ? 
Can I doubt His tender mercy, 

Who through life has been my guide ? 
Heavenly peace, divinest comfort, 

Here by faith in Him to dwell ; 
For I know, whate'er befall me, 

Jesus doeth all things well. 

2 All the way my Saviour leads me ; 

Cheers each winding path I tread ; 
Gives me grace for every trial, 

Feeds me with the living bread ; 
Though my weary steps may falter, 

And my soul athirst may be, 
Gushing from the Rock before me, 

Lo ! a spring of joy I see. 

3 All the way my Saviour leads me ; 

Oh ! the fullness of His love ! 
Perfect rest to me is promised 

In my Father's house above ; 
"When my spirit, clothed immortal, 

"Wings its flight to realms of day, 
This my song through endless ages — 

Jesus led me all the way. 

FANNY J. CROSBY. 

From "Brightest and Best." Set to music by Rev. B. Lowry. 
Copyright, 1875, anil used by per. Biglow & Mail*. 



220 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



THE CHRISTIAN INQUIRER. 

1 Ho ! Christian Pilgrim, ho ! and tell 
Is this the way to Ziou's Hill ? 

I long to find the shining road 
That leads to glory and to God ; 
But fear my wildered feet doth stray 
In sin's deceitful, devious way ; 
If I am lost what shall I do ? 
Oh ! tell me, Pilgrim, tell me true. 

2 I loved in Kedar's tents to dwell, 
Loved all the courts of pleasure well, 
But God's own fury drove me thence, 
I started, but I knew not whence : — 
'T was on a dark and dreadful track, 
" The burden still upon my back," 
No stop, no stay, for death was there, 
But onward, on, in dark despair. 

3 No certain way was in my range, 
But devious, wild, divergent, strange, 
And wheresoe'er I did retreat 

The thorns would pierce my bleeding feet, 

Till weary, fainting, I did cry : 

" Save me, O Lord ! or else I die." 

'T was then I heard One sweetly say : 

" Come unto me," " I am the Way." 

4 Methought it was my Saviour's voice 
Bidding my every wandering cease. 
A sweet repose, a holy calm 

Came o'er me like delicious balm. 
This is God's promised rest, I cried, 
I'll pitch my tent and here abide, 
On Pisgah's raptured Mount will stand, 
And gaze into the Promised Land. 

5 I fondly dreamed my conflicts done ; 
Not so, the race was to be run ; 
And as toward the goal I hied, 
Eternal Good for me, I cried ; 

I thought I nevermore should stray 
From out the straight and narrow way, 
But ah ! I blush with shame to tell 
How oft I wandered, — oft I fell. 

6 'T is true, I sometimes catch a view 
Of Calvary's Hill and glory too, 
But dubious clouds will intervene, 
The vale still darkly hangs between ; 
A dread enwraps me like a pall, 
Lest I know not the way at all, 
Lest I but idly, vainly dream, 

The victim of a fervent dream. 

7 O Pilgrim, I am lone and chill, 
Is this the way to Zion's Hill ? 
Wilt thou not hold thy lamp on high, 
Till I the heavenly road descry ? 

I fear that I mistake the track, 
But cannot, dare not, turn me back ; 
Is this the way thou dost pursue ? 
Say, Pilgrim, is it thus with you ? 



PERFECT PEACE. 

1 In heavenly love abiding, 

No change my heart shall fear, 
And safe is such confiding, 

For nothing changes here : 
The storm may roar without me, 

My heart may low be laid, 
But God is round about me, 

And can I be dismayed ? 

2 Wherever He may guide me, 

No want shall turn me back ; 
My Shepherd is beside me, 

And nothing can I lack : 
His wisdom ever waketh, 

His sight is never dim : 
He knows the way He taketh, 

And I will walk with Him. 

3 Green pastures are before me, 

Which yet I have not seen ; 
Bright skies will soon be o'er me, 

Where darkest clouds have been : 
My hope I cannot measure ; 

My path to life is free ; 
My Saviour has my treasures, 

And He will walk with me. 

ANNA L. WARING, 1860. 

SAFE IN THE ARMS OF JESUS. 

" Underneath are the everlasting arms." — Deut, xxxiii : 27. 

1 Safe in the arms of Jesus, 

Safe on His gentle breast, 
There by His love o'ershadowed, 

Sweetly my soul shall rest. 
Hark! 'tis the voice of angels, 

Borne in a song to me, 
Over the fields of glory, 
Over the jasper sea. 
Chorus. — Safe in the arms of Jesus, 

Safe on His gentle breast, 

There by His love o'ershadowed, 

Sweetly my soul shall rest. 

2 Safe in the arms of Jesus, 

Safe from corroding care, 
Safe from the world's temptations, 

Sin cannot harm me there. 
Free from the blight of sorrow, 

Free from my doubts and fears ; 
Only a few more trials, 

Only a few more tears ! 

3 Jesus, my heart's dear refuge, 

Jesus has died for me ; 
Firm on the Rock of Ages 

Ever my trust shall be. 
Here let me wait with patience, 

Wait till the night is o'er ; 
Wait till I see the morning 

Break on the golden shore. 

FANNY J. CROSBY. 

Copyright, 1870, and set to music by W. H. Doane. 

Used by per. Biglow & Main. 



CHRI^IAN ENCOURAGEMENTS, DUTIES AND GRACES. 



221 



THE CROSS OF JKSUS. 

His children shall have a place of refuge."— Prov. xiv: 26. 

1 Beneath the Cross of Jesus 

I fain would take my stand — 
The shadow of a mighty Rock, 

Within a weary land. 
A home within the wilderness, 

A rest upon the way, 
From the burning of the noontide heat. 

And the burden of the day. 

2 safe and happy shelter, 

O refuge tried and sweet, 

trysting-place where Heaven's love 
And Heaven's justice meet ! 

As to the Holy Patriarch 

That wondrous dream was given, 

So seems my Saviour's Cross to me, 
A ladder up to heaven. 

3 There lies beneath its shadow, 

But on the further side, 
The darkness of an awful grave 

That gapes both deep and wide ; 
And there between us stands the Cross, 

Two arms outstretched to save, 
Like a watchman set to guard the way 

From that eternal grave. 

4 Upon that Cross of Jesus, 

Mine eye at times can see 
The very dying form of One, 

Who suffered there for me ; 
And from my smitten heart with tears, 

Two wonders I confess, — 
The wonders of His glorious love, 

And my own worthlessness. 

5 I take, Cross, Thy shadow, 

For my abiding place ; 

1 ask no other sunshine 

Than the sunshine of His face : 
Content to let the world go by, 

To know no gain nor loss, — 
My sinful self, my only shame, — 

My glory, all the Cross. 

MISS E. C. CLEPHANE. 

Set to music by Ira D. Sankey. 
From " Ira D. Saukey's Collection." 



ALL THE WAY HOME. 

1 All the way home, all the way home, 

Broad roads to tempt them, and feet that would 
stray, 
How shall earth's pilgrims, to wander so prone, 
Walk in the heavenly way. 
Chorus. — God's love is over them, 
His hand it leadeth them, 
Gently and lovingly, 
All the way home. 



2 All the way home, all the way home, 

Climbing life's mountains, all thorn-clad and steep; 
Onward and upward, through sunlight and gloom, 
Jesus His children will keep. 

3 All the way home, all the way home, 

Nearing the portals of glory and rest ; 
Cheerful and joyous ; whatever may come, 
Knowing that God's ways are best. 



Set to music by Adam Geibel. 
'Royal Gems," by per. Brainard's Sons. 



CROWN OF LIFE. 

"When he is tried, he shall receive the crown of life."— James i : 12, 

1 Oh ! what are light afflictions here ? 
They only bring the promise near, 
Of brighter things in heaven at last, 
When all these changing scenes are past. 

Cho. — Yes ! a crown of life, that fadeth not away, 
The Lord will give us. on the golden shore ; 
Yes ! a crown of life, that, fadeth not away, 
Shall be our treasure when our toil is o'er. 

2 Be ours a faith serene and bright, 
Whose eye can pierce the darkest night, 
A faith that sweetly works by love, 
And lifts the soul to joys above. 

3 By grace renewed, by faith refined, 
The cheerful heart, to God resigned, 
Can feel and say in joy or pain, 

To live is Christ, to die is gain. 



From "Pure Gold.' 



MRS. VAN ALSTYNE. 

Used by per. Biglow & Main, 

Copyrighted It'll. 



OVER LIFE'S SEA. 

1 Oh ! wide sweep the waters of life's rolling sea, 
And strong are the storm- winds, unbroken and free 
'Mid gloom and 'mid peril, out rings our loud cry, 
Save, Lord, or we perish ! Oh ! hear us on high ! 

Cho. O Lord of life's sea, we call unto Thee : 

Arise in Thy mercy, dear Lord of life's sea. 

2 When peace spreads her pinions abroad o'er the wave, 
And hushed are the tempests, no longer to rave. 
With grateful thanksgiving' of soul and of voice, 
To Him who hath saved us, we'll ever rejoice. 

3 All fearless we ride o'er the billows' mad foam, 
The Lord is our pilot, to guide us safe home : 
Through sunlight and shadow He ruleth the gale : 
Our hope is an anchor that never can fail. 

FANNY CHADWICK. 
Set to music by F. L. Armstrong. 



222 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



SINGING ON THE WAY. 



"The ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to Zion with songs." 
Isa. xxxv : 10. 

1 We will sweetly sing on the golden shore, 

Where all is joy and gladness ; 
Foreverinore with Christ we'll reign, 
Released from care and sadness. 
Cho. — Then along the way, the Lord's highway, 
With voices clear and ringing, 
We'll shout hosanna as we go, 
And enter Zion singing. 

2 We are sure our Father knows all our need, 

Each heartache, pain, and sorrow ; 
So in His hands we'll leave it all, 
And trust Him for the morrow. 

3 We will sing of Jesus, our Saviour-King, 

Whose wondrous love is o'er us ; 
Who guides our footsteps, lest they stray, 
And makes all plain before us. 

4 We will sing -of heaven, — our home above, 

With all its joy and glory ; 
And to the world, where'er we go, 
We'll tell salvation's story. 

M. E. SERVOSS. , 
From "Crowning Triumph," by per. F. A. North & Co. 



INVOCATION. 

1 Enter my door, beloved Lord, 

And sup with me ; 
Though so unworthy my poor board, 
And I of thee. 

2 With Thee in the most honored chair, 

With me to eat, 
The poorest, the most bitter fare, 
Would be most sweet. 

3 The oil, the water and the bread, 

The corn and wine, 
With Jesus at my table's head, 
All, all were mine. 

AUGUSTA MOORE. 

Editor "Plymouth Notes," &c. 
South Yarmouth, Mass., 1866. 

REJOICE I REJOICE! BELIEVER 



2 Cor. xi : 17, 18. 
(Tune.-" Webb.") 

Rejoice ! rejoice ! believer, 

The conflict is not long ; 
To-day we fight the battle, 

To-morrow sing the song. 
To-day we strive in sorrow, 

The promised land to gain, 
We reach the goal to-morrow, 

Forever free from pain. 



2 Then cheer thee, Christian soldier, 

Though hard the battle press, 
Thy Saviour's ever near thee, 

To aid, direct and bless. 
To-day we toil in sadness, 

Through paths as dark as night \ 
To-morrow rest in gladness, 

In perfect peace and light. 

3 To-day we part in sadness 

From loved ones gone before, 
To-morrow meet in gladness 

To part, Oh ! nevermore ! 
To-day we bear in silence 

The buffetings and scorn : 
To-morrow hail with triumph 

The resurrection morn. 

4 Be strong in heart, O Christian! 

The conflict is not long ; 
To-day we fight the battle, 

To-morrow sing the song. 
To-day we toil in sadness, 

Nor may the conflict cease ; 
To-morrow rest in gladness, 

Where all is perfect peace. 



JOY. JOY! JOY! 

1 Joy! joy! joy! there is joy in heav'n with the; 

Joy ! joy ! joy ! for the prodigal's return ! 
He has come, he has come to his Father's house at 

last ; 
He was lost, he is found, and the night of gloom is 

past. 
Blessed hour of joy and communion sweet, 
For his heart is full and his love complete ; 
His Father sees him and hastes to meet, 
And bid him welcome home. 
Ref. — Joy ! joy ! joy ! there is joy in heav'n with the 
angels ; 
Joy ! joy ! joy ! for the prodigal's return. 

2 Joy ! joy ! joy ! in the courts of heaven resounding ; 

Joy ! joy ! joy ! o'er the prodigal's return ! 
Hark ! the song, hark ! the song, 'tis a joyful, joy- 
ful strain, 
Welcome home, welcome home to thy Father's house 
While his eye is dim with the falling tears [again. 
Of repentant grief over wasted years, 
The pard'ning voice of his Father cheers, 

And bids him welcome home. 

3 Joy ! joy ! joy ! in the radiant fields of glory ; 

Joy ! joy ! joy ! when a wand'ring soul returns, 
Let us haste, let us haste, while the morning sun is 

bright ; 
Jesus calls, Jesus calls to a land of love and light. 
We will journey on till our pilgrim feet 
Shall be found at last in the golden street ; 
Our glorious Saviour will smile to greet, 

And bid us welcome home. 

d, 1867, by W. B. 1 
aud used by per. Bigiuw k Main. 



CHRISTIAN ENCOURAGEMENTS, DUTIES AND GRACES. 



223 



JOY IN HEAVEN. 



1 There is joy among the angels, 

When a soul has been forgiven ; 
When a weary, wandering one 
Starts on the road to heaven. 

2 There is joy among the ransomed 

Who have passed the waters o'er, 
And reached the peaceful mansions 
On that celestial shore. 

3 For that soul is safe forever, 

And the blissful work begun, 
Which will end in final triumph, 
When the crown of life is won. 

4 Though the news is heard in heaven 

Before 'tis known on earth, 
Not there alone is holy joy, 
At this new, wondrous birth ; 

5 For not a soul is found below, 

That knows the love of God, 
But longs to join them in that song 
To our redeeming Lord. 



6 He will shed o'er a world sin-benighted 
A radiant and glorious light, 

■ And the stars in his crown of rejoicing 
Will excel all the gems of the night. 



ACHSA MIILS BROWX. 



"LET YOUR LIGHT SO. SHINE." 



1 No one when a lamp has been lighted, 

Will hide it away out of sight, 
But place it where all may behold it, — 
Where all may rejoice in its light. 

2 So the Christian, illumed by God's Spirit, 

And placed in a dark world of sin, 
Is a lamp to enlighten the darkness, 
And trophies for Jesus to win. 

3 Ever found in the place God assigns him, 

With a heart to fulfill all his will, 
Chastisement to bear unrepining, 
And bid angry passions be still ; 

4 To lend to God's suffering children 

The succor they so often need, 
From basket and store freely giving, 
The poor and the hungry to feed ; 

5 To meet with a kind recognition, 

With smiles and with words of good cheer, 
Those walking in humbler stations 
Thus gaining a listening ear ; 



TO THEE. 



"Lord, to whom shall we go?"— John vi : 68. 

1 I bring my sins to Thee, 

The sins I cannot count, 
That all may cleansed be 

In Thy once opened fount. 
I bring them, Saviour, all to Thee, 
The burden is too great for me. 

2 My heart to Thee I bring, 

The heart I cannot read ; 
A faithless, wandering thing, 

An evil heart indeed. 
I bring it, Saviour, now to Thee, 
That fixed and faithful it may be. 

3 To Thee I bring my care, 

The care I cannot flee, 

Thou wilt not only share, 

But bear it all for me. 

loving Saviour, now to Thee 

1 bring the load that wearies me ! 

4 I bring my grief to Thee, 

The grief I cannot tell ; 
No words shall needed be, 
Thou knowest all so well. 
I bring the sorrow laid on me, 

suffering Saviour, now to Thee ! 

5 My joys to Thee I bring, 

The joys Thy love hath given, 
That each may be a wing 
To lift me nearer heaven. 

1 bring them, Saviour, all to Thee, 
For Thou hast purchased all for me. 

6 My life I bring to Thee, 

I would not be my own ; 
O Saviour, let me be 

Thine ever, Thine alone. 
My heart, my life, my all I bring 
To Thee, my Saviour and my King ! 

PRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAI,. 

Copyright, from "Songs of Grace and Glcry," J, Nisbet & Co., London. 



224 WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

"I WILL RANSOM THEM." HIS PROMISES. 



1 When the pale messenger, with silent footfall, 

Enters the chamber where sad watchers wait, 
Stops with a breath the crimson current's flowing, 
Leaves the still form like marble, and in going 

Opes for the soul a strange, mysterious gate ; 

2 When the fringed lids fall in a darkening shadow, 

Over dim eyes, sealed in a dreamless sleep ; 
When waxen palms some tender hand is folding 
Above fair flowers we fain would think them holding, 

When 'reft ones, stricken dumb, nor wail, nor weep ; 

3 Say, shall the mourner sit in hopeless sorrow, 

Looking on death as an unending sleep ? 
Saying, For me there is no bright to-morrow, 
No touch to light this gloom, that I may borrow ; 

No voice to comfort in a gloom so deep ? 

4 Ah ! listen ! sounding clear amid the tumult, 

The pains, the anguish-throbs we cannot brave, 
There comes a voice, all power and yet all sweetness, 
A voice of promise perfect in completeness, 

" / will redeem from death and from the grave ! " 

5 The voice of Him who in this world of sorrow 

Trod the red wine-press of God's wrath alone ; 
Dying himself, that we might rise victorious, 
As He from death arose with triumph glorious, 

To share with Him the honors of His throne. 

JULIA P. BALLARD. 



AUTHOR OF BEAUTY. 



1 Be silent, restless heart, and feel 

Thy loving Saviour — •' peace, be still ! " 
Canst thou not bear the chastening rod ? 
Canst thou not tread the path He trod ? 

2 O fettered spirit, crushed and weak, 
The bruised reed He will not break. 
His pitying ear their murmuring hears ; 
He treasures up thy falling tears. 

3 Yea, though thy feet with thorns be torn, 
He leaves thee not alone to mourn ; 

He softens all thy discontent, 
His burdens are in kindness sent. 

4 Though oft invisible the hand 

That leads thee toward the promised land, 
Though dark thy way, of this be sure, — 
His faithful promises endure. 

M. LOUISE KUSSING. 
From "Christian at Work." 



DELIVERANCE IS AT HAND. 



1 My span of life will soon be done, 

The passing moments say, 
As length'ning shadows o'er the mead 
Proclaim the close of day. 

2 Courage, my soul ; thy bitter cross, 

In every trial here, 
Shall bear thee to thy heaven above, 
But shall not enter there. 



1 Author of Beauty, all Thy hand hath made 

Is wondrous fair and bright ; 
But in yon glorious arch I see displayed 
Clearest Thy power and might. 

2 The earth is beautiful. Thou madest it so ; 

But sin hath marred its face, 
And over all the fairest spots below 
Still leaves its staining trace. 

3 Therefore, O Father ! to yon realm of light 

I turn with awe and joy ; 
Man's finger cannot reach the radiant height, 
Thine impress to destroy. 

MRS. "WHITCHER. 



3 The sighing ones, that humbly seek 

In sorrowing paths below, 
Shall in eternity rejoice, 

Where endless comforts flow. 

4 Soon will the toilsome strife be o'er 

Of sublunary care, 
And life's dull vanities no more 
This anxious breast ensnare. 

5 Courage, my soul ; on God rely; 

Deliv'rance soon will come ; 
A thousand ways has Providence 
To bring believers home. 

MISS FRANCES : 



CHRISTIAN ENJOYMENT AND EXPERIENCE. 



225 



STAR OF MY ONLY HOPE. 

"I am the bright and morning star."— Rev. xxii: 16. 

1 Rise in thy glory, O thou star of the morning, 

If on the desert wild my pathway may be ; 
Break o'er my vision thro' the night clouds above me ; 
Star of my only hope, shine for me. 
Refrain. 

Millions thou hast lighted to the crimson fountain's 

side ; 
Millions thou hast guided o'er the deep and swelling 

tide; 
Millions are rejoicing where the silver waters glide ; 
Hast thou no light for me ? 

2 Rise in thy glory, O thou star of the morning ; 

Come, for my weeping eyes are longing for thee ; 
Light from the summer land of ages eternal, 
Star of my only hope, shine for me. 

3 Where is the narrow way that leads to my Father ? 

Here must I linger till thy dawning I see; 
Oh ! that my tired heart could rest on his bosom ! 
Star of my only hope, shine for me. 

4 Lo ! from the pearly gates of Eden descending, 

Star of the morning fair, thy beauty I see ; 
Now to my Father's house thy beams will direct me ; 
Jesus, my Guiding Star, praise to Thee. 

" ELLA. DALE." 

Copyright, 1873. Set to music by W. H. Doane in 
" Royal Diadem." By per. Biglow & Main. 

RECONCILED. 

1 Till I learned to love Thy name, 

Lord, Thy grace denying, 
I was lost in sin and shame, 
Dying, dying, dying! 

2 Nothing could the world impart, 

Darkness held no morrow ; 
In my soul and in my heart, 
Sorrow, sorrow, sorrow ! 

3 When I learned to love Thy name 

O Thou, meek and lowly, 
Rapture kindled to a flame — 
I Holy, holy, holy ! 

4 Henceforth shall creation ring 

With salvation's story, 
Till I rise with Thee to sing, 
Glory, glory, glory ! 



ALICE CARY. 



'.DIVINE COMPASSION. 



Jesus, in Thy transporting name, 

What blissful glories rise — 
Jesus, the angels' sweetest theme, 

The wonder of the skies ! 
Well might the skies with wonder view 

A love so strange as Thine ; 
No thought of angels ever knew 

Compassion so divine. 



3 Jesus, and didst Thou leave the sky 

To bear our sins and woes ? 
And didst Thou bleed and groan and die, 
For vile, rebellious foes ? 

4 Oh ! may our willing hearts confess 

Thy sweet, Thy gentle sway ; 
Glad captives of Thy matchless grace, 
Thy righteous rule obey. 

ANNE STEELE. 

HE CARETH FOR YOU. 

Tune-"Eome, Sweet Home," or "Expostulation." 

1 O Christian ! be sober and vigilant too ; 
Remember, remember God careth for you ; 

Let not life's bereavements or cares weigh you down, 
And heed not reproach nor the angry world's frown. 

2 The proud He resisteth, but grace ever gives 
To him who in humble devotion still lives ; 

And though for a while He is hid from your view, 
Remember, remember He careth for you. 

3 In this blest assurance seek refuge from harm, 
His love, of its sting will each sorrow disarm. 
In seasons of darkness He never withdrew, 
He careth for you, yes, He careth for you. 



INDWELLING. 

"Whosoever shall confess that Jesus is the Son of God, Gnd dwelleth 
in him and he in God."— i John iv : 15. 

1 What meanest thou to ask me why I sing, 
And seem all day as happy as a king ? 

Need I repine, 
When God each moment proves to me His love, 
And that bright home of happiness above 

Is promised mine ? 

2 With joy and gratitude my eyes are dim ; 
I needs must make a joyful noise to Him 

Who gives me voice ; 
He is my God ; His care shall never cease, 
And while He fills me with His perfect peace, 

I must rejoice. 

3 How full of joy are all King David's lays ! 
His very soul pours forth in notes of praise 

His God to bless ; 
" Oh ! bless the Lord, my soul, for all His care.. 
Ye lands with joyful noise His name declare, 

Thy love express ! " 

4 Was it not God within that filled his soul 
With happiness a king could not control ? 

And may not I 
Draw in communion sweet as near my God, 
Until in Him I find my safe abode. 

My full supply ? 

5 When I behold His handiwork around, 

What makes my heart leap forth with joyful bound, 

My tongue sing praise ? 
I own His hand in all around me spread ; 
I have acknowledged Him my Light, my Head ; 

He guides my ways. 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



And God within me dwells, in all His grace, 
And I in Him have my abiding place, 

My refuge high ; 
His love perfected all my bosom fills, 
Then ask ye why my heart with rapture thrills, 

With Him so nigh ? 



From "Gems of Poetry.' 



ALICE M. ADK1NS. 

J. Dougall & Co., New York. 



2 Blessings all around bestowing, 

God withholds His care from none ; 
Grace and mercy ever flowing 

From the fountain of His throne. 
Lord, with favor still attend us ; 

Bless us with Thy wondrous love ; 
Thou, our Sun, our Shield, defend us • 

All our hope is from above. 



THE CHRISTIAN'S HYMN. 

1 From the world's disturbed concerns 
Longingly my spirit turns 

To the place of sweet repose 
Which the Master's presence knows ; 
And I rest, content, subdued, 
In that holy quietude. 

2 Earthly joys are frail and few, 
Cares, oft vanquish'd, still pursue ; 
Life soon gains its farthest height, 
Rounds its noon and sinks in night ; 
Ere his thirst the pilgrim slakes, 
At the fount the pitcher breaks. 

3 Stormy clouds above me roll, 
Yet in peace abides my soul ; 
Sorrow sits within my door, 
God doth comfort still the more ; 
Death itself has lost its sting, 
For to Christ, the Rock, I cling. 

4 Though the sun forever set, 
Though the earth her path forget, 
Time be ended and there be 

No more heaven and no more sea, 
Faith, triumphant, sees afar 
Where the eternal havens are. 

5 When that morn divine shall wake, 
And celestial chorus break, 
When shall dawn upon my view 
All the seer of Patmos knew, 
Soul ! what rapture then to sing 
In the presence of thy King ! 



FAR FROM MORTAL CARES. 



1 Far from mortal cares retreating, 

Sordid hopes, and vain desires, 
Here our willing footsteps meeting, 

Every heart to heav'n aspires. 
From the fount of glory beaming, 

Light celestial cheers our eyes, 
Mercy from above proclaiming 

Peace and pardon from the skies. 

* Mrs. Shackloek resides at Cresco, Iowa; she lias had over 400 
Prayer of Mary Queen of Scuts, and set to music by Prof. Ben Qwen, 
the solo par I being suns l).v Airs. Hillings, 



JANE TAYLOR. 

FAINT, YET PURSUING. 

Judges viii: 4, 

(Tune— "(3. H. 3-80.") 

1 " Faint, yet pursuing," we press our way 
Up to the glorious gates of day ; 
Following Him who has gone before, 
Over the path to the brighter shore. 

Chorus. — " Faint, yet pursuing," from day to day, 
Over the sure and the blood-marked way ; 
Strengthen and keep us, O Saviour, Friend, 
Ever pursuing, unto life's end. 

2 " Faint, yet pursuing," whate'er befall, 
He who has died for us, died for all ; 

So should they come, as a mighty throng, 
Bearing His banner aloft with song. 

3 " Faint, yet pursuing," till eventide, 
Under the cross of the Crucified ; 
Knowing when darkly are skies o'ercast, 
Sorrow and' sighing will end at last. 

4 " Faint, yet pursuing," the eye afar 

Sees through the darkness the Morning Star, 
Shedding its' ray for the weary feet, 
Keeping the way to the golden street. 

MRS. W. R. GJBISWOLD. 

Set to music by Geo. C. Stebbins. 
Copyright, 1877, by F. H. Revell. Used by per. 

LIFT ME HIGHER. 

"My soul thirsteth for God."— Psalm xlii : 2. 

1 Lift me higher, blessed Saviour 

To the source of life, 
Where the living fountain floweth, 
Far from sin and strife. 
Chorus. — Higher, higher, lift me higher, 
In the light above : 
From the depths of sin and sorrow 
^ To the heights of love. 

2 Lift me higher, that triumphant 

I may sing and soar ; 
In the calm of blest assurance, 
Keep me evermore. 

3 Lift me higher, for I languish 

Far from home and Thee ; 
Draw me with the cords of mercy, 
Nearer, nearer Thee. 

4 Onward, onward I am pressing 

To the mount of God, 
Lead me up the shining pathway 
, That Thy feet have trod. 

MRS. 0. L. SHACKLOCK. * 
From "Songs of Free Grace," by per. D. B. Towner, 
songs published in book form, and several in sheet music. Her "O Dominie Deus"— last 
attained a celebrity all through Europe; Whitney's troupe brought it out in this country, 



CHRISTIAN ENJOYMENT AND EXPERIENCE. 

SINGING ALL THE WAY. 



227 



Copyright, 1873, in "Brightest and Best," and used by per. Biglow & Main. 



Words and Music by MRS. T. J. COOK. 



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WOMAN- IN SACRED SONG. 



I WILL SING FOR JESUS. 



"Singing and mating melody iu your heart to the Lord." 

1 I will sing for Jesus, 

AVith his blood He bought me ; 
And all along my pilgrim way 
His loving hand has brought me. 

Chorus. — Oh! help me sing for Jesus, 
Help me tell the story 
Of Him who did redeem us, 
The Lord of life and glory. 

2 Can there overtake me 

Any dark disaster, 
While I sing for Jesus, 

My blessed, blessed Master ? 

3 I will sing for Jesus ! 

His name alone prevailing, 
Shall be my sweetest music, 

When heart and flesh are failing. 

4 Still I'll sing for Jesus ! 

Oh ! how will I adore Him, 
Among the cloud of witnesses, 

Who cast their crowns before Him. 

MRS. ELLEN M. GATES. 

From "Singing Pilgrim." Set to music by Dr. Philip Phillips. 



THY FAITHFULNESS." 



Psalm lxxxix: 2. 

1 Mine eye upon Thy faithfulness would gaze, 

And pierce the very heavens, where ever lives 
Jesus, my faithful Priest : to Him I raise 
In constant song, my praise for all He gives 
In faithfulness. 

2 Imprinted on His priestly girdle, shines 

Royally, His faithfulness, unchanging still 
'Mid changeful windings of my paths and times, 
" Yet He abideth faithful," and His will 
Is faithfulness. 

3 Gently He called, and drew me to His side 

In faithfulness, to know His voice and smile; 
Then came affliction's dark and surging tide 
And fiery trial, then I proved meanwhile 
His faithfulness. 

4 His still small voice, unto my lonely ear 

Said. " Yea, I will betroth thee unto Me 
In faithfulness." Hushed now is every fear, 
For Christ is mine ! in life, in death, I sing 
Thy faithfulness. 

MARIA V. G. HAVERGAI 



leatrae gtarie §0ulmr h la lto%. 

Jeanne Marie Bouveirde, la Mothe was born at Montargis. Prance, in 
1648. At an early age she was married to M. Guyon, a man of wealth, 
who died.'eav.ng ner a widow at the age of 25 years. Through severe trials 
she had, previous to ohis, been brought into deep reiigious experiences, 
and the hig a degree of spirituality which characterized her conversation, 
attracted much notice. 

On account of her Protestant tend, neies, she was imprisoned inacon- 
vent for a period of eight mouths, in 1688. 

She wrote and published prose and poetry to explain her religious views 
called "Quietism." As she cou'd not refrain from expressing her sin- 
cere convictions, she was again imprisoned in 16S8, first in castle at Vin- 
cennes, then in the Bastile.from which gloomy dungeon she.was taken in 
1702 and banished to Blois- While there she wrote the following, among 
many other hymns, expressing her content and resignation under all 
circumstances. She is also the author of the hymn begiuning — 
I love my God, but with no love of mine, 

For I have none to give: 
I love Thee, Lord, but all the love is Thine, 

For by Thy life I live ; 
I am as nothing, and rejoice to be 
Emptied and lost, and swallowed up in Thee. 
She died in peaceful triumph at the age of nearly 70 years during her 
enforced retirement at Blois. No. 1, isas originally written ; No. 2, isas 
it appears in our hymn books of to-day. 

CONTENTMENT. 



1 O Thou, by long experience tried, 
Near whom no grief can long abide, 
My Lord ! how full of sweet content 
I pass my years of banishment ! 

2 All scenes alike engaging prove 

To souls impressed with sacred love ! 
Where'er they dwell, they dwell in Thee : 
In heaven, in earth, or on the sea. 

3 To me remains nor place nor time, 
My country is in every clime ; 

I can be calm and free from care 
On any shore, since God is there. 

4 While place we seek, or place we shun, 
The soul finds happiness in none ; 

But with a God to guide our way, 
'Tis equal joy to go or stay 

5 Could I be cast where Thou art not, 
That were indeed a dreadful lot , 
But regions none remote I call, 
Secure of finding God m all 

6 My country, Lord, art Thou alone ; 
Nor other can I claim or own , 

The point where all my wishes meet — 
My law, my love, life's only sweet ! 

7 I hold by nothing here below ; 
Appoint my journey and I go, 

Though pierced by scorn, oppress'd by pride, 
I feel Thee good — feel nought beside. 

8 No frowns of men can hurtful prove 
To souls on fire with heavenly love ; 
Though men and devils both condemn, 
No gloomy days arise from them. 

9 Ah, then ! to His embrace repair , 
My soul, thou art no stranger there ; 
There love divine shall be thy guard, 
And peace and safety thy reward 

MADAME GUYON. 



CHRISTIAN ENJOYMENT AND EXPERIENCE. 



CONTENTMENT. 

No. 2. 
Phil, iv : 11. 

1 Lord, how full of sweet content 
Our years of pilgrimage are spent ! 
Where'er we dwell, we dwell with thee, 
In heaven, in earth,, or on the sea. 

2 To us remains nor place nor time ; 
Our country is in every clime ; 
"We can be calm and free from care 
On any shore, since God is there. 

3 While place we seek, or place we shun, 
The soul finds happiness in none ; 

But with our God to guide our way, 
'Tis equal joy to go or stay. 

4 Could we be cast where thou art not, 
That were indeed a dreadful lot ; 
But regions none remote we call, 
Secure of finding God in all. 

MADAME GUTOir. 

RESIGNATION. 

Psalm xc: 12. 

1 If life in sorrow must be spent, 
So be it ; I am well content ; 
And meekly wait my last remove, 
Desiring only trustful love. 

2 No bliss I'll seek, but to fulfill 
In life, in death, thy perfect will ; 
No succor in my woes I want, 

But what my Lord is pleased to grant. 

3 Our days are numbered : let us spare 
Our anxious hearts a needless care ; 
'Tis Thine to number out our days ; 
'Tis ours to give them to Thy praise. 

4 Faith is our only business here — 
Faith, simple, constant, and sincere ; 
Oh ! blessed days thy servants see ! 
Thus spent, O Lord ! in pleasing Thee. 

MADAME OUYON. 

When Madame Guyon was imprisoned in the Castle of Vinoennes, in 
1698, she not only saug, but wrote songs of praise to her God. " It some- 
times seemed to me," she said, "as if I were a little bird whom the Lord 
had placed in a cage, and that I had nothing now to do but sing. The 
joy of my heart gave a brightness to the objects around me. The stones 
of my prison looked in my eyes like rubies. X esteemed them more than 
ah the gaudy brilliancies of a vain world. My heart was full of that joy 
which Thou givest to them that love Thee in the midst of their greatest 
crosses." This sentiment she embodied in the hymn below. 

A PRISONER'S SONG. 

1 A little bird I am, 

Shut from the fields of air ; 
And in my cage I sit and sing 

To Him who placed me there ; 
Well pleased a prisoner to be, 
Because, my God, it pleases Thee. 



2 Nought have I else to do ; 
I sing the whole day long ; 

And He whom well I love to please 

Doth listen to my song ; 
He caught and bound my wandering wing, 
But still He bends to hear me sing. 

3 Thou hast an ear to hear, 
A heart to love and bless ; 

And though my notes were e'er so rude, 

Thou wouldst not hear the less ; 
Because Thou knowest, as they fall, 
That love, sweet love, inspires them all. 

4 My cage confines me round, 
Abroad I cannot fly ; 

But though my wing is closely bound, 

My heart's at liberty ; 
My prison walls cannot control 
The flight, the freedom of the soul. 

5 Oh ! it is good to soar 
These bolts and bars above, 

To Him whose purpose I adore, 

Whose providence I love ; 
And in Thy mighty will to find 
The joy, the freedom of the mind. 

MADAME OTJYON. 



TAKE NO THOUGHT FOR THE MORROW 



1 Like Luther's bird, I sit and sing, 
Not knowing what the day may bring ; 
Nor have I any need to know, 

My Father doth protect me so. 

2 I do the work He gives to me, 
Not heeding what or where it be ; 
And more my Father will not ask, 
Than that I do my daily task. 

3 He sees, He knows my every need, 
Then why should I take careful heed ? 
He bids me cast on Him my care, 
And every burden He will bear. 

4 Each day will bring some new surprise, 
Some token of His watchful eyes ; 

If trouble comes, to Him I fly, 
Who doth my every want supply. 

5 Who, then, so free and glad as I, 
With such a Friend forever nigh ? 
Beneath His shadow I may hide, 
And safely in His love abide. 

6 And so I calmly sit and sing, 
Content with what each day may bring; 
My Father orders for the best, 

And in His will I find my rest. 



230 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



MY PEACE, 

1 O wondrous Peace ! canst thou, dear heavenly guest, 
Consent to stay within our hearts oppressed, 

'Mid the harsh tumult of our worldly care, 
Our empty hopes, our pleasures light as air, 
Not long to seek thy native realm of rest? 

2 Thou truest refuge of the soul and best, 
Thou art the Master's sovereign, last bequest — 

A greater gift than joy, more constant, fair, 
wondrous Peace ! 



3 God's angels have not such a boon 

As He hath granted to the human breast : 
" My peace I give," O heritage most rare ! — 
The deep repose of Christ Himself to share. 
All hail ! Thou morning-star of day most blest, 
O wondrous Peace ! 

» JULIA H. THAYER. 
Chioago, 1883. 



WHEN. 

1 If I were told that I must die to-morrow, 

That the next sun 
Which sinks should bear me past all fear and sorrow 

For any one, 
All the fight fought, all the short journey through, 

What should I do ? 

2 I do not think that I should shrink or falter, 

But just go on 
Doing my work, nor change, nor seek to alter 

Aught that is gone ; 
But rise, and move, and love, and smile, and pray 

For one more day. 

3 And lying down at night for a last sleeping, 

Say in that ear 
Which hearkens ever : " Lord, within Thy keeping 

How should I fear ? 
And when to-morrow brings Thee nearer still, 

Do Thou Thy will." 

4 I might not sleep for awe ; but peaceful, tender, 

My soul would lie • 

All the night long ; and when the morning splendor 

Flushed o'er the sky, 
I think that — I could smile, — could calmly say, 

" It is His day." 

5 But if a wondrous hand from the blue yonder 

Held out a scroll, 
On which my life was writ, and I with wonder 

Beheld unroll 
To a long century's end its mystic clue — 

What should I do ? 

6 What could I do, Oh ! blessed Guide and Master, 

Other than this ; 
Still to go on as now, not slower, faster, 

Nor fear to miss 
The road, although so very long it be, 

While led by Thee ? 



7 Step after step, feeling Thee close beside me, 

Although unseen, 
Through thorns, through flowers, whether the tem- 
pest hide Thee 

Or heavens serene, 
Assured Thy faithfulness cannot betray, 

Thy love decay. 

8 I may not know ; my God, no hand revealeth 

Thy counsels wise ! 
Along the path a deepening shadow stealeth, 

No voice replies 
To all my questioning thought, the time to tell, 

And it is well. 

9 Let me keep on, abiding and unfearing, 

Thy will always, 
Through a long century's ripening fruition 

Or a short day's, 
Thou canst not come too soon ; and I can wait — 

If Thou come late. 

SUSAN COOLIDGE. 
1880. 

RELIGION. 

1 'T is religion that can give 
Sweetest pleasure while we live ; 
'Tis religion must supply 
Solid comfort when we die. 

2 After death, its joys will be 
Lasting as eternity ; 
Be the living God my friend, 
Then my bliss shall never end. 



MARY MASTERS. 



WILDERNESS REST. 

"Who is this that oometh up from the wilderness, leaning upon her Be- 
loved?"— Song of Solomon— viii : 5. 

1 Only just to rest upon His bosom, 

Only just to lean upon His arm ! 
Calm from all the fretting and impatience, 
Safe and confident from fear of harm. 

2 'Tis no effort I can make will bring me 

To this place of sweet and blessed rest ; 
But He holds me, keeps me there forever, 
Folded closely down upon His breast. 

3 Carries me o'er mountain, hill, and valley, 

Through the wilderness so long and drear ; 
And although the path be steep and rugged, 
Stayed upon Him what have I to fear ? 

4 What though round me all is scorched and thirsty ! 

He is the " shadow in a weary land ; " 
Why should I care for " windy storm and tempest," 
When in the " Hiding-place " secure I stand ? 

5 Then, O my heart, why bodest thou of sorrow ? 

The " everlasting arms" are round thee clasped; 
Jesus shall keep thee till that glad to-morrow, 

When thou shalt stand with Him " at home " at 



last. 



GEORGIANA M. TAYLOR. 



CHRISTIAN ENJOYMENT AND EXPERIENCE. 



231 



MAN OF SORROWS, AND ACQUAINTED 
WITH GRIEF 

1 Jesus ! I glory in the truth 

That Thou art very God ; 
That Thee, the shining ones above 
Acknowledge as their Lord. 

2 That Thou, who wearest many crowns, 

Invitest royally 
Thine erring subjects to return 
In loyalty to Thee. 

3 But Saviour, when I cannot hear 

The song of seraphim, 
When Thy dear heav'n seems far away, 
And all its glories dim ; 

4 The while temptations lure from Thee, 

Or fill my soul with dread ; 
Or when I mourn in loneliness, 
Some face evanished ; 

5 'Tis then Thy human sympathy 

My spirit longs to know ; 
Oh! wept He once as mortals weep ? 
Oh! felt He pain, or woe? 

6 Thus questioning, I search for Thee 

In sorrow's gloomy night, 

As plantlets buried in the earth 

Reach upward to the light. 

7 But Jesus, Thou in earthly ills 

Hast borne a wondrous part ; 

And Thou with sympathetic glance 

Canst read the human heart, 

8 With all its doubts and weaknesses, 

Its wishes and its fears, 
Its joys and sorrows, unexpressed, 
Too deep for words or tears. 

9 O Christ ! 'Tis glorious to know 

Thou art indeed divine ; 
But to Thy human heart I bring 
This human heart of mine. 

ANNIE L. SMITH. 
From the "Congregationalist," July 13, 1871. 



FOR JESUS' SAKE. 

1 From out the distant centuries 

Is wafted on the air, 
In clear and solemn cadency, 
His most pathetic prayer 

2 Who, first, in child-like confidence, 

This urgent plea did make, 

And asking the desired good, 

Asked all, for Jesus' sake ! 

3 O tender, loving plea, it drew 

Near to the heart of God, 
Sweet with the fragrance of His name 
Like frankincense out-poured. 



4 " For Jesus' sake " — " For Jesus' sake "■ 

How thrilled celestial air 
When to the inner court of heaven 
Passed the imploring prayer ! 

5 From exiled lips in lonely caves ; 

From martyr-fires it rose ; 
From dungeons deep, whose dire woe 
No mortal tongues disclose ; 

6 From happy hearts in happy homes ; 

From haunts of toil and care ; 

From beds of pain and weariness, 

Ascends the pleading prayer. 

7 And passing out from Death to Life, 

This plea shall be our own : 
" A blissful immortality, 



For Jesus' sake alone ! 



ANNIE LEKTHAL SMITH. 

Stomngton, Ot., 1877. 



THE MORNING STAR. 

1 There's a star that shines on the blest highway, 

Where the ransom'd heav'n bound are, 
As a fire by night and a cloud by day — 
'Tis the Bright and Morning Star. 

2 The pilgrim weary and weak in faith, 

Hath smiled in its beams afar ; 
One died to redeem him, 't is He who saith, — 
"I'm the Bright and Morning Star." 

3 Oh ! narrow and rugged the blood-bought way, 

That leads to the pearly bar, 
But they who pass it shall walk for aye 
By the light of the Morning Star. 

4 Shall trial and sorrow, so sure to come, 

The peace of the spirit mar ? 
Nay, brightest in gloom is the light of home, 
Of the Bright and Morning Star. 

MRS. S. T. GRIS'WOL'D. 



INTO THE LIGHT. 

1 Long I sat in the gloaming sighing 
Over a faith that was almost dying. 

2 My trust was shaken — I could not pray, 
And my heart cried out in a desolate way, 

3 " Oh ! strengthen my faith in Thee, my God, 
I try to be patient beneath the rod." 

4 It is hard to say " Thy will be done," 
When our treasures are taken, one by one. 

5 If God be marking our path each day, 
Could He not lead in an easier way ? 

6 Like one lost in a forest, who strains his ear, 
I listen'd the voice of God to hear. 

7 There came no sound save a desolate moan 
Of the wind as it sigh'd, "Alone, still alone." 

8 Then I hopelessly ask'd if this long, dark night 
Would ever be followed by morning light. 



WOMAN IN SACKED SONG. 



9 A voice came back on the still night air, 
" I am watching thee now in thy dark despair. 

10 I remember thy vows in the days gone by, 
When thy sun shone out of a clear blue sky. 

11 " Now thy way is dark and thy faith seems lone, 
But think of each step of the crucified One. 

12 " Oh ! falter not, child, but be brave and strong, 
Thy wayfare's short and thy rest will be long." 

13 My doubts were all gone. I brought my care 
To the foot of the Cross, and left it there. 

14 The gloaming had passed into darkest night, 
But I heeded it not, I had found the light. 

MARY FRANK BROWNE. 

THE LIGHTENED BURDEN. 

1 I used to come with a burden of care, 

Many times a day, 
Kneel low at the feet of Jesus, and there 

Would tearfully pray. 
But to come with a burden so often, . 

Is not the Lord's way, 

2 So now I come with a heartfelt praise, 

And a soulful song. 
I have nothing else to bring, for the days 

With mercies are strung. 
A bright love-chain from my heart to Jesus' 

Draws me to His throne. 

3 What have I done with my wearisome load ? 

Why, one blessed day, 
I learned I had just to roll it on God, 

Ere I went to pray, 
And to carry thanks, the heart's best jewels 

To crown Him alway. 

4 I give to sorrow a welcoming word, 

'Tis His will for me ; 
And when it has done the work of my God, 

I know I am free 
To roll it on Him, but never uplift it, 

My burden to be. 

5 " He puts our tears in His bottle," for keeping. 

What tears, you say ? 
I think they are tears of joyful weeping, 

Too glad to stay. 
The praise of saints in the golden vials, 

God shall open one day. 

MISS A. C. SCAMMELL. 

Milford, Mass., 1882. 
REST. 
"And to know the love of Christ which passeth knowledge, that 
ye might be filled with all the fulness of God."— Eph. hi : 19. 

1 I prayed to have this love of Christ, 

For, Oh ! I longed to know 
The breadth and length and depth and height 

Of Jesus' love below. 
He came, and swept away all props 

On which I leaned with pride ; 
For only into emptied hearts 

Comes Christ, the crucified. 



2 He humbled to the dust my pride, 

And yet the bruised reed 
He did not break — so tenderly 

He heals the hearts that bleed. 
The Saviour could not enter in 

A heart so full of sin ; 
I wept when His clear light revealed 

The vanity within. 

3 The calm so sweet has come at last ; 

The poor tossed heart finds rest ; 
The tempest drove the wearied bird 

Into the sheltering nest. 
The storm without is just as fierce, 

The blast is at its height, 
But all within is calm and still — 

At evening time 'tis light. 

4 For this new life — so sweet — dear Lord, 

What can I say to Thee ? 
I never dreamed that Thou couldst give 

Such perfect rest to me. 
For years I heard Thy pleading voice, 

" Oh ! cast your care on me," 
And yet I knew not how to trust 

These weary cares to Thee. 

5 More heavy grew the burdens then, 

The weight I could not bear; 
Helpless, I cast them at His feet, 

The burdens and the care ; 
And Oh ! the quiet, peace and joy, 

The fulness of His love ! 
Who cast their every care on Him 

Will taste the joys above. 

L. M. LATIMER. 

Mexico City, October, 188i. 



COUNT THE MERCIES. 

1 Count the mercies ! Count the mercies ! 

Number all the gifts of love ; 
Keep a daily, faithful record 

Of the comforts from above. 
Look at all the lovely green spots 

In life's weary desert way ; 
Think how many cooling fountains 

Cheer our fainting hearts each day. 
Count the mercies ! count the mercies, 

See them strewn along our way ! 

2 See ! Oh ! see the countless beauties 

In the charming scenes of earth ! 
Think of all the untold blessings, 

Clustering round our home and hearth, 
Think of friends and precious kindred, 

To our hearts so dear, so sweet, 
Think of heaven's unnumbered blessings, 

Can you all the list repeat ? 
Count the mercies ! count the mercies 

Making bright paths for your feet. 



CHRISTIAN ENJOYMENT AND EXPERIENCE. 



233 



Count the mercies, though the trials 

Seern to number more each day ; 
Count the trials too, as mercies, 

Add them to the grand array; 
Trials are God's richest blessings, 

Sent to prompt our upward flight, 
As the eagle's nest — all broken, 

Makes them fly to loftier heights. 
Count them mercies — count them mercies 

That bring heaven within our sight. 

Count them mercies which shall sever 

Cords that bind our spirits down — 
Causing them below to grovel, 

And forget our heavenly crown. 
Let all earthly ties be riven, 

Nests be broken, hopes decay, 
If to God our souls be driven, 

If from earth we soar away. 
Wondrous mercies ! hallowed mercies ! 

Urging us the heavenly way. 

Thus we find the purer comforts, 

Richer far than those of earth — 
Joys unfailing, hopes enduring, 

Treasures of surpassing worth : 
Beams of bright, celestial radiance, 

From the Central Source of Light, 
Spreading o'er each scene of sadness 

Halos gladdening to our sight. 
Count the mercies — count the mercies — 

Filling us with joys so bright. 

Let us number all our jewels, . 

Let us estimate their worth ; 
Let us thank the Gracious Giver, 

Strewing blessings o'er the earth ; 
Let our hearts o'erflow with gladness, 

Let us tell the wonders o'er ; 
Till our multiplying treasures 

Seem a countless, boundless store. 
Then let praises — grateful praises, 

Be our language evermore. 

MRS. MARY D. JAMKg. 



THANKS FOR ALL 

1 O Thou, whose bounty fills my cup 
With every blessing meet ! 
I give Thee thanks for every drop— 
The bitter and the 



2 I praise Thee for the desert road, 

And for the river-side ; 
For all Thy goodness hath bestowed, 
And all Thy grace denied. 

3 I thank Thee for both smile and frown, 

And for the gain and loss ; 
I praise Thee for the future crown, 
And for the present cross. 



4 I thank Thee for the wing of love, 

Which stirred my worldly nest ; 
And for the stormy clouds which drove 
The flutterer to Thy breast. 

5 I bless Thee for the glad increase, 

And for the waning joy ; 
And for this strange, this settled peace, 
Which nothing can destroy. 

MRS. JANE F. CRETVDSOS. 

A RETURN FROM SEA. 

"Forth from the deep." 

1 Preserved from peril, o'er the surging ocean, 

Safely by fav'ring breezes homeward driven, 
To Thee, O Father ! be our heart's emotion 
In grateful praises given ! 

2 For saving care, when evening skies were clouded, 

And Arctic dangers compass'd us around, 
When blinding mists our helpless barque enshrouded, 
Amidst the dread profound ! 

3 For night's grand worshipping of solemn splendor, 

Where vestal stars their watch unfailing keep, 
And wave to answering wave responses render, 
Deep calling unto deep ! 

4 For day's bright pageant, when the sun, uprising, 

Poured floods of glory o'er the eastern main, 
Upper and nether blue in light baptizing, 
With his proud glance of flame : — 

5 For calm and shine, — for stormy winds, careering 

With marshall'd hosts across the sounding sea ; 
For all Thy wonders in the deep appearing, 
Its awful mystery ! 

6 For these we thank Thee ! as for every blessing ; 

For home regained, for loving friends restored ; 
Nor yet alone, by feeble lips expressing, 
Be Thy dear name adored ; — 

7 But, be our lives a fervent, glad thanksgiving, 

Each thought and deed rife with unceasing praise ; 
'Neath the pure influence of Thy Spirit living, 
Thus, pass our earthly days ! 

MARY C. WEBSTER. 
Rooky Hill, Conn., 1883. 



fata 1. ftnrte 



Was formerly a Miss Hunt, a native of Vermont. She married C. O. 
Poole, and is now a resident of New York City. She is a well-known 
writer of prose and verse, and much interested in the advancement of 
woman. In Harper's "Cyclopedia of British aDd American Poetry," the 
editor, Bpes Sargent, finished the hook with two of Mrs. Poole's poems. 
High encomiums have been passed upon her poetry, it having been pro- 
nounced equal to the productions of any American woman, 

THE TEMPLE. 
Come, let us build a stately temple here 

Unto our God ; a temple spacious, rare, 
Friend of my soul ! Together we will rear 

Its roof, and carve its columns strong and fair. 
In its long aisles, beneath its glorious dome, 

Where peace shall surely dwell, our souls will find 
their home. 



234 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



2 It shall not stand beside the public way 

Where Mammon, and unrest, and turmoil pass ; 
But in a cool and quiet glade, where play 

The murmuring breezes, where the billowy grass 
And hoar, old trees, and thickets of young pine, 

With curious, fragrant vines, shall grow and inter- 
twine. 

3 There, in their serried pomp, the marshalled stars 

Tread down with awful silentness the sky ; 
Between our heads and theirs no prison bars 

Beat back the light, or screen from them each sigh ; 
Less cruel or less cold than human eyes, 

They look in ours and soothe with heavenly 
sympathies. 

4 Deep as our lives shall its foundations be ; 

Its walls no stronger, whiter than our souls ; 
Nor sard nor porphyry beyond the sea, 

Can fashion rhythmic columns, where unfolds 
Such aisles, whose graceful arches echo back 

To still more grace, the eye on its delighted track. 

5 And all its pillars, arches, walls and scrolls, 

Cunning devices, hewn with jealous care, 
Cut from our lives, quarried from living souls, 

And turned to stone, shall stand forever there. 
We rear a living Temple. God is Love, 

To Him from off our altar, incense floats above. 

HESTER M. POOLE. 

WE'RE GOING HOME. 

1 We're going home ; the night is past, 
Zion's fair morning breaks at last ; 
Wanderers on earth no more we roam, 
A ransomed throng we're going home. 

2 We're going home ; glad notes we sing, 
And shout hosannas to our King. 
Across the dark and angry foam 

From earth's long night we're going home. 

3 We're going home ; the morning fair 
Is shining o'er the waters there ; 

The peace of God lights up the gloom, 
And, in that light, we're going home. 

4 We're going home ; on that bright shore 
The blight of sin comes never more. 
No wasted lives, no shadowed tomb : 

To joys supreme we're going home. 

5 We're going home : adieu to tears ; 
Farewell, vain world, and all thy fears — 
To me, no more, can evil come. 

O soul, rejoice ; we're going home. 



PEACE. 

1 Ere our dear Saviour spoke the parting word 

To those who loved Him best when here below, 
While deep emotion every bosom stirred. 

He said : " My peace I give you ere I go ! " 



2 His Peace — sweet Peace ! As falls the summer dew 

On drooping flowers, so fell those words of cheer 
Upon the earnest hearts that dimly knew 

What they, like their dear Lord, must suffer here. 

3 His Peace — Christ's Peace ! gift most rare and 

strange ! 
Never was aught so precious given before ! 
Vain trifler he who would that gift exchange 
For all the riches of Golconda's shore ! 

4 His Peace — His blessed Peace ! Not Joy, the bright, 

Bewildering sprite that charmed their early years, 

When, with youth's roses crowned, and clad in light, 

Her radiant eyes had ne'er been dimmed by tears — 

5 But Peace that walks with Patience, side by side, 

Bearing Heaven's seal upon her pale, calm face, 
Child of Submission, whatso'er betide, 

She wears the white robes of celestial grace. 

6 Christ ! whose human heart remembers still 

The pangs from which death oidy gave release, 
Strange griefs, strange fears, our yearning souls 
must fill, 
Withhold what else Thou wilt — but give us Peace! 

JULIA C. R.' DORR, 1884. 



I THANK THEE, GOD I FOR WEAL AND 
WOE. 

1 I thank Thee. God ! for all I've known 

Of kindly fortune, health, and joy ; 
And quite as gratefully I own 
The bitter drops of life's alloy. 

2 Oh ! there was wisdom in the blow 

That wrung the sad and scalding tear ; 
That laid my dearest idol low, 

And left my bosom lone and drear. 

3 I thank Thee, God ! for all of smart 

That Thou hast sent ; for not in vain 
Has been the heavy, aching heart, 
The sigh of grief, the throb of pain. 

4 What if my cheek had ever kept 

Its healthful color, glad and bright? 
What if my eyes had never wept 

Throughout a long and sleepless night ? 

5 Then, then, perchance, my soul had not 

Remember'd there were paths less fair ; 
And, selfish in my own blest lot, 

Ne'er strove to soothe another's care. 

6 But when the weight of sorrow found 

My spirit prostrate and resign'd, 
The anguish of the bleeding wound 
Taught me to feel for all mankind. 

7 Even as from the wounded tree 

The goodly precious balm will pour ; 
So in the riven heart there'll be 
Mercy that never flow'd before. 



CHRISTIAN ENJOYMENT AND EXPERIENCE. 



235 



8 'Tis well to learn that sunny hours 

May quickly change to mournful shade ; 
'Tis well to prize life's scatter'd flowers, 
Yet be prepared to see them fade. 

9 I thank Thee, God ! for weal and woe, 

And whatsoe'er the trial be ; 
'Twill serve to wean me from below, 
And bring my spirit nigher Thee. 

ELIZA COOK. 

RIVER OF PEACE. 

1 I look on a river whose beautiful stream 

Unceasingly rolls to the sea 
Deep blue in the sunshine its calm waters flow, 
Its course is triumphant and free. 
Chorus. — River of Peace ! gentle thy flow. 

Gladden our hearts wherever we go. 

2 I see the long swell of its on-going waves, 

I hear their soft wash on the shore ; 
And it seems, as I listen, as though unto me 
Sweet teachings of Heaven they bore. 

3 Thy bright billows catch the last gleam of the day, 

The first trembling starlight at even, 
For, tho' shadows of earth on thy borders may play, 
Thy bosom still images heaven. 



Mrs. Wittenmeyer was born in Kentucky and educated in Ohio. Sh» 
was Miss Willard's predecessor as President of the National Woman's 
Christian Temperance Union, and continues to be one of its most val- 
ued members. She is a woman of much force of character, yet withal 
gentle and suave in manner. Her hymns breathe forth much spiritu- 
ality and sweetness. "I have entered the valley of blessing so sweet" is 
known and sung very extensively, as are many of her productions. 

Mrs. Wittenmeyer is a gifted platform speaker, and her engagement 
to lecture under the auspices of the Grand Army of the Republic, has 
, been a most successful and satisfactory one. Her war reminiscences 
come into play with fine effect in this field of labor, and she never fails 
to interest and edify an audience. 

THE MOUNT OF BLESSING. 

1 We're climbing the mount of blessing, 

We are seeking a city most fair, 
That stands on its glorious summit, 
For the temple of God is there. 
Cho. — Come, Oh! come ; we'll onward and upward keep 
pressing, 

In the narrow road, 
To the city of God, 
That stands on the mount of blessing. 

2 We've heard that this beautiful city, 

Which is builded of jewels and gold, 
Is the home of our loving Jesus, 
And His face we may there behold. 

3 He's gone up the mountain before us, 

And our robes and our crowns will prepare, 
And He will make ready His palace. 
And will graciously welcome us there. 



4 The way may be narrow and rugged, 

With its dangers on every hand, 
But still we will follow our Jesus, 
And go up and possess the land. 

5 We'll soon reach the gates of the city, 

Where there'll be no more sorrow nor night, 
And, crowned with His saints and angels, 
We will walk with King Jesus in white. 



ANNIE WITTENMYEli. 



: by J. E. Gould, 



GLORY YET TO BE REVEALED. 

1 " Eye hath not seen the things prepared of God." 
No plants that spring from this terrestrial sod, 
Nor trees that wave upon the summer air, 

Nor azure skies, nor forms of beauty rare, 
Can symbolize the treasures laid away 
Within the regions of celestial day. 

2 " Ear hath not heard." The voice of melody 
Floating across the solemn midnight sea, 
The tender tones of love, the organ peal 
That fills the minster as the people kneel, 
The carols of the birds, the sighing breeze — 
God has prepared far better things than these. 

3 "Neither has entered in the heart of man." 
The faintest shadow of the wondrous plan, 
The rainbow's tinted hopes that lure the soul, 
Yet still, with baffled pinions, miss their goal' — • 
All lovely dreams, all visions of delight, 

Are to the things prepared as dark to light. 

4 Of that fair city where the ransomed dwell 
No pen can write, no mortal tongue can tell, 
But those who find an entrance shall abide 
Forevermore, completely satisfied. 

No dread of loss shall cause disturbing fears, 
And God's own hand shall wipe away all tears. 

HELEN CHAUNCEY. 

New Haven, Ct. 

SWEET REST. 

"Therefore in the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice."— Psa. lxiii: 7. 

1 There was rest, sweet rest, in my weary heart, 

On that day when I made Thee my choice ; 

And a peace, sweet peace, that will ne'er depart. 

In the shadow of Thy wings will I rejoice. 

2 There is rest, sweet rest, tho ; earth's trials wait 

On my soul with their burden of care ; 
'Neath Thy guiding eye all my fears abate, 

And Thy tender love doth shield me from each snare. 

3 There is rest, sweet rest, and my soul grows strong, 

When I feel that Thou always art near ; 
And my heart shall sing though the way be long, 
For Thy presence casteth out my every fear. 

M, K. SKJRVOSS. 

From "Holy Voices," by per. E. S. Lorenz. 



236 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



ANNIS R. F0LS0M, 1884. 



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238 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



SANCTIFIED AFFLICTIONS. 



DE PROFUNDIS. 



1 I weep, but not rebellious tears ; 

I mourn, but not in hopeless woe ; 
I droop, but not with doubtful fears ; 

For whom I've trusted, Him I know. 
Lord, I believe, assuage my grief, 
And help, Oh ! help my unbelief. 

2 My days of youth and health are o'er ; 

My early friends are dead and gone ; 
And there are times it tries me sore 

To think I'm left on earth alone. 
But yet Faith whispers, " 'Tis not so — 
He will not leave nor let thee go." 

3 Blind eyes, fond heart, poor soul, that sought 

For lasting bliss in things of earth ; — 
Remembering but with transient thought 

Thy heavenly home, thy second birth ; 
Till God in mercy broke at last 
The bonds that held thee down so fast. 

4 As link by link was rent away, 

My heart wept blood, so sharp the pain : 
But I have learnt to count this day, 

That temporal loss, eternal gain ; 
For all that once detained me here 
Now draws me to a holier sphere : 

5 A holier sphere, a happier place, 

Where I shall know as I am known, 
And see my Saviour face to face, 

And meet rejoicing round His throne, 
The faithful souls made perfect there, 
From earthly stains and mortal care. 



CAROLINE B. SOUTHEY. 



WHEN I CAN TRUST. 



1 When I can trust my all with God, 

In trial's fearful hour, — 
Bow all resigned beneath His rod, 

And bless His sparing power ; 
A joy springs up amid distress, 
A fountain in the wilderness. 

2 Oh ! to be brought to Jesus' feet, 

Though trials fix me there, 
Is still a privilege most sweet ; 

For He will hear my prayer ; 
Though sighs and tears its language be, 
The Lord is nigh to answer me. 

3 Then, blessed be the hand that gave, 

Still blessed when it takes ; 
Blessed be He who smites to save, 

Who heals the heart He breaks : 
Perfect and true are all His ways, 
Whom heaven adores and death obeys. 

ELIZABETH CODNER. 



1 Cut of the depths to Thee I cry, 

Whose fainting footsteps trod 
The paths of our humanity, 
Incarnate Son of God ! 

2 Thou Man of grief, who once apart 

Didst all our sorrows bear, 
The trembling hand, the fainting heart, 
The agony, and prayer ! 

3 Is this the consecrated dower, 

Thy chosen ones obtain, 
To know Thy resurrection power 
Through fellowship of pain ? 

4 Then, O my soul, in silence wait ; 

Faint not, O faltering feet ; 

Press onward to that blest estate, 

In righteousness complete. 

5 Let faith transcend the passing hour, 

The transient pain and strife, 
Upraised by an immortal power, — 
The power of endless life. 

MRS. E. E. MARCY. 
Erom "Methodist Hymnal." Edited by Nelson and Phillips. 



WE'RE NEARER HOME. 

1 We know not what's before us, 

What trials are to come: 
But each day passing o'er us, 
Brings us nearer home. 
Refrain. — We're nearer, nearer home, 
Our blessed, happy home, 
Where grief and sin can never come, 
We're nearer, nearer home. 

2 Though dark our path, and lonely, 

And clouds our sky o'ercast, 
Let us remember only, 
That it will soon be past. 

3 Whate*er of gloom or anguish 

Life to our hearts may bring, 
In doubt we will not languish, 
But cheerfully will sing. 



GOD'S DISCIPLINE. 

1 Our hearts are heavy, Lord, and faint 

With weakness and with conq'ring sin, 
Oh ! lead us where Thy gates of rest 
Invite Thy toil-worn children in ! 

2 The way ofttimes is sorrowful, 

The sky and path is cold and drear ; 
Bright summer fails, and winter seems 
To till the wearv, wearv year. 



THE DISCIPLINE OF SORROW. 



239 



Bruised, bleeding heart, and wand'ring feet, 

Tired brain and wayward will and hands, 
Thy strong desire is to fulfill 

The measure of Thy Lord's commands. 
Oft what Thou dost we know not now ; 

Thy dealings suffer dark eclipse. 
Help us to trust, and trusting know 

It is Thy cup pressed to our iips. 



HIS WAY. 

L. M. 

(Tune.— "Old Hundred.") 

Got" ""ets us go our way alone 

Till we are homesick and distressed, 
And humbly, then, come back to own 

His way is best, His way is best. 
He lets us thirst by Horeb's rock, 

And hunger in the wilderness, 
Yet at our feeblest, faintest knock 

He waits to bless, He waits to bless. 
He lets us faint in far-off lands, 

And feed on husks and feel the smart, 
Till we come home with empty hands 

And swelling heart, and swelling heart. 
But then for us the robe and ring, 

The Father's welcome and the feast, 
While over us the angels sing, — 

Though last and least, tho' last and least. 



7 While through the leaves, and moss-grown 

The swallow builds her nest, 
The singing birds in sweetest words, 
Sing on — " God's love is blest." 

8 The sighing breeze, amid the trees, 

The hills and woodland dells, 
The clover nooks, the running brooks, 
The same sweet story tells. 

9 The storm's dread might, the rainbow's light, 

Proclaim the same glad word, 
While thunder crash and lightning flash 
To harmony are stirred. 

10 The sweet flowers in the meadow, 

The wild beasts in the wood, 
The plants, streams, lakes, and ocean, 
All whisper, " God is good." 

11 Oh ! that my song might now ascend 

In music, soft and sweet, 
With nature's melody to blend, 
In harmony complete. 

12 Jesus, attune my heart aright, 

And teach my lips to praise ; 
That I may sing both day and night, 
And serve Thee all my days. 

LENA ARMSTRONG. 

Postville, Neb., 1884. 

From "Gems of Poetry." 

John Dougall & Co., New York. 



GOD'S PROVIDENCE. 

1 God, Thy face I cannot see, 

Thy form I cannot touch, 
Thy " still, small voice " I cannot hear, 
Although I listen much. 

2 These mortal eyes are dull of sight, 

These fingers are so numb ; 
To all Thy voices I am deaf, 
To praise Thee, I arn dumb. 

3 Was it to quicken my dull sense, 

Thy voice to make me hear, 
That Thou didst send Thy providence 
In thundering tones severe ? 

4 Had I but heard Thy whispered Word- 

So soft and low and clear — ■ 
I ne'er had known Thy thunder tone, 
Which now I know and fear. 

5 The lesson's taught, but it was bought 

By pain and bitter tear. 

Alas ! that I did not reply 

To love instead of fear ! 

6 The birds in air, with plumage fair, 

And voice so clear and sweet, 
Thy blessings share, Thy love declare, 
The story all repeat. 



HIS JEWELS. 

1 When the Lord makes up His jewels, 

Choosing gems of every hue, 
Pearls and diamonds, rubies, sapphires, 

Showing flawless through and through, 
Could I be the least among them, 

Smallest gem that love could see, 
And His eye detect the brightness, 

That would be enough for me. 

2 Precious stones are cut and polished 

By the lapidary's skill, 
Cruel knife and rasping friction 

Work on each the master's will. 
Not until the sparkling facets 

With an equal luster glow. 
Does the artist choose a setting 

For the gem perfected so. 

3 Thus I wait the royal pleasure, 

And when trouble comes to me, 
Smile to think He may be working 

On the gem, though small it be. 
All I ask is strength to bear it, 

Faith and patience to be still ; 
Held by Him, no knife can slay me, 

Lovins; Him, no anguish kill. 



ELEANOR KIRS. 



240 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



AT THE CROSS. 

1 Before Thy cross, dear Lord, I fall ; 
Out of the depths to Thee I call, 

O Friend and Helper, one and all ! 

2 O dearest Lord, Thy tender eye 
Rebukes, yet pities my lone cry, 
When staggering 'neath my cross I lie. 

3 Poor human heart, with human needs, 
How many are its broken reeds, 
Grasped till the hand in torture bleeds. 

4 How many gourds have felt the blight ! 
How many stars have lost their light ! 
How many suns gone down in night ! 

5 All, all are gone like barks at sea, 
Lost in the dread immensity ; 
And now I stand alone with Thee. 

6 All prostrate at Thy cross I kneel, 
For Thou canst all our sorrows feel, 
And Thy dear hand our wounds can heal. 

7 No more I mark the dreary road 

My bleeding feet so long have trod, — 
Content to be alone with God. 

ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH. 



JOY IN SORROW, 

'Your sorrow shall be turned into joy."— John xvi : 20. 
(Tune— G. H., 2-18.) 

1 I've found a joy in sorrow, 

A secret balm for pain, 
A beautiful to-morrow 

Of sunshine after rain ; 
I've found a branch of healing 

Near every bitter spring, 
A whispered promise stealing 

O'er every broken string. 

2 I've found a glad hosanna 

For every woe and wail ; 
A handful of sweet manna 

When grapes of Eshcol fail ; 
I've found a Rock of Ages 

When desert wells are dry ; 
And, after weary stages, 

I've found an Elim nigh. 



THOUGHTLESS LED AWAY. 

" Wert thou thoughtless led away 
By each folly of the day ? 
Cleaving to the things of earth, 
Mindless of thy heavenly birth ? 
Bless the hours which broke their spell, 
Made thee sick to make thee well." 

CHARLOTTE ELLIOT. 



A FIRST SORROW. 

1 Arise ! this day shall shine 

Forevermore, 
To thee a star divine 

On Time's dark shore. 

2 Till now thy soul has been 

All glad and gay ; 
Bid it awake, and look 
At grief to-day ! 

3 No shade has come between 

Thee and the sun ; 
Like some long childish dream 
Thy life has run : 

4 But now the stream has reached 

A dark, deep sea, 
And Sorrow, dim and crowned, 
Is waiting thee. 

5 Each of God's soldiers bears 

A sword divine : 
Stretch out thy trembling hands 
To-day for thine ! 

6 To each anointed priest 

God's summons came : 
O Soul, He speaks to-day, 
And calls thy name. 

7 Then, with slow, reverent step, 

And beating heart, 

From out thy joyous days 

Thou must depart, 

8 And, leaving all behind, 

Come forth alone, 
To join the chosen band 
Around the throne. 

9 Raise up thine eyes — be strong, 

Nor cast away 
The crown that God has given 
Thy soul to-day ! 

ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTOR. 

FROM A POEM ENTITLED "INVOCATION. 1 

1 O Thou ! most kind and merciful ! who never 
Shut out a wanderer from the fold forever ; 

Look from the bastions of the shining city, 
In tender pity. 

2 Bereaved and weary, worn with heavy trials, 
With keen reproaches and with sore denials ; 

Through tribulations, tempest, flood and fire, 
Lead us up higher. 

3 Since the dear idols whom we love and cherish 
Fall to the earth and fade, and fail, and perish, 

Grant in the awful anguish of affliction, 
Thy benediction. 

4 Teach us our duty, give us strength to do it ; 
Show us the way, and help us to pursue it ; 

Strengthen our purpose, aid our weak endeavor, 
Keep us forever. 

MARY F. TUCKER. 



THE DISCIPLINE OF SORROW. 



241 



IT IS I : BE NOT AFRAID. 

" Be of good cheer : it is I ; be not afraid."— Mark vi : SO. 

1 Lonely pilgrim, art thou weary 

With the burdens daily borne ? 
Does the way seem dark and dreary, 

And thy lot in life forlorn ? 
Gird thy breastplate close around thee, 

Hold it fast, the Spirit's blade, 
Let the shield of faith adorn thee : 
" It is I ; be not afraid." 
Chorus. — Bear thy cross in sweet submission, 
Look to me, be not dismayed, 
By and by, a glad fruition : 
" It is I; be not afraid." 

2 Though thy feet are often bleeding 

From the thorns along the way, 
All the grace my child is needing, 

I will give thee day by day ; 
Those I love I chasten sorely, 

Thus to sweetly purify ; 
That each child be fitted wholly 

For the perfect house on high. 

3 Though beneath the clouds of sorrow, 

Let thine armor brightly shine ; 
There shall dawn a glad to-morrow 

For each trusting child of mine ; 
I will ever journey with thee, 

Sooth thee when with sorrows weighed ; 
I, at last, a crown will give thee ; 

Journey on, " be not afraid." 

MRS. HARRIET JONES. 

Prom "Songs of Free Grace," by per. D. B. Towner. 
Set to music by D. B. Towner. 



Jtiraa SMptott. 



Anna Shipton is the author of " Precious Gems for the Saviour's 
Diadem," published in 1862, "The Brook in the Way," " Original Hymns 
and Poems," "The Cottage on the Rock," and other books. 

THE VIGIL. 

1 Father, my cup is full ! 

My trembling soul I raise ; 
Oh ! save me in this solemn hour, 
Thy might and love to praise. 

2 Father, my cup is full ! 

But One hath drunk before, 
And for our sins Thy face was hid, 
When the bitter draught ran o'er. 

3 Father, my cup is full ! 

But Thou dost bid me drink ; 
I know Thy love the chalice mixed, 
And yet I faint — I shrink. 

4 Alone He drank the cup, 

The holy, sinless One, 
That not one soul on earth again 
Should drain the dregs alone. 



5 Father, forsake me not ! 

O Christ, I look to Thee ; 
And by Thy midnight agony, 
Do Thou remember me. 



OUT OF THE NIGHT. 

1 What though we are late in the cold, starless night ! 

Still nearer we draw to our own Father's door ; 
And out from the tempest and into the light 
We surely shall come when our journey is o'er. 

2 The burdens that crush us well-nigh to the dust, 

The anguish that tortures, the terrors and fears, 
Are known to the Heart in whose love we may trust, 
That watcheth our stumbling, that counteth our 
tears. 

3 The way groweth lonely, the sky is more drear, 

The helpers who loved us have passed through the 

tomb ; 
But He who is mightiest still is most near ; 

Let us reach forth our hand and meet His in the 

gloom. 

4 The false fires are dancing to dazzle our sight ; 

There is danger around, there is darkness before, 
But look ! through the casement doth shine out the 

light, 
> As nearer we draw to our own Father's door ! 



TOUCHED WITH A FEELING OF OUR IN- 
FIRMITIES. 

1 When, wounded sore, the stricken soul 

Lies bleeding and unbound, 
One only hand, a pierced hand, 
Can salve the sinner's wound. 

2 When sorrow swells the laden breast, 

And tears of anguish flow, 

One only heart, a broken heart, 

Can feel the sinner's woe. 

3 When penitence has wept in vain 

Over some foul, dark spot, 
One only stream, a stream of blood, 
Can wash away the spot. 

4 'Tis Jesus' blood that washes white, 

His hand that brings relief ; 
His heart that's touched with all our joys, 
And feeleth for our grief. 

5 Lift up Thy bleeding hand, O Lord ! 

Unseal that cleansing tide ; 

We have no shelter from our sin 

But in Thy wounded side. 

CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER. 



242 



WOMAN- IN SACRED SONG. 



RECONCILIATION. 

1 Since thy Father's arm sustains thee, 

Peaceful be : 
When a chastening hand restrains thee, 

It is He ; 
Know His love, in full completeness, 
Fills the measure of thy weakness ; 
If He wound thy spirit sore, 

Trust Him more. 

2 Fearest sometimes that thy Father 

Hath forgot? 
When the clouds around thee gather, 

Doubt Him not ! 
Always hath the daylight broken, 
Always hath He comfort spoken, 
Better hath He been for years 

Than thy fears. 

3 Therefore, whatsoe'er betideth, 

Night or day, 
Know His love for thee provideth 

Good alway : 
Crown of sorrow gladly take, 
Grateful wear it for His sake, 
Sweetly bending to His will, 

Lie thou still. 

4 To His own the Saviour giveth 

Daily strength : 
To each troubled soul that liveth 

Peace at length ; 
Weakest lambs have largest share 
Of this tender Shepherd's care : 
Ask not why, when, or how, 

Only bow ! 



THE POLAR STAR. 

1 Weary wanderer o'er the main, 
Seeking for thy home again, 
Through the gathering mists that rise, 
Veiling thy natal skies : 

Look beyond, there's light for thee, 
Streaming o'er the turbid sea. 
Refrain. — Softly it smiles, though distant far, 
The beautiful polar star. 

2 Stranger, on a rocky strand, 
Longmg for thy father-land, 
Through the gathering clouds that rise, 
Veiling thy natal skies ; 

Look beyond, there's hope for thee, 
Dawning o'er the tranquil sea. 

3 Lonely watcher, pale with grief, 
Thou shalt find a sweet relief, 
Though thy tears unheeded fall, 
Jesus will count them all ; 

Look beyond, there's joy for thee, 
Breaking o'er a troubled sea. 

S> FANNIE CROSBY, 

Copyright by T. E. Perkins in "New Shining Star," 
and used by per. 



EVER NEAR ME. 

Jesus, I am never weary 

When upon this bed of pain, 
If Thy presence only cheer me, 

All my loss I count but gain. 
Ever near me, 

Ever near me, Lord, remain. 

From a hymn by mrs. weiss. 
Daughter of Archbishop Whately. 



COME TO ME. 



1 With tearful eyes I look around ; 
Life seems a dark and stormy sea ; 
Yet, 'mid the gloom, I hear a sound, 
A heavenly whisper, " Come to me." 

2 It tells me of a place of rest ; 

It tells me where my soul may flee : 
Oh ! to the weary, faint, oppressed, 
How sweet the bidding, " Come to me ! " 

3 " Come, for all else must fail and die ! 
Earth is no resting-place for thee ; 
To heaven direct thy weeping eye, 

I am thy portion ; come to me." 

4 O voice of mercy ! voice of love ! 
In conflict, grief, and agony, 
Support me, cheer me from above ! 
And gently whisper, " Come to me." 

CHARLOTTE ELLIOT. 



BE NEAR ME. 

1 Jesus, Saviour, hear my pleadings, 

Turn me not away, I pray ; 
Grant to guard me and protect me, 

Keep me in this trying day. 
See, the storm is raging round me, 

Sin's wild waves are swelling high ; 
Take me closer, blessed Saviour, 

Let me feel thy presence nigh. ' 

2 Earth is lashed with winds of fury, 

As they sweep from pole to pole ; 
Sparing not the sea nor ocean, 

Gathering strength, they onward roll ; 
They are rising higher, higher, 

Swelling for one dreadful blast ; 
But be near me, O my Saviour, 

And I '11 fear not to the last. 

3 Strong men's hearts are quailing, failing, 

As they faint and fearful grow ; 
For the omens thickly gather 

Of that day of death and woe ; 
And they grow more wild and reckless, 

Restless as the foaming sea, 
Yet if Thou art near, dear Saviour, 

All will joyful, peaceful be. 



THE DISCIPLINE OF SORROW. 



243 



Hark the groanings of the nations, 

As they totter to and fro, 
On their reeling structures waiting 

For their final overthrow, 
Stirred as to their, very center 

'Mid the din and clash of arms ; 
Still if Thou art near, dear Saviour, 

I'll not start at war's alarms. 
Dark forebodings gather round them, 

Deeds of violence, who can tell ? 
See them bathed in death and anguish, 

Sinking, while their armies swell ; 
"Watch them as their hopes grow fainter, 

Hear that sad and mournful cry, 
Then, O Saviour, be Thou near me 

Till the tempest has passed by ! 
When the storms have all passed over, 

When their ragings all are clone, 
May the ones I love so dearly 

Gather in thy heavenly home ; 
There may we in sweet reunion 

Join the songs of Heaven above, 
And be near Thee, blessed Saviour, 

Oft to sing redeeming love. 



FATHER, WE COME TO THEE. 

1 Not as the little wandering child, 

From fields where he had strayed, 

Until the evening shade 

Had made his heart afraid, 
Comes to his mother's breast 
For refuge and for rest — 

Not thus we come to Thee. 

2 Not as the happy and the pure, 

With meekly-closing eyes, 
Come at the eventide, 
From cheerful toil aside, 
Where love and peace abide, 

And joys of Paradise. 
Not as they come for rest 
Unto the tender breast 
Of sleep, serene and blest — 

Father, we come to Thee. 

3 But as the homesick wanderer comes, 

Whose straying feet have prest 
Full many a land unknown, to find 

A country still more blest, 
Till, with a whirling brain, 
Weary with grief and pain, 
Through chilling wind and rain, 
Fainting, he turns again 
To hearts that o'er him yearn, 
"Where through the windows burn 

The lights of home, for rest. 

Thus, as the weary come 

To find a sheltering home, 
Father, we come to Thee. 



"We come to Thee. 
Although this earth of ours, 
So beautiful with flowers, 
With wreathing mists and showers, 
"With lips that smile, and eyes 
That look through love's disguise, 
Might seem a paradise ; 

Yet here we find no rest — 
No rest from care and pain, 
No rest for heart and brain ; 
And now, in agony, 
We come, O Christ, to Thee ! 
And O, Thou pitiful, 
Thou ever merciful ! 

We pray Thee, give us rest. 



M. I. HENRY. 



GO AND TELL JESUS. 

1 O aching heart ! O restless brain ! 
Go and tell Jesus of thy pain ; 

He knows thee, loves thee, and His eye 
Beams with divinest sympathy. 

2 Go and tell Jesus ; human ear 
Thy mournful story may not hear ; 
Keep nothing back, for thee He cares, 
His patient heart thy burden bears. 

3 Go and tell Jesus — well He knows 
The human heart, its pangs, its throes ; 
He will not fail thee ; He will be 
Friend, Comforter and peace to thee. 

4 Go and tell Jesus — never yet 
Did He a breaking heart forget ; 
Press closely to His bleeding side, 
There, there thou shalt be satisfied. 



LET ME LEAN HARD. 



1 Let me lean hard upon the Eternal Breast, 
In all earth's devious ways I sought for rest 

And found it not. 

2 I will be strong, said I — 
And lean upon myself ! I will not cry 

And importune all heaven with my complaint — 
But now my strength fails, and I fall, I faint. 
Let me lean hard. 

3 Let me lean hard upon the unfailing Arm. 
I said I will walk on, I fear no harm — 
The spark divine within my soul will show 
The upward pathway where my feet should go. 
But now the heights to which I most aspire 
Are lost in clouds. I stumble, and I tire. 

Let me lean hard. 



244 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Let me lean harder yet. That swerveless Force 
That speeds the solar systems on their course 
Can take, unfelt, the burden of my woe 
Which bears me to the dust, and hurts me so. 
I thought my strength enough for any fate, 
But lo ! I sink beneath my sorrow's weight. 

Let me lean harder yet. 
Let me lean hard, with that abandonment 
Of self to God that means complete content. 
I said, I do not fear the hosts of sin ; 
I will be true to the divine within. 
But lo ! I find I am not great enough 
To make my way o'er places that are rough, 
And through strange valleys, dark with shades of 

doubt, 
Unless help comes from some high source without. 
Let me lean hard. 



Eliza Follen was bora in Boston, but lived much of the time in Cam- 
bridge. In 1828 she was married to Prof. Charles Follen, who perished 
in the burning of the steamer Lexington, during the winter of 1839. 
She published a memoir of her husband, and five volumes : " The Well- 
Spent Hour," "The Warning," "Hymns, Songs and Fables for Children," 
also a book of "Nursery Songs," and a volume of Poems and Hymns, 
from which the following is selected, 

TO WHOM SHALL WE GO? 

1 When our purest delights are nipt in the blossom, 

When those we love best are laid low, 
When grief plants in secret her thorns in the bosom, 
Deserted, " to whom shall we go ? " 

2 When error bewilders, and our path becomes dreary, 

And tears of despondency flow ; 
When the whole head is sick and the whole heart is' 
weary, 
Despairing, " to whom shall we go ? " 

3 When the sad, thirsty spirit turns from the springs 

Of enchantment this life can bestow, 
And sighs for another, and nutters its wings, 
Impatient, " to whom shall we go ? " 

4 Oh ! blest be that light which has parted the clouds, 

A path to the pilgrim to show, 
That pierces the veil which the future enshrouds, . 
And shows us to whom we may go. 

ELIZA FOLLEN. 



I'M WALKING IN THE SHADOW. 

1 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will 
fear no evil." 



1 I'm walking in the 

How lonely is my way ; 
The night has gathered o'er me, 

Nor left one cheering ray. 
No guiding star to light me 
Along this dreary vale ; 
My steps are weak and trembling, 
I feel my courage fail. 
Refrain. — I'm walking in the shadow, 

Of darkness, gloom, and woe 



Be with me, O my Saviour, 
And show me where to go. 

2 I'm walking in the shadow, 

But whither does it lead? 
My Father, deign to help me, 

Thy gentle hand I need. 
I dare not venture onward, 

Nor would I turn aside ; 
Thou only canst direct me, 

My Shepherd and my guide. 

3 I'm walking in the shadow, 

But hark ! methinks I hear 
The voice of one before me, 

That tells a friend is near. 
A pilgrim in the valley, 

And yet he fears no ill, 
For God the Lord is with him, 

His staff a comfort still. 

4 I'm walking in the shadow, 

But lo ! the morning breaks, 
And with its glad returning, 

My hope renewed awakes. 
The Lord from every danger 

Has cleared my tangled way ; 
Has brought deep things from darkness, 

And turned my night to day. 

MRS. F. C. VAN ALSTYNE. 
From "Singing Pilgrim," by per. Philip Phillips. 

AFFLICTION. 

1 Jesus, my sorrow lies too deep 

For human ministry ; 
It knows not how to tell itself 
To any but to Thee. 

2 Thou dost remember still amid 

The glories of Thy throne, 
The sorrows of mortality, 

For they were once Thine own. 

3 Yes : for, as if Thou wouldst be God 

Even in Thy misery, 
There's been no sorrow but Thine own 
Untouched by sympathy. 

4 Jesus, my fainting spirit brings 

Its fearfulness to Thee ; 
Thine eye, at least, can penetrate 
The clouded mystery. 

5 It is enough, my precious Lord, 

Thy tender sympathy ! 

My every sin and sorrow can 

Devolve itself on Thee. 

6 Thy risen life but fits Thee more 

For kindly ministry ; 
Thy love unhindered rests upon 
Each bruised branch in Thee. 

7 Jesus ! Thou hast availed to search 

My deepest malady ; 
It freely flows — more freely finds 
The gracious remedy. 



LADY POWEJRSCOURT. 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



245 



TRUST AND REST. 



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WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



I BIDE MY TIME. 
I bide my time. Whenever shadows darken 
Along my path, I do but lift mine eyes 
And Faith reveals fair shores beyond the skies, 
And through earth's harsh, discordant sounds I 
hearken 
And hear divinest music from afar, 
Sweet sounds from lands where half my loved 
ones are. 

I bide — I bide my time. 
I bide my time. Whatever woes assail me, 
I know the strife is only for a day, 
A Friend waits for me farther on the way — 
A Friend too faithful and too true to fail me, 
Who will bid all life's jarring turmoil cease 
And lead me on to realms of perfect peace. 
I bide — I bide my time. 
I bide my time. This conflict and resistance, 
This drop of rapture in a cup of pain, 
This wear and tear of body and of brain, 
But fits my spirit for the new existence 
Which waits me in the happy by-and-by. 
So, come what may, I'll lift mine eyes and cry, 
I bide — I bide my time. 



i.LJ. > iv,! >;i i rt: m u-i'ii; 



FORSAKE ME NOT. 

1 Forsake me not ; though fast the night is falling, 

And shadows gather in the darkened sky, 
I cannot fear when Thou, O God, art calling, 

I cannot fall when Thy kind arms are nigh. 
Stay Thou with me ! be Thou my refuge ever, 

My strength, my all — whatever be my lot ! 
Oli ! bless me with Thy gracious love forever, 

And in the gloom of night, forsake me not ! 

2 Forsake me not, in time of tribulation, 

Be Thou my rock and fortress in despair ; 
Oh ! fill my burdened soul with thy salvation, 

And pour Thy Spirit's balm on all my care. 
Though sorrows break my heart, O gracious Father ! 

Thy rod and staff can comfort my distress, 
Though grief oppress, and heavy tear-drops gather, 

Thy pitying love can bring me sweet redress. 

3 Forsake me not ; breathe Thou into my being 

The very breath of heaven, from above : 
Unseal mine eyes, that I, Thy goodness seeing, 

May know and feel Thy deep, Thy boundless love. 
In storm or calm, be Thou, O God, beside me, 

That I, Thy child, may never be forgot ; 
Thro' shade or sun, by day or night-time guide me 

Thro' all my journey — Oh ! forsake me not ! 

4 Forsake me not, dear God, though I forget Thee, 

And trusting to myself go blindly on ; 
Oh ! bring me back to Thee again ! and let me 

In meekness know my boasted strength is gone : 
And if I falter, waiting for the morning, 

Then let Thy grace my every need supply. 
What matter, if I have its rich adorning, 

Though neither gold nor precious gems have I ? 



Forsake me not ; I need Thee every minute . 

I trust Thee, want Thee, love Thee, God of All! 
Thro' life, with all its destined changes in it, 

Be near me, watch me, help me, lest I fall. 
And when I reach death's dim, o'ershadowed river, 

When life's poor gains and losses are forgot, 
Divine Redeemer, gracious heavenly Giver, 

Be Thou still near me ! Oh ! forsake me not ! 



IDA SCOTT TAYLOR. 

Jacksonville, 111., 1884. 



Jlttpsia Sflrtt. 



i Scott was a graduate from Rockland Seminary, 111., in 1863, 
after which she spent some time in teaching among the freedmen in the 
South. 

She is a writer of more than usual ability, strong in faith and diligent 
in all Christian works. She married Dr. Campbell some years after her 
graduation, studied medicine thoroughly and with care, and is now a 
resident of Chicago, and an accomplished and successful M. D. 



BITTER WINE. 

1 Though I shrink in human pain, 

Clinging hands upon my breast, 
Though my pallid lips refrain, 

When the bitter cup is pressed ; 
Still I take it— drink it all, 

Bow me to the will divine, 
Quaff into my thirsty soul, 

To the dregs — the bitter wine. 

2 Though I shrink and murmur much, 

Blind with tears and sobbing breath, 
When I feel within my touch, 

Draught more bitter far than death, 
Still I sip the last drop up, 

From this curdling draught of mine ; 
When the Father holds the cup 

I can choose the bitter wine. 

3 I am ready ; fill it up, 

Add any bitterness but sin, 
Better bitter from without, 

Than sweets polluted grown within. 
It may yet in God's control, 

Ordered by this power divine, 
Turn to sweetness in my soul — 

And I bless the bitter wine. 

AUGUSTA SCOTT CAMPBELL. 
Chicago, February, 1884. 



IN TIME OF TRIAL. 

Thou who knowest all our grief, 

Help us bear Thy holy will ; 
If Thou canst not give relief, 

Make us calm, serene and still. 
O our Father and our God, 

Bend our stubborn wills to Thine ; 
Let the thorny path be trod 
Leaning on an arm divine : 




'O STRENGTH OF GOD! I FAINT FOR THEE.' 



THE DISCIPLINE OF SORROW. 



24; 



2 All our dearest, fondest ties 

Are but tokens of Thy love ; 
Draw us by them to the skies, 

Help us raise our thoughts above. 
Though earth's brightest links should break, 

Thou unchanged wouldst yet remain ; 
Sorrows borne for Thy dear sake, 

Stronger make love's perfect chain. 

3 Death alone can ne'er divide 

Those whose hearts are true and fond, 
In Thy love we still abide, 

We below and they beyond ; 
Though the form we cannot see, 

Though the voice we cannot hear — 
They still live by faith in Thee, 

And they are forever near ! 

4 Soon these severed lives will meet, 

Soon these broken ties unite ; 
Oh ! that hour of rapture sweet, 

In the land of love and light ! 
Can we not with pleasure wait 

Through these fleeting mortal years, 
Dear the joy that cometh late ! 

Pure the bliss that follows tears ! 

KATE B. W. BARNES. 



2 Do I not feel thy sorrow ? 

Have I not suffered too ? 
My arm is strong to bear thee 
The billowy waters through. 

3 Lean on My arm, beloved, 

And venture on the sea ; 
Fear not, for I have called thee ; 
I '11 walk the waves with thee. 

4 Poor soul, why dost thou tremble ? 

All worketh for thy good ; 
Do I not love thee better 
Than father, mother could ? 

5 Look to the Face that leaneth 

Thy troubled soul above, 
And call me Friend and Brother, 
Thy Saviour and thy Love. 

6 Trust Me, I will not leave thee ; 

As they who went before, 
So thou shalt reach in safety 
The green and sheltered shore. 

7 Beside the peaceful river 

Thy loved ones thou shalt see ; 
Among the " many mansions " 
There is a place for thee. 



URANIA LOCKE BAILEY. 
Providence, E. I. 



"I have trodden the wine press alone."— Isa. lxiii: 3. 
"The heart knoweth its own bitterness."— Prov. xiv: 10. 
"Surely He hath borne our sorrows."— Isa. liii: i. 

1 O weary one ! why art thou sad and lonely ? 

No heart can ever echo back thine own ! 
No human heart can fully share thy sorrows, 
Thy heaviest crosses thou must bear alone. 

2 Life's battles thou must fight all single handed, 

No friend, however dear, can bear thy pain. 
No other soul can ever bear thy burdens, 
No other hand for thee the prize may gain. 

3 Lonely we journey through this world of sorrow, 

No heart, in full, respondeth to our own ; 

Each one alone must meet his own to-morrow, 

Each one must tread the weary way alone. 

4 Yet One there is who knows our every sorrow, 

"Who sympathizes with each secret pain, 
Who "bore our griefs and carried all our sorrows," 
That we through His dear love a heaven might gain. 

5 Ah ! weary heart ! why art thou sad and lonely ? 

Why this vain longing for an answering sigh ? 
Thy griefs, thy longings, trials and temptations, 
Are known and felt by Him who reigns on high. 

ANNA HOLTOKE HOWARD. 

THE SAVIOUR TO THE SORROWFUL SCUL, 

1 Lean on My breast, beloved, 
Be comforted in Me, 
Within thy Father's palace 
There is a place for thee. 



IN SHADOW. 

"And where is now my hope."— Job xvii: 15. 

1 The clouds hang low above my life, 

And mingle in a murky gray, 
That gives faint hope of that blue day 
Of sun and calm, the end of strife ; 

2 While in the closing gloom I hear 

Dread voices from the holy Book ; 
And from the years my sins do look 
With eyes that smite me through with fear. 

3 Into a land whose shadowing wings 

Are doom and death, my soul is lead, 

Bound like a prisoner to the dead — 

The heavens are filled with thunderings ! 

4 strength of God ! I faint for thee, 

For I my worthless girdle spun 
In Egypt, singing in the sun, 
And in my need it faileth me ! 

5 " Not to the mount that burns with fire," 

So sings an angel in the dark, 
And all my soul springs up to mark 
His voice with infinite desire. 

6 " But unto Zion are ye come — 

Fair city of the living God, 
By holy men and angels trod, 
And henceforth your eternal home." 

MARY A, LATHBURY. 

From "Out of Darkness into Light." Lothrop & Co., by per. 



248 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



THE HOUR OF DARKNESS. 

How long, Lord ! how long 

Shall on my spirit rest 
This weight of darkness and distress ? 

How long unto my burning lips be pressed 
This overflowing cup of bitterness ? 
O God ! my God ! only Thine arm hath power 
To bear me through the anguish of this hour. 

How long, O Lord ! how long ! 

Many to rest have gone ; 
The lovely and beloved are with Thee 

In peace and glory — while I faint alone 
Beneath this burden of mortality. 
Yet not alone, — art Thou not near ? I bend, 
Praying for strength enduring to the end. 

How long, O Lord ! how long ! 

I bow me to Thy will, 
Believing in tender love Thou dost chastise, — 

Say to my heart's wild throbbings, Peace, be still ! 
Father, to Thee, to Thee I lift mine eyes ! 
Is not Thy smile to patient sufferance given, « 
Gilding earth's darkness with a gleam of heaven ? 

How long, O Lord ! how long ! 

A soft, still voice I hear, 
Speaking to my worn spirit words of life, — 

" O thou of little faith, how canst thou fear ? 
I, even I, am with thee through the strife. 
Weeping and grief endure but for a night ;. 
The morning breaketh in celestial light." 

SARAH E. MILES, 



PATIENTLY ENDURING. 

"After he had patiently endured he obtained the promise."— Heb. vi : 15. 

1 Patiently enduring, 

As the days go by, 
Knowing He who loves me 

Guides me with His eye ; 
Though the storm-clouds lower, 

Though the tempests blow, 
Still his hand upholds me, 

From the depths of woe. 
Cho. — Trusting in the love that can never, never fail, 
Trusting in the name that forever must prevail, 
Patiently enduring 

Till the day of rest, 
Sure that He who loves me 

Doeth what is best. 

2 Patiently enduring, 

Though the night be long, 
Cheering up the darkness 

With a gladsome song ; 
Never shall I murmur 

Though my heart be faint, 
Though my steps may falter, 

Make I no complaint. 



3 Patiently enduring 

Sorrow, pain and care, 
Knowing He in mercy 

Every grief will share ; 
Always will He guide me 

By His tender love, 
And though often weary 

Rest remains above. 

miss m. b. servoss. 
From "Holy Voices," by per. W. J. Shuey. 

THE DARK VALLEY. 

(Suggested duriug illness.) 

1 Down in the shadowy land so lowly, 

Slowly and gently I have seemed to come ; 
Soon the long journey of a lifetime ended, 
I shall have reached my never-ending home. 

2 Alone, O Saviour ! leave me not, but lead me ; 

Clasp me still closer by Thy guiding hand, 
As through the labyrinths and the darkness, 
I tread the pathways of this unknown land. 

3 Here where the genial sun of earthly comfort 

Hides behind clouds obscure with grief and pain, 
And from the warmest hand of love or friendship 
'Tis but a scant relief that we can gain ; 

4 Where all the ties of earthly life are loosening, 

As the worn cord its silver threads unwind, 
And from each idol which the heart has cherished, 
The hand of death its tendrils will unbind ; 

5 Here where the memories of the past are flitting 

Like evening shadows from the sunset hill, 
Length'ning a moment, but to blend with darkness 
As the night gathers and the world grows still ; 

6 Here where I feel, though life's work is unfinished, 

I can but lay it at the Master's feet : 
Praying for His dear sake, Thou wilt, our Father, 
Accept both it, and me, in Him complete. 

7 Now, precious Saviour ! I will trust Thy mercy 

To fold me safe against Thy loving breast : 
The everlasting arms beneath, around me, 
Thus would I pass to everlasting rest. 



RESIGNATION. 

C. M. (Tune— "Marlow.") 
(Suggested during serere Illness.) 

1 Just as it comes from out Thy hand, 

Life's mingled cup we drink ; 
Though in our weakness, oft, alas ! 
We fain would pause and shrink. 

2 We shudder at the bitter draught, 

Yet pray Thy hand to blend 

Some mercy-drops to sweeten all, 

And soothing grace to lend. 



THE DISCIPLINE OF SORROW. 



249 



3 Just as Thy providence unfolds, 

Life's path we'll meekly tread, 
If we may only see the bow 
Of promise overhead. 

4 And all the rocky heights we'll climb, 

And stormy waves outride, 
If only 'neath Thy sheltering wing 
We may by faith abide. 



5 O Father ! leave us not alone 

Within the tangled wild, 
But let Thy loving counsels cheer 
Each weary, way-worn child. 

6 And let us reach Thy guiding hand, 

And lean upon Thy breast, 
Until at last we reach the fold 
Of Thine eternal rest. 

EMILY P. WILLIAMS. 



CLEANSING FIRES. 



ADELAIDE PROCTOR. 

Moderato. 



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SECOND COMING OF CHRIST. 



251 



JESUS COMES. 

1 Watch, ye saints, with eyelids waking, 
Lo ! the powers of heav'n are shaking, 

Keep your lamps all trimmed and burning, 
Ready for the Lord's returning ! 

2 Lo ! the promise of your Saviour, 

Pardoned sin and purchased favor, 
Blood-washed robes and crown of glory ; 
Haste to tell redemption's story. 

3 Kingdoms at their base are crumbling. 
Hark, his chariot wheels are rumbling ! 

Tell, Oh ! tell of grace abounding • 
Whilst the seventh trump is sounding. 

4 Nations wane, though proud and stately ; 
Christ His kingdom hasteneth greatly ; 

Earth her latest pangs is summing ; 

Shout, ye saints, your Lord is coming ! 

5 Lamb of God, Thou meek and lowly, 
Judah's Lion high and holy, 

Lo ! thy Bride comes forth to meet Thee, 
All in blood-washed robes to greet Thee. 

6 Sinners, come while Christ is pleading, 
Now for you He 's interceding ; 

Haste ere grace and time diminished 
Shall proclaim the mystery finished. 

MRS. PHCEBE PALMER. 

Set to music by Wm. J. Kirkpatrick. 



' Be ye also ready : for in such an hour as ye think not the Son of 
Man cometh."— Matt, xxiv : 44. 



1 Ready ! Oh ! are you 

If the Lord should come to-day ' 
Are you sheltered under the sprinkled blood 

That takes all sin away ? 
Or are you still fearing, doubting, 

Lingering outside the door, 
Which, when once He comes, will be closed to you, 

Ii you enter not before ? 

2 Ready ! Oh ! are you ready ? 

Christian, this speaks to you ; 
For the Lord's own child, though safe, may be 

Ashamed to meet Him too. 
Will He find you watching, praying, 

In the day when He comes again ? 
Or are you asleep while others weep 

For the sorrows and sins of men ? 

3 Ready ! Oh ! are you ready ? 

For soon He may be here : 
Will He find you loyal and true to Him, 

Or cowardly and full of fear ? 
Will He find you enduring hardness, 

As a faithful soldier must,, 
Content to tread where the Lord has led, 

In a life of simple trust ? 



4 Ready ! Oh ! are you ready 

When the Lord shall call away ? 
No idol chaining you down to earth, 

But ready to go to-day ? 
For it may be that He is coming 

Before the evening fall ; 
But whether at noon or midnight, 

Be ready when He shall call ! 

GEORGIANA M. TAYLOR, 1880. 

THE MESSENGER. 

1 I may hear His voice at morning, 

When the sky is softly bright, 
And a flood of golden glory 

Tinges every purple height ; 
Ere my hands begin the labor 

Which belongeth to the day, 
I may hear Him softly whisper, 

" Fold thy work and come away." 

2 I may hear Him in the noontide, 

When the reapers take their rest, 
And the golden sheaves are lying- 
Prostrate on the earth's warm breast ; 
In the overpowering brightness 
Of the glorious midday sun, 
He may come with shining sickle 
And life's work for me be done. 

3 I may hear Him in the midnight, 

As His voice of solemn cheer 
Pierces through the mystic silence, 

Whispering : " Thy Guest is here ; 
Rise and climb the upper' pathway 

Where have walked the sons of God ; 
I, the Messenger, will lead thee 

Safely where their feet have trod " 

4 Since He may come in the morning, 

At noon or eventide, 
I must have my garments ready, 

And my lamp with oil supplied ; 
I must listen for His knocking, 

I must rise and ope the gate, 
For He comes to guide me safely 

Where the angels for me wait. 

SUSIE V. ALDRICH. 

Boston, 1884. 

THOU ART COMING! 

'Looking for that blessed hope, and the glorious appearing of the 

great God and our Saviour, Jesus Christ."— Titus ii : 13. 

(Tune.— "G. H. 3-50.") 

1 Thou art coming, O my Saviour, 

Thou art coming, O my King ; 
Every tongue Thy name confessing, 

Well may we rejoice and sing ; 
Thou art coming ; rays of glory, 

Through the veil Thy death has rent, 
Gladden now our pilgrim pathway, 

Glory from Thy presence sent. 



252 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Chorus. — Thou art coming, Thou art coming, 

We shall meet Thee on Thy way. 
Thou art coming, we shall see Thee, 

And be like Thee on that day. 
Thou art coming, Thou art coming, 

Jesus our beloved Lord, 
Oh! the joy to see Thee reigning, 

Worship'd, glorified, adored. 

2 Thou art coming, not a shadow, 

Not a mist and not a tear, 
Not a sin, and not a sorrow, 

On that sunrise grand and clear ; 
Thou art coming, Jesus, Saviour, 

Nothing else seems worth a thought, 
Oh ! how marvelous the glory 

And the bliss Thy pain hath bought. 

3 Thou art coming, we are waiting 

With a hope that cannot fail, 
Asking not the day or hour, 

Anchored safe within the veil ; 
Thou art coming, at Thy table 

We are witnesses for this, 
As we meet Thee in communion, 

Earnest of our coming bliss. 



WILL JESUS FIND US WATCHING? 



(Tune— "G. H. 3-38,") 

"Watch therefore ; for ye know not what hour your Lord doth come," 

Matt, xxiv : 42. 

1 When Jesus comes to reward His servants, 

Whether it be noon or night, 
Faithful to Him will He find us watching, 
With our lamps all trimm'd and bright ? 
Ref. — Oh! can we say we are ready, brother? 
Ready for the soul's bright home ? 
Say, will He find you and me still watching, 
Waiting, waiting when the Lord shall come? 

2 If at the dawn of the early morning, 

He shall call us one by one, 
When to the Lord we restore our talents, 
Will He answer thee — Well done ? 

3 Have we been true to the trust He left us ? 

Do we seek to do our best ? 
f in our hearts there is naught condemns us, 
We shall have a glorious rest. 

4 Blessed are those whom the Lord finds watching ? 

In His glory they shall share ; 
If He shall come at the dawn or midnight, 
Will He find us watching there ? 

FANNY J. CROSBY. 

Set to music by W. H. Doane, and cised b-* per. Biglow & Main. 
Copyright, 1876, in "Gospel Music." 



THE FOOLISH VIRGINS. 

1 Fill your lamps, O foolish virgins ! 

Oh! fill them, ere He draweth nigh, 
With the oil of joy and gladness, 

That when the world shall wake and cry, 
" Behold, He cometh ! " ye may rise, 
And go to meet Him, with the wise, 
When the Bridegroom cometh. 

2 Fill your lamps, O foolish virgins ! 

That ye may rise and trim them, then, 
When joyfully cry the watchers, 

" He cometh to the earth again, 
Go forth to Him, the feast is laid, 
The bride in white is all arrayed, 
And the Bridegroom cometh." 

3 Fill your lamps, O foolish virgins ! 

Ere yet you fold your hands in sleep, 
That your lights be brightly burning, 

And ye be not of those who weep, 
And to their fellows vainly turn, 
To beg for oil to make them burn, 
When the Bridegroom cometh. 

MARIA L. EVE. 
Augusta, Georgia, 1883. 

WAITING FOR THY COMING. 

1 I am waiting for Thy coming 

To this swept and garnished heart, 
Thou hast cast away its idols, 

Thou art cleansing every part ; 
I am resting on Thy promise, 

Fears and doubtings all are still ; 
But I'm longing for Thy coming, 

All its emptiness to fill. 

2 I am waiting for Thy coming, 

Blessed Presence from above, 
For the fire from off Thine altar, 

Thine abounding grace and love ; 
Faith's clasp is all too chilling, 

Though sure its guerdon be, 
For a conscious touch I'm longing, 

Saviour dear, of Thee. 

3 I am waiting for Thy coming, 

But I dare not cross Thy will, 
In the twilight of Thine absence 

1 hold me calmly still ; 

As Thou wiliest in Thy wisdom, 
When Thou wiliest in Thy might, 

Thou wilt come and every shadow 
Be altogether light. 

4 I am waiting for Thy coming ; 

Not Thy choicest gifts, but Thee, 
For the loving heart cares only 

Its beloved One to see. 
I list not for their harp-strings, 

Nor for angel chorals pine ; 
No voice can still my yearnings, 

O blessed Lord, save Thine. 









SECOND COMING OF CHRIST. 



253 



I have waited for Thy coming, 

But my waiting was not long, 
Lo ! twilight turns to sunshine, 

And my plaint becomes a song. 
Thou hast tilled Thy waiting temple, 

Thy glorious face I see, 
And earth is turned to heaven, 

Since Thou art come to me. 



MARGARET E. WINSLOW. 
SJ. Y., 1883. 



THE LORD WILL APPEAR. 

" Watch therefore ; for ye know not what hour your Lord doth come." 
Matt, xxiv: 42. 

1 As the lightning's bright flash in the eastern horizon 

Sweeps over the sky when a storm draweth near ; 
So the people of earth shall awake to the coming 
Of Him who will soon in His glory appear. 
Cho. — Then be watching and waiting, the Lord will 
appear ! 
Then be watching and waiting, the time may be 
near ! 

2 Oh! who then shall go forward in triumph to meet 

Him; 
And who shall be scattered like terrified flocks ? 
Who shall lift up glad voices with praises to greet 

Him, 
And who for a shelter shall cry to the rocks ? 

3 Oh! the children of faith who await His appearing 

Shall joy in His presence and bask in His love ; 
For their souls have been washed in the blood of His 
ransom, 
And fitted through Him for the glory above. 

MISS M. E. SEEVOSS. 

From "Holy Voices," by per. E. S. Lorenz. 

DEARER THAN HEAVEN. 

"At an hour when ye think not." -St. Luke xii : 40. 

1 It may be He'll come in the morning, 

When the sunbeams are greeting the flowers, 
And the heart is o'erflowing with gladness, 
That thrills through life's earlier hours. 
Refrain. — And so I will strive to be ready 

For His coming, whene'er it may be, 
For His welcoming smile of approval 
Will be dearer than heaven to me. 

2 It may be He'll come in the noontime, 

When the spirit is burdened with care ; 
And the souls that should always be waiting, 
Forget for the Lord to prepare. 

3 It may be He'll come in the evening, 

When the sun has gone down in the west, 
When the toiler has ceased from his labor, 
And song-birds are .seeking their rest. 

4 It may be He'll come at life's midnight, 

When the weary soul longs for its rest, 
And the years, once so joyous and happy, 
With seed-time and harvest have blessed. 

M. E. SERVOSS. 

Royal Gems," Brainard's Sons, music by A Geibel, the blind musician. 

By per. 



SEE THE KING DESIRED FOR AGES. 

8s & 7s. 

1 See the King desired for ages, 

By the just expected long ; 
Long implored, at length He hasteth, 
Cometh with salvation strong. 

2 Oh! how past all utterance happy, 

Sweet and joyful it will be, 
When they who, unseen have loved Him, 
Jesus face to face shall see ! 

3 What will be the bliss and rapture, 

None can dream and none can tell, 
There to reign among the angels, 
In that heavenly home to dwell. 

4 To those realms, O Saviour, call me, 

Deign to open that blest gate, 
Thou whom, seeking, looking, longing, 
I, with eager hope, await ! 

MRS. CHARLES CAMERON. 

UNTIL HE COMES. 

Acts i : 2. 

1 Until He comes ! like music tones 

Are these most precious words, 

'Mid all the noise and din of earth, 

To those who are the Lord's. 

2 They mark the time when life's dark sea, 

Whose storms so fiercely roar, 

Shall toss upon its troubled waves 

The Christian bark no more. 

MISS CRAIG. 

IN HIS COMING, WHAT MY PART? 

In His coming, what my part ? 
Can I hold Him in my heart ? 
Can my inn, so rude and wild, 
Make Him room, the undefiled ? 
Find its Master in this Child ? 

MARY L. DICKINSON. 

BLESSED LORD; OUR SOULS ARE LONC 
ING. 

iThess. iy; 16. 

1 Blessed Lord, our souls are longing 

Thee, our risen Head, to see ; 
And the cloudless morn is dawning, 
When Thy saints shall gathered be : 

Grace and glory, 
All our fresh springs are in Thee. 

2 All the joy we now are tasting 

Is but as the dream of night : 

To the day of God we're hasting, 

Looking for it with delight : 

Thou art coming, 
And wilt satisfy our sight. 



254 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



3 True, the silent grave is keeping 

Many a seed in weakness sown ; 
But the saints, in Thee now sleeping, 
Raised in power, shall share Thy throne. 

Resurrection ! 
Lord of Glory ! 'tis Thine own. 

4 As we sing our hearts grow lighter ; 

We are children of the day ; 
Sorrow makes our hope the brighter ; 
Faith regards not the delay : 

Sure the promise, 
We shall meet Thee on the way. 

MRS. PETERS. 

From "Spiritual Songs," edited by Dr. Chas. S. Kobinson. 



4 Among Thy saints let me be found, 

Whene'er the archangel's trump shall sound, 

To see Thy smiling face ; 
Then loudest of the throng I'll sing, 
While heaven's resounding mansions ring 

With shouts of sovereign grace. 



SELINA, COUNTESS OF 



Prs. tara %ah. 



Mrs. Toke is the wife of Rev. Nicholas Toke, rector of Godington, 
Ashford, Kent, England. Her hymns have been published by the 
Society for the Promotion of Christian Knowledge. She was born in 1812, 



TIME, THOU SPEEDEST ON 



THOU ART GONE UP ON HIGH. 



1 Time, thou speedest on but slowly, 

Hours, how tardy is your pace ! 
Ere with Him, the high and holy, 

I hold converse face to face. 
Here is nought but care and mourning ; 

Come a joy, it will not stay ; 
Fairly shines the sun at dawning, 

Night will soon o'ercloud the day. 

2 Onward then ! not long I wander 

Ere my Saviour comes for me, 
And with Him abiding yonder, 

All His glory I shall see. 
Oh ! the music and the singing 

Of the host redeemed by love ! 
Oh ! the hallelujahs ringing 

Through the halls of light above ! 

CATHERINE WTNKWORTH. 



WHEN THOU, MY RIGHTEOUS JUDGE. 



1 When Thou, my righteous Judge, shalt come 
To take Thy ransomed people home, 

Shall I among them stand ? 
Shall such a worthless worm as I, 
Who sometimes am afraid to die, 

Be found at Thy right hand ? 

2 I love to meet Thy people now, 
Before Thy feet with them to bow, 

Though vilest of them all ; 
But, can I bear the piercing thought, 
What if my name should be left out, 

When Thou for them shalt call ? 

3 O Lord, prevent it by Thy grace, 
Be Thou my only hiding-place, 

In this the accepted day ; 
Thy pardoning voice, Oh ! let me hear, 
To still my unbelieving fear, 

Nor let me fall, I pray. 



1 Thou art gone up on high 

To mansions in the skies, 
And round Thy throne unceasingly 

The songs of praise arise. 
But we are lingering here, 

With sin and care oppress'd ; 
Lord ! send Thy promised Comforter, 

And lead us to Thy rest ! 

2 Thou art gone up on high : 

But Thou didst first come down, 
Through earth's most bitter agony 

To pass unto Thy crown : 
And girt with griefs and fears 

Our onward course must be ; 
But only let that path of tears 

Lead us, at last, to Thee ! 

3 Thou art gone up on high : 

But Thou shalt come again, 
With all the bright ones of the sky 

Attendant in Thy train. 
Oh ! by Thy saving power, 

So make us live and die, 
That we may stand, in that dread hour, 

At Thy right hand on high ! 



EMMA TOKB. 



COME; LORD JESUS, 
s. M. 

1 The weary night seems long, 

Of ages dark with sin ; 
Lord Jesus, quickly, quickly come, 
And take Thy wanderers in. 

2 We watch the orient sky, 

As for the morning star, 
And list the welcome trumpet call, 
Resounding near and far. 

3 Oh ! send the Comforter, 

That we may patient wait, 
And in Thy vineyard faithful work, 
Nor loiter at the gate. 




WATCHING AND WAITING. 



SECOND COMING OF CHRIST. 



255 



4 Yet no man, Lord, can tell, 

Nor angel nearest Thee, 
When our adored, returning Christ, 
In glory we shall see. 

5 But now, e'en now return, 

Within our hearts to live, 
That we may, Saviour, unto Thee 
Our true devotion give. 

6 So, if we see Thee first 

Appearing in the sky — 

Or if, on slowly dying beds, 

Our heads shall lowly lie, 

7 We'll pray, Lord Jesus, come ! 

And make our hearts Thy home, 
Till every blood-bought, ransomed power, 
Thy gracious rule shall own. 

EMILY P. WILLIAMS. 

Appleton City, Mo., 1884. 



COMING. 
''At even, or at midnight, or at the cock-crowing in the morning.' 

1 It may be in the evening, 

When the work of the day is done, 
And you have time to sit in the twilight 

And watch the sinking sun, 
While the long bright day dies slowly 

Over the sea, 
And the hour grows quiet and holy 

With thoughts of Me ; 
While you hear the village children 

Passing along the street, 
Among those thronging footsteps 

May come the sound of My feet. 
Therefore I tell you : Watch 

By the light of the evening star, 
When the room is growing dusky 

As the clouds afar ; 
Let the door be on the latch 

In your home, 
For it may be through the gloaming 

I will come. 

2 It may be when the midnight 

Is heavy upon the land, 
And the black waves lying dumbly 

Along the sand ; 
When the moonless night draws close, 
And the lights are out in the house ; 

When the fires burn low and red, 
And the watch is ticking loudly 

Beside the bed : 



Though you sleep, tired out, on your couch, 
Still your heart must wake and watch 

In the dark room, 
For it may be that at midnight 

I will come. 



3 It may be at the cockcrow, 
When the night is dying slowly 

In the sky, 
And the sea looks calm and holy, 

Waiting for the dawn 

Of the golden sun 

Which draweth nigh ; 
When the mists are on the valleys, shading 

The rivers chill. 
And my morning star is fading, fading 

Over the hill : 
Behold I say unto you : Watch ; 
Let the door be on the latch, 

In your home ; 
In the chill before the dawning, 
Between the night and morning, 

I may come. 



4 It may be in the morning, 

When the sun is bright and strong 
And the dew is glittering sharply 

Over the little lawn ; 
When the waves are laughing loudly 

Along the shore, 
And the little birds are singing sweetly 

About the door ; 
Witli the long clay's work before you, 

You rise up with the sun, 
And the neighbors come in to talk a little 

Of all that must be done, 
But remember that I may be the next 

To come in at the door, 
To call you from all your busy work 

Forevermore : 
As you work you must watch, 
For the door is on the latch 

In your room, 
And it may be in the morning 

I will come. 



5 So He passed down my cottage garden, 
By the path that leads to the sea, 
Till He came to the turn of the little road 

Where the birch and laburnum tree 
Lean over and arch the waj r ; 
There I saw Him a moment say, 
And turn once more to me, 

As I wept at the cottage door, 
And lift up His hands in blessing — 
Then I saw His face no more. 



3S56 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



6 And I stood still in the doorway, 

Leaning against the wall, 
Not heeding the fair white roses, 

Though I crushed them and let them fall ; 
Only looking down the pathway, 

And looking toward the sea, 
And wondering, and wondering 

When He would come back for me ; 
Till I was aware of an Angel 

Who going swiftly by, 
With the gladness of one who goeth 

In the light of God Most High. 

7 He passed the end of the cottage 

Toward the garden gate — 
I suppose He was come down, 
At the setting of the sun, 
To comfort some one in the village 

Whose dwelling was desolate, — 
And he paused before the door 

Beside my place, 
And the likeness of a smile 

Was on his face : 
" Weep not," he said, "for unto you is given 

To watch for the coming of His feet 
Who is the glory of our blessed Heaven ; 
The work and watching will be very sweet, 

Even in an earthly home ; 
And in such an hour as you think not 

He will come. 
9 So I am watching quietly 

Every day, 
Whenever the sun shines brightly, 

I rise and say : 
" Surely it is the shining of His face ! " 
And look unto the gates of His high place 

Beyond the sea : 
For I know He is coming shortly 

To summon me. 
And when a shadow falls across the window 

Of my room, 
Where I am working my appointed task, 
I lift my head to watch the door, and ask, 

If He is come ; 
And the Angel answers sweetly, in my home : 
" Only a few more shadows, 

And He will come." 

MBS. B. MAUANDREW. 



AND THEY ALSO WHICH PIERCED HIM. 



1 Wrapped in fine linen, odorous with spices, 

Take the loved form, so marred and pierced and 

bruised ; 
In the new sepulchre within the garden 
It will rest sweetly. 

2 Break not the silence by your fruitless weeping — 
Wrong is triumphant, death has played the victor ; 
Roll up the stone and seal the tomb securely 

For the pale sleeper ! 

3 Ask of the angel who from heaven descended, 
Rolling the stone back for the risen Saviour, — 
Snow-white His raiment, and His face as lightning, — 

Was wrong triumphant ? 

4 Ask of the chosen who so soon beheld Him, 

As in a cloud from out their gaze He vanished : — 

Ask of the two in white, who spoke beside them 

Words of great promise, 

5 " Why stand ye gazing up into the heaven ? 
For this same Jesus who is parted from you 
Shall in like manner come again, descending 

In clouds of glory," 

6 Then shall God call to continent and island, 
And from lone cavern, tomb and ocean recess, 
Summon each sleeper quickly to His presence ; 

All eyes shall see Him. 

7 Ah ! and they also — what a world of meaning ! 
Trembling among them, shall be gathered also, 
Calling for pity on the rocks and mountains, 

" They who once pierced Him ! " 

JULIA P. BALLAKD, 1882. 



End of Devotional Department. 



MISSIONARY DEPARTMENT. 



258 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



ON THE SHOALS. 



1 A cry comes over the deep, 

Wailing of dying souls, 
'T is echoed in every heart, 

From those upon the shoals. 
The breakers are dashing high, 

And death is in every wave, 
And wildly ringeth the cry, 

" "We perish, with none to save." 

Refrain. — Ring out the tide of song, 

While prayer its burden rolls, 
That He who rules the storm 
Will bring them off the shoals. 

2 Sweet hope went out with the day, 

Rudder and compass lost ; 
Despair more dark than the night, 

Crowneth the tempest-tossed ; 
No help may come from the sea, 

No succor from the land, 
Say, must they perish, and we 

Reach never to them a hand ? 

3 Quick ! point to the saving Rock 

Looming from out the deep, 
Whose beacon the perilled souls 

Ever will safely keep ; 
No matter how fierce the storm — 

How madly the billow rolls, 
The light of the Guiding Star 

Will bring them off the shoals. 



MARY B. REESE. 



: by T. C. O'Kane, in "Every Sabbath," pub. by Church &Co. 



AS ONCE OF OLD. 



"And they were all filled with the Holy Ghost."— Acts il : i. 

1 As once of old a chosen band 

Together came " with one accord," 
Intent to learn how best to spread 
The knowledge of their risen Lord ; 

2 As, suddenly, the Spirit came, 

And touched each glowing heart and brow, 
So, with a consecrating flame, 

Anoint, O Lord, Thy servants now. 

3 Give us that Spirit's power to feel, 

Baptize each soul with holy fire ; 
And with devotion's burning zeal 
Do Thou our every thought inspire. 

4 Then can we move, a conquering host, 

Jesus our Leader and our Lord ; 
With highest power to save the lost, 
And lead them upward to our God. 

MRS. K. W. CLARK. 



SOUND THE PRAISE. OF JESUS. 

(Tune— "Ring the Bella of Heaven.") 

1 Sound the praise of Jesus over land and sea, 
Sing the love of Him who rescued me, 
Saved me from destruction in the stormy hour, 
Sound the praise of Jesus, sing His power. 

Ref. — Sound the praise of Jesus, sound it far and wide, 
Tell the lands of Christ the Crucified. 

2 Sound the praise of Jesus, sound it far and wide, 
Tell the lands of Christ the Crucified ; 

Tell the weary sinner that Jesus came to save, 
That His might has conquered e'en the grave. 

3 Sound the praise of Jesus, fill the air with song, 
Honor, glory unto Him belong ; 

Tell the careless sinner Jesus waits to hear, 
Waits to help the weak and soothe their fear. 

4 Sound the praise of Jesus in the early morn, 
Tell the truth, ye must again be born ; " 
Sound it in the noontide, in the evening hour, 
Swell the song triumphant, sing His power. 

EMMA PITT. 
Set to music by H. W. Porter, in "Gospel Light." 



BEHOLD THE NATIONS KNEELING. 

(Sung at two Missionary Meetings in Cincinnati Presbytery.) 

1 Behold the Nations kneeling 

'Neath far-off Eastern skies ! 
They call to us, appealing, 

Oh ! hear their .mournful cries ! 
" Our land," they say, " is shrouded 

In darkness and in gloom ; 
Our eyes, with tears beclouded, 

Look forth to hopeless doom." 

2 Hark ! hark ! what strains of anguish 

Seem mingling with that cry ! 
" Must we, unaided, languish ? 

All unforgiven die ? 
Our gods they do not answer, 

In vain for help we sue, 
Oh! tell us of your Saviour ! 

Will He not save us too ? " 

3 O Christians ! do ye hear it — 

That cry from o'er the sea ? 
The swift winds haste to bear it, 

Yet slow to help are ye. 
Arouse ye from your slumbers, 

The time wears fast away ; 
And souls in countless numbers 

Are perishing to-day ! 

LOUISE W. TILDEN. 






FOREIGN MISSIONS. MONTHLY MEETINGS. 



259 



JESUS, LORD OF LIGHT AND LIFE! 



THE GOSPEL LIGHT. 



(Tune—" Horton.") 

1 Jesus, Lord of Light and Life ! 

Elder brother, unseen guide ! 
Help us drop the great world-strife ; 
In Thy Word alone confide. 

2 Help us heed Thy pleading" " Come " 

To the weary, burden'd heart ; 
Use each power of thought and tongue, 
Consecrate, and set apart. 

3 Easy, then, Thy mandate, " Go ! 

Teach My word o'er land and sea ; " 
So Thy Spirit will o'erflow 

Fettered souls, that may be free. 

4 "When all mission work is done, 

No more message from above , 
Then will earth and heaven be one, 
One eternity of love. 

ALICE M'ELROY GRIFFITH. 

Springfield, 111., Oct., 1884. 

See page 812. 



WATCHMAN ON THE WALLS OF ZION. 



1 Watchman on the walls of Zion, 

Tell, Oh ! tell us of the night ; 
Dost thou see the star of promise, 

Is it shining clear and bright ? 
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! 

O'er the mountains' towering height, 
See it rising and ascending, 

Millions hail its welcome light. 

2 Watchman on the walls of Zion, 

Will Messiah, they have slain, 
Bring the banished sons of Judah 

To their native hills again ? 
Hallelujah ! God is ever 

Mindful of His chosen race ; 
Though in exile, He'll restore them 

To a Father's dear embrace. 

3 Watchman on the walls of Zion, 

Tell us of the future time ; 
When shall peace and holy union 

Bind the soul of every clime ? 
Where the spark of love and glory, 

Kindled to a living flame, 
Makes the heart of every Christian 

Feel and throb, and burn the same. 

FANNY CROSBY. 

From "Sunday School Banner," by per. Biglow & Main. 



(Tune— "Webb, or Missionary Hymn.") 

1 Across the heathen darkness 

The light of God has shone, 
And through Heaven's ringing arches 

Salvation's trump has blown ; 
While India's sombre shadows 

And Siam's idol-domes 
Are glowing with the gospel, 

Sent out from Christian homes. 

2 'Mong Persia's richest treasures, 

And who can number them ? 
There shines with brightest lustre 

The Star of Bethlehem ; 
Fair dawn of the hereafter, — 

The sun of peace shall rise, 
And o'er all heathen nations 

Spread gladness in the skies ! 

3 Then wake, and tell the story ; 

Let all who love the Lord 
Repeat the wondrous tidings, 

And sing with one accord 
The glorious heaven-born anthems. 

Then shall the echo roll 
Through every land and country, 

And reach from pole to pole. 

4 Then shall earth's sons and daughters, 

Inspired with earnest zeal, 
Rise up to pray and labor 

With purpose true and real ; 
And in the whitened harvest 

The reaper's sickle cast, 
Shall winnow sheaves of glory 

For God's own praise at last. 

IDA SCOTT TAYLOR. 
Jacksonville, 111., 1884, 

FROM OUR SISTERS. 

" Come over into Macedonia, and help us."— Acts xvi : 9. 

7s. 

(Tune.—" Benevento, or Spanish Hymn."\ 

1 From our sisters comes the wail, 
" Give us light : our idols fail ! 
Help us bury in the dust, 
Hoary fanes in which we trust ! 
Give us light ! " thus, ceaselessly, 
Call they o'er the Bengal sea ; 

Cry they, too, from Turkey's strand, 
And from Afric's darkened land. 

2 By the sufferings Christ hath borne, 
By the Holy Father's frown 

Cast on Him for thy sins' sake, 

Christian sister, offerings make ; 

Speed the story of the cross ; 

For Christ's sake, count all things loss ; 

Be thou faithful, toil and pray, 

Till earth's kingdom own his sway. 



260 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



TRUSTING JESUS. 

"She hath done what she could."— Mark xlv: 8. 

7s. 
(Tune— "PleyeVs Hymn.") 

1 In the wondrous times of old, 

God, His purpose grand and true, 
Did to woman oft unfold, 
Bidding her His will to do. 
Chorus. — Ringing through this Christian land 
Comes to woman now the word, 
" Teach the nations ! " — great command 
Of our glorious, risen Lord. 

2 Though but weak our hands, and small, 

Though but humble be our lot, 
Still to each the clarion call 

God is sounding, " Falter not ! " 

3 Trusting Him whose mighty power 

Makes us strong to do and dare, 
Seize we now the present hour, 
In the work our part to bear. 

ABBIE B. CHILD. 



LIGHT FOR THE GENTILES I 

'Upon the handmaids an those days' will I pour -out my spirit."— Joel ii: 
(Tune— '"America.") 

1 Light for the Gentiles ! Light ! 
On those in deepest night, 

Let light arise ! 
O Sun of Righteousness ! 
Send Thy bright beams to bless ; 
Pity their helplessness ; 

Open their eyes. 

2 For the heathen women, light ! 
On whom sin's deadly blight 

Hopelessly lies : 

From dark Zenana halls, 

In Afric's loathsome kraals, 

'Mid Turkish harem walls, 

Hear their sad cries. 

3 Light for the nations ! Light ! 
Rise in thy glorious might, 

Saviour divine : 
Unloose sin's icy bands ; 
Lift up the feeble hands ; 
Soon may the heathen lands 

Be wholly thine ! 

4 Light for Thy handmaids ! Light ! 
All weakness in Thy sight 

We come to-day. 
Gathered from far and near, 
Give us the listening ear, 
Thy guiding voice to hear — 

Hear and obey. 

ABBIE B. CHILD. 



INVOCATION. 

(Tune— "Duke Street.") 

1 O Thou, the Everlasting One, 
Hallowed Thy name, Thy will be done. 
From earth below, and hosts above, 

Be praise to Thy redeeming love. 

2 'Tis to this love we make appeal, 

' Tis Thine to pardon, Thine to heal. 
Pour on our souls a fount of light, 
And help to make conviction bright. 

3 The spirit with unuttered groan 

Wafts our faint cry to Thy great throne, 
Bid sweet response our being fill — 
" Fear not, for I am with you still." 

4 Then let our faith its joy proclaim ; 
Glory to our Immanuel's name ! 
Glory to Christ of Calvary's fame ! 
Glory, for all, a Saviour came. 



MRS. L. D. 

Delmar, Iowa, 1883. 

OUR FIELD IS THE WORLD. 

"Sow beside all waters."— Is. xxxii: 20. 
(Tune— "How firm a foundation") 

1 Our field is the world ! let us forth to the sowing ; 

O'er valley and mountain, o'er desert and plain ; 
Beside the still waters thro' cool meadows flowing ; 
O'er regions unblest by the dew and the rain : 

2 Let us scatter the seed, tho' in sorrow and weeping ; 

Tho' fields should be verdureless, wint'ry and bare ; 
The Lord of the harvest hath still in His keeping 
Each seed as it falls, and will guard it with care. 

3 Our field is the world ! let us forth to the reaping ; 

The long day is waning, the eve draweth nigh ; 
Faint omens of storm up the heavens are creeping, 
The sigh of the tempest is heard in the sky 

4 The work-hour is brief, and the rest is forever ; 

Then stay not for weariness, languor nor pain, 
But forth to the harvest with earnest endeavor, 
And gather with gladness the sheaves that remain. 

5 Our field is the world ! let us forth to the gleaning ; 

The stores may be small that our labors reward ; 
But One from the height of His glory is beaming, 
Attent to behold what we do for the Lord. 

6 Where haply some reaper has passed on with singing, 

O'erladen with sheaves for the garner above, 
May yet be some handfuls that wait for our bringing, 
To crown with completeness the stores of His love. 

7 Our field is the world ! whether sowing or reaping, 

Or gleaning the handfuls that others have passed ; 
Or waiting the growth of the seed that with weeping 
On rocky and desolate plains we have cast. 

8 Then each for his reaping, and each for his mourning, 

Shall sometime rejoice when the harvest is won, 
And know, in the flush of eternity's morning, 
The toil, the reward, and the glory are one ! 

MBS. J. C. YtTLE. 
Set to music by J. E. Hall, in "Mission Songs." 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. MONTHLY MEETINGS. 



261 



ASCENSION HYMN. 



Words and Music by FRANCES RIDLEY HA VERGAL. 





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2 He who came to save us, 
He who bled and died. 
Now is crowned with gladness 

At His Father's side. 
Nevermore to suffer, 
Nevermore to die : 
Jesus, King of Glory, 
Is gone up on high. 

All His work is ended, 

Joyfully we sing, 
Jesus hath ascended ! 
Glory to our King ! 



3 Praying for His children 
In that blessed place, 
Calling them to glory, 

Sending them His grace 
His bright home preparing, 

Christians, now for you 
Jesus ever liveth, 
Ever loveth too. 

All His work is ended, 

Joyfully we sing, 
Jesus hath ascended ! 
Glory to our King ! 



262 



WOMAN IN SACKED SONG. 

GOD WITH US. 



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2 God with us ! the eternal Son 
Took our soul, our flesh, our bone ; 
Now, ye saints, Plis grace admire, 
Swell the song with holy fire. 

3 God with us ! but tainted not 
With the first transgressor's blot ; 
Yet did He our sins sustain, 
Bear the gmlt, the curse, the pain. 

4 God with us ! Oh ! wondrous grace ! 
Let us see Him face to face ; 
That we may Immanuel sing, 

As we ought, our God and King ! 



SARAH SLINN. 1779. 



OH I SING TO THE LORD. 



1 Oh ! sing to the Lord ! and give thanks tc His name, 
In songs of rejoicing His wonders proclaim ; 

His mercy and goodness exultingly sing ; 

His strength is our fortress, our covert His wing. 

2 Oh ! sing to the Lord ! who hath guided our way ; 
The cloud of His presence by night and by day 
Hath rested above us to guide and protect ; 

Its brightness to cheer, and its sign to direct. 

3 n ! sing to the Lord ! for His mercies are sure ; 
His great loving-kindness shall ever endure : 
The heavens may tremble, the earth may remove, 
Yet firm and unshaken His mercies shall prove. 

MRS. PHCEBE PALMER. 



INVOCATION I 

(Tune— " Varina.") 

1 Come, Holy Spirit, source of all 

The good I think or do ; 
Take full possession of my heart, 

And bless my soul anew ; 
For I would walk with perfect faith, 

So formed in every grace, 
That Christ shall show in every act, 

And shine within my face. 

2 Come, Holy Spirit, let me feel 

Thy presence day by day ; 
I cannot do my Father's work, 

Unless Thou always stay. 
So fill my heart with humble love, 

So frame my every word, 
That I shall have no room for boast 

Save in my precious Lord. 

3 Come, Holy Spirit, when life's storms 

Are darkly round me blown, 
And fill my mind with perfect peace, 

That comes from Thee alone ; 
And lest life's sunshine dazzle me, 

And grieve Thee from my heart, 
Stay Thou, and with Thy purer light, 

Show me how fair Thou art. 



MATTIE PEARSON SMITH. 



PRAYER FOR MISSIONS. 

(Tune— " Howard.") 

1 Blest Lord, who hungry thousands fed, 
Look with a pitying eye, 
Where fainting for the living bread, 
The heathen nations lie. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. MONTHLY MEETINGS. 



263 



2 Light in our hearts that ardent flame 

Which brought Thee from above, 
That we may long to teach Thy name, 
And glorify Thy love ; 

3 That we may take the food divine, 

From Thy creating hands, 
And, though unnumbered millions pine, 
Feed all the starving lands. 

4 Grant that before Thy judgment-seat 

No soul may have to say, 
When Thou didst bid, " Give them to eat," 
"I hungry went away." 

MRS. GALUSHA ANDERSON. 

Chicago, IU. 



HYMN FOR MISSIONARY WORKERS. 
(Tune— "Sweet Borne. 4 ') 

We hear a low wailing from over the wave ; 
The breeze bears it onward, it calls us to save ; 
Our sisters forsaken we bring them to Thee, — 
The poor lonely souls on life's desolate sea. 

Christ, Christ, only to Thee, 
We bring these poor souls on life's desolate sea. 
Let us hasten, my sisters, send forth the glad word 
That women are free in the name of the Lord ; 
That the dear Father loves her, and opens the way 
Where the weakest may enter from night to the day. 

Haste, haste, bear the glad word 
That woman is free in the name of the Lord. 

MRS. S. BRONSON TITTERINGTON. 



PROVIDENCE. 



Psalm xc. Tune— "Howard. CM: 



LTTELLA CLARK. 



Melody by MRS. CUTHBERT. 
Arr. by L. MASON. 




2 A thousand years, Lord, in Thy sight, 

Are but as yesterday, 
Or one brief watch of passing night 
That hastes to flee away. 

3 Before Thee generations pass 

As with a swelling flood, 
Like sleep, or flower of morning grass 
That withers in its bud. 

4 For by Thine anger we consume 

And by Thy wrath we fear ; 
Thou dost our secret sins illume 
And make transgressions clear. 

5 Return, return ; O Lord, how long ? 

And let Thy wrath repent ; 
Oh ! turn our mourning into song 
Ere all our days be spent. 



6 For as a tale too quickly told, 

We pass our fleeting years ; 

Like generations, Lord, of old, 

In ceaseless toil and tears. 

7 Oh ! with Thy mercy satisfy 

And let our hearts be glad, 

In measure like to that whereby 

Thy judgments made us sad. 

8 And let the beauty of the Lord 

Our God upon us be, 

According to Thy gracious word 

That we may hope in Thee. 

9 The work in which our hands engage, 

Establish, make it sure, 
O Thou whose works from age to age 
Forevermore endure. 



LUELLA CLARK. 



2G4 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



BENEVOLENT EFFORTS. 



THE WORLD'S CONVERSION. 



1 Cast thy bread upon the waters, 

Thinking not 'tis thrown away; 
God Himself saith, thou shalt gather 
It again some future day. 

2 Cast thy bread upon the waters ; 

Wildly though the billows roll, 
They but aid thee as thou toilest 
Truth to spread from pole to pole. 

3 As the seed, by billows floated, 

To some distant island lone, 
So to human souls benighted, 
That thou flingest may be borne. 

4 Cast thy bread upon the waters ; 

Why wilt thou still doubting stand ? 
Bounteous shall God send the harvest, 
If thou sow'st with liberal hand. 

MES. J. H. HANAFOED, 1852. 



1 Hasten, Lord ! the glorious time 

When, beneath Messiah's sway, 
Every nation, every clime, 

Shall the gospel's call obey. 
Mightiest kings His power shall own, 

Heathen tribes His name adore ; 
Satan and his host, o'erthrown, 

Bound in chains, shall hurt no more. 

2 Then shall wars and tumults cease, 

Then be banished grief and pain ; 
Righteousness and joy and peace 

Undisturbed shall ever reign. 
Bless we, then, our gracious Lord ; 

Ever praise His glorious name ; 
All His mighty acts record ; 

All His wondrous love proclaim. 



REDEMPTION MORNING. 



CONVERSION OF THE WORLD. 

1 Sovereign of worlds ! display Thy power ; 
Be this Thy Zion's favored hour ; 

Bid the bright Morning Star arise, 
And point the nations to the skies. 

2 Set up Thy throne where Satan reigns, — 
On Afric's shore, on India's plains, 

On wilds and continents unknown, — 
And make the nations all Thine own. 

3 Speak ! and the world shall hear Thy voice ; 
Speak ! and the desert shall rejoice ; 
Scatter the gloom of heathen night, 

And bid all nations hail the light. 

MES. YOKE. 



"And turneth the shadows of death into morning."— Amos v: 8. 
(Tune— " From Greenland! s icy mountains.") 

1 Beyond the rolling billows, across the ocean broad, 

The heathen are imploring, to know the Christian's 
God. 

Shall heathen souls in darkness await the promised 
day, 

While children of God's mercy His sacred trust be- 
tray ? 

Our hearts in glad thanksgiving, a willing tribute 
bring, 

To bear afar the tidings, that all may know our King, 

And may that morn's bright glory dispel sin's dark- 
'ning pall, 

Till ev'ry soul shall worship the Lord who died for 
all. 

MISS M. E. SERVOBS, 1882. 
From "Gates of Praise." 
Set to music with chorus, by E. S. Lorenz. 



SOON MAY THE LAST GLAD SONG 

1 Soon may the last glad song arise 
Through all the millions of the skies — 
That song of triumph which records 
That all the earth is now the Lord's ! 

2 Let thrones and powers and kingdoms be 
Obedient, mighty God, to Thee ! 

And, over land and stream and main, 
Wave Thou the sceptre of Thy reign ! 

3 Oh ! let the glorious anthem swell, 
Let host to host the triumph tell, 
That not one rebel heart remains, 
But over all the Saviour reigns ! 

MES. YOKE. 



THY KINGDOM COME. 



1 Lord, when we pray, " Thy kingdom come," 

Then fold our hands, without a care 
For souls whom Jesus died to save, 

We do but mock Thee with our prayer. 

2 Thou couldst have sent an angel-band 

To call Thy straying children home, 
And thus, through heavenly ministries, 
On earth Thy kingdom might have come. 

3 But since to human hands like ours, 

Thou hast intrusted work divine, 
Shall not our eager hearts make haste 
To join their feeble powers with Thine ? 



FOPEIGN MISSIONS. MONTHLY MEETINGS. 



265 



4 To work and word, shalt not our hands 

Rejoicing move, nor lips be dumb, 
Lest, through our sinful love of ease, 
Thy kingdom should delay to come ? 

5 To hold our every power and thought 

Obedient to Thy least command, 
Whether Thy blessed purposes 
We can, or cannot, understand ; 

6 To sow the seed in every soil ; 

To bring the word of .life to men ; 
To give, as Thou has given to us, 
Hoping for no reward again — 

7 To do all this, while in our thought 

No pride or vain self-trust finds room, 
This is to pray, with honest heart, 

And purpose true — " Thy kingdom come.' 



SALVATION MORNING. 

"The glory of the Lord is riseu upon thee."— Isa. be: 1. 

1 What means this glorious radiance 

Across Judea's plain ? 
These white-winged angels singing 
In such exultant strain. 
Chorus. — The King of Glory cometh, 

Earth's broken hearts to bind, 
And God's salvation morning 
Hath dawned for all mankind. 

2 What means this wondrous story 

The holy angels tell ? 
Of one who reigned in heaven, 
And now on earth would dwell. 

3 Why bend these Eastern sages 

To one of lowly birth ? 
What means this heavenly message 
Of love and peace on earth ? 

4 Te wand'rers in earth's darkness, 

On ocean deep and land, 

Hail, hail the, joyful tidings, 

The morning is at hand. 

MISS M. E. SEBVOSS. 

Set to music by E. 8. Loreuz. 

In "Happy Voices." 

SHALL WE. 

CM. Double. 

(Tune— " Varina.") 

I. 

1 Shall we, surrounded by the blaze 

Of intellectual light 
With which God's word illumes the ways 

Of Evil and of Right,— 
Reveals His wondrous, matchless love, 

His mercy, truth and grace, 
His power, that nothing can disprove 

In any age, or place ; 



2 Who know by faith the Christ who came 

To save from sin's sad doom, 
To rob death of its sting, and claim 

Even from the grave its gloom ; 
To tell us of His Father's house 

Of many mansions, where 
We, as joint heirs with Him, may claim, 

In everything a share ; 

3 Who have the precious bread of life, 

The living waters sweet ; 
The truth that will outlive all strife ; 

The way to rest complete ; 
The Comforter with us alway, 

Whatever may betide, 
The magic key whene'er we pray 

God's heart to open wide ; 

4 Who know, because our Father holds 

The waters in His hand, 
And every element controls 

Of sky, or sea, or land, 
We need not fear ; all, all is well, 

Above each cloud, each blast, 
God's covenant in rainbow hues 

Benignantly is cast. 



1 Shall we, Oh ! dare we, thus so blest, 

With light, and faith, and hope, 
In selfish, careless pleasure rest, 

While millions blindly grope 
In heathen darkness, seeing nought 

Where all to us is clear, 
Having but vague, erroneous thought, 

Of all we hold most dear ? 

2 No, no indeed ! That were a sin 

Not easily forgiven ; 
A heinous crime that well might bar 

For us the gates of heaven. 
Therefore unitedly we pray 

And work for means and ways, 
Our debt of gratitude to pay 

And spread the Saviour's praise. 

3 Father Almighty ! kindly deign 

To be our Guide, our Friend, 
To bless our walk, and teach us how 

Efficiently to send 
Thy word to those who give to wood, 

Birds, beasts, and lifeless stone, 
The homage, faith, and trust that should 

Be given to Thee alone. 

ANGELINE A. FUUBS. 
Savanna, 111., Feb. 9, 1884. 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



HASTEN, O LORD I 



HE COMETH. 



"I, the Lord, will hasten it in His time."— Isa. lx : 22. 

1 Hasten, O Lord ! that happy time, 

That dear, expected, blessed day, 
When men of every race and clime 
The Saviour's precepts shall obey. 

2 In one sweet symphony of praise 

Gentile and Jew shall then unite, 
And all the wrongs which man has wrought 
Sink in th' abyss of endless night. 

3 Then Afric's long-enslaved sons 

Shall join with Europe's polished race, 
To celebrate, in different tongues, 
The glories of redeeming grace. 

4 From east to west, from north to south, 

Immanuel's kingdom shall extend ; 
And every man, in every face, 

Shall meet a brother and a friend. 



(Tune— "Home Sweet Home, or Porlutjueae Hymn.") 
"As the lightning cometh out of the east and shineth even unto the west." 

1 Rejoice and be glad, all ye isles of the sea, 

Your Redeemer, your King, cometh forth, cometh 
forth ; 
Wide, wide as the wings of the wind moveth He, 
And His goings encircle the ends of the earth. 

2 Oh ! wait for His law, and rejoice in His reign, 

When trouble and strife and contention are o'er ; 
When gone are oppression and sorrow and pain, 
And joy is o'er all on the sea and the shore. 

3 Oh ! lift up your heads, ye glad mountains, and sing, 

In the light flowing down from the mansions above; 
Oh ! smile, all ye ends of the earth, for your King, 
And rest, all ye lands, in the light of His love. 

AtTRILLA FURBER. 

Cottage Grove. Minn., 1883. 



MISSIONARY HYMN. 

1 From the snowy Alpine mountain, 
With its summit upward pointing, 
Whence the clear and sparkling fountain 

Floweth thro' the smiling vale, 
Hark ! upon the breezes speeding, 
Sounds the cry of nations pleading, 
" Come, for we a guide are needing, 

We will bid the truth all hail ! " 

2 From the tropic's green savanna, 
Where the palm-tree waves its banner, 
And the bread-fruit drops its manna, 

With the joyous song of bird 
And the gentle zephyr blending, 
Hear the voice of prayer ascending, 
While the Highest's ear is bending, 

" Send, O Lord, to us Thy word !" 

3 From the azure realms of ocean, 
'Mid the winds' and waves' commotion, 
Toilers with a true devotion, 

Raise the earnest cry once more : 
"Who, from earth's enchantments riven, 
Will the seaman tell of Heaven, 
That to him that port be given 

When his wanderings are o'er ? " 

4 Shall we, all these cries unheeding, 

. O'er life's flowery paths be speeding, 
While few Christian hands are leading 

To the fold earth's scattered band? 
Lord, we bow in deep contrition ; 
May we here fulfill Thy mission, 
Till at length in Heaven's fruition, 

We shall dwell at Thy right hand. 



ALDRICH. 1858. 



COME AND HELP US. 

Tune— "Sicily" or "Autumn." 

1 From the Arctic's wintry circle, 

Where the glitt'ring ice-king reigns, 
And the sun but dimly shineth 

On the cold and frozen plains, 
Comes the cry of waiting spirits, 

Starving for the living bread, — 
Who will go to those dark regions, 

Life and light and bliss to spread ? 

2 From the tropic isles of ocean, 

Fair as Eden's garden bowers, 
Where bright birds, with songs entrancing, 

Sip the honey from sweet flowers, 
Where the eye may feast on beauty 

Of which man has scarcely dreamed, 
" Come and teach us," hear them crying," 

" Faintly hath the day-star beamed." 

3 Who those distant realms will visit? 

Who the Saviour's cross will bear 
To those long-benighted nations, 

Shrinking not from toil or care ? ' 
Who will count their lives as nothing, 

Thus the true and earnest love 
Which is in their bosoms glowing, 

To those darkened souls to prove ? 

4 O Thou dear and blessed Saviour, 

Shepherd of thine Israel, 
Help some pure and noble spirits 

To bid home and friends farewell, 
And among those distant regions 

Gladly tread their thorny way, 
That those sin-enshrouded nations 

May behold Thy gospel's ray. 

8CTSIE V. ALDRICH 1858. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. MONTHLY MEETINGS. 



267 



THE GLADSOME TIDINGS. 

(Tune— "Harwell," or "Memories of Earth") 

1 Hear ye now the gladsome tidings, 

Christ, the Prince of peace, draws near 
Shout the news to every nation, 
Till the world is full of cheer. 
Chorus. — Glory, glory, in the highest, 
Hear the angels sing again, 
Glorj', glory, in the highest, 

Peace on earth, good will to men. 

2 Lo ! the Morning Star has risen 

O'er a dark and ruined earth, 
And from out the heav'nly portals 
Is proclaimed a Saviour's birth. 

3 Lift your heads, ye heavy-hearted, 

Shout for joy ! ye captive souls ; 
Christ, the great Deliv'rer, cometh : 
How the heav'nly music rolls. 

4 Now the Lord of glory waiteth, 

To redeem a world from sin ; 
Throw each heart's-door wide to greet him ; 
Bid the King Immanuel in. 

MISS M. E. SERTOSS. 

Set to music by Adam Geibel. 
Copyright, 1879, by F. A. North & Co., and used by per. 

WHY SHOULD WE BE DISCOURAGED? 
(Tune— "Webb.") 

1 Why should we be discouraged ? 

Why let our hearts complain ? 
Why seek Ave for a harvest 

Among the springing grain ? 
'Tis ours to do the sowing; 

'T is God's to give the yield ; 
Then wander not, complaining, 
About the Master's field. 
Chorus. — So work with earnest patience, 
Each power and talent wield ; 
'T is ours to do the sowing ; 
'T is God's to give the yield. 

2 And if He to the harvest 

Call others in our stead, 
And if our ripened vintage 

Another comes to tread ; 
The Father knows our talents ; 

Appoints to each his task ; 
And strength to do His pleasure 

Is all that we should ask. 

3 Then leave to God the planning ; 

Perhaps if we could stand 
And see the ripened harvest 

Throughout the Lord's broad land, 
Then we might claim the honor, 

The glory and the fame, 
And, in our self-extolling, 

Forget the Father's name. 



GO SPEAK IN TONGUES OF FLAME. 

(Tune— "Varina.") 

1 Go tell the wondrous news abroad, 

Go speak in tongues of flame ! 
For Saul, the great, the Christian's foe, 

Now tells of Jesus' name ; 
What wondrous faith, what wondrous change, 

His sinful works undo ! 
He talked with Jesus in the way, 

And now he loves Him too. 

2 And there are those with us to-day, 

Like Saul, of glorious fame, 
Because they know not Jesus' love, 

Revile at Jesus' name : 
O wondrous change, O wondrous faith ! 

If they our Saviour knew, 
They'd talk with Jesus in the way, 

They'd praise and love Him too. 

3 O ye who know a Saviour's love, 

Go speak in tongues of flame, 
Till every faithless, doubting heart, 

Shall learn of Jesus' name ; 
O wondrous faith, O wondrous love, 

Our Father's work to do ; 
To talk with Jesus in the way, 

To praise and love Him too. 



From "Crowning Triumph," by per. R A. North & Co. 



SOWING AND REAPING. 

C. M. 

"He that goeth forth weeping, yet bearing precious seed, shall come 

again with joy bearing his sheaves with him." 

1 seed of truth, once faithful sown 

With many prayers and tears, 
In hope of bounteous harvests, grown 
In future prosperous years, — 

2 How fair to-day the ripened fields 

Gleam on our widening view ! 
The seed abundant fruitage yields, 
The laborers, how few ! 

3 More husbandmen, O Lord, wilt Thou 

To field and vineyard send ; 
Where every stalk, and vine, and bough, 
With clustering fruit doth bend. 

4 Ye toilers in the Master's field, 

Where others labored long ; 
The sturdy arm of effort wield, 
Still steadfast be, and strong; 

5 Thrust in the sickle, where the plain 

Stands thick with golden ears, — 
A billowy sea of ripened grain, 
The fruit of toilsome years. 

6 Lo ! they, who went forth weeping then, 

In early, darker days, 
To bring their sheaves, are come again 
With songs of joy and praise ! 

MARY C. WEBSTER. 

Rocky Hill. Conn., 1883. 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



HAVE YOU NOT A WORD FOR JESUS? 

1 Have you not a word for Jesus ? 

Will the world His praise proclaim ? 
Who will speak if ye are silent, 

Ye who know the Saviour's name ? 
You, whom He hath called and chosen, 

His own witnesses to be, 
Will you tell your gracious Master, 

" Lord, we cannot speak for Thee ! " 

2 " Cannot ! " though He suffered for you, 

Died because He loved you so ! 
" Cannot ! " though He has forgiven, 

Making scarlet white as snow ! 
" Cannot ! " though His grace abounding 

Is your freely promised aid ! 
" Cannot ! " though He stands beside you, 

Though He says, " Be not afraid." 

FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL. 



ONE MORE DAY" 

1 One more day's work for Jesus, 

One less of life for me ! 

But heaven is nearer, and Christ is dearer, 

Than yesterday, to me ; 

His love and light 
Fill all my soul to-night. 

2 One more day's work for Jesus! 

How sweet the work has been, 
To tell the story, to show the glory, 

Where Christ's flock enter in ! 

How it did shine 
In this poor heart of mine ! 

3 One more day's work for Jesus — 

Oh ! yes, a weary day ; 
But heaven shines clearer, and rest comes nearer, 
At each step of the way ; 

And Christ in all — 
Before His face I fall. 

4 Oh ! blessed work for Jesus ! 

Oh ! rest at Jesus' feet ! 
There toil seems pleasure, my wants are treasure, 
And pain for Him is sweet. 

Lord, if I may, 
I'll serve another day ! 

ANNA B. WARNER. 

GO BEAR THE JOYFUL TIDINGS. 

"Go ye into all the world."— Mark xvi : 15. 
(Tune— "Stand up for Jesus.") 

1 Go bear the joyful tidings 

That first, on Judah's plain, 
Awoke the wondering shepherds 

To praise Messiah's name ; 
Exalt the King of glory 

Who left His throne on high, 
And came on earth a ransom, 

For guilty man to die. 



Chokus. — Go sound the gospel trumpet 
Beyond the rolling sea, 
From chains of sin and darkness, 
To set the captive free. 

2 Go in your Master's vineyard, 

And labor heart and hand ; 
The word of life eternal 

Proclaim to every land, — 
The sweet and precious promise 

To all who will believe, 
Free grace and full salvation, 

For all who will receive. 

3 Go tell the broken spirit 

That vainly sighs for rest, 
There is a home in glory, 

A home forever blest ; 
Go bring the lost to Jesus, 

His tender love to share ; 
Go forth to every nation, 

Immortal souls are there. 

4 Haste on your work of mercy, 

The heavenly call obey ; 
Go in the strength of Jesus, 

The true and living way ; 
Go like the old disciples, 

And tread the path they trod ; 
Your duty lies before you, 

Go — leave the rest to God. 



1866, and used by per. Biglow & Main. 

JESUS SAVES. . 

1 We have heard of a joyful sound, 

Jesus saves, Jesus saves ; 
Spread the gladness all around, 

Jesus saves, Jesus saves ; 
Bear the news to every land, 

Climb the steeps and cross the waves i 
Onward ! 'tis our Lord's command; 

Jesus saves, Jesus saves ! 

2 Waft it on the rolling tide, 

Jesus saves, Jesus saves ; 
Tell to sinners, far and wide, 

Jesus saves, Jesus saves ; 
Sing, ye islands of the sea, 

Echo back, ye ocean caves, 
Earth shall keep her jubilee ; 

Jesus saves, Jesus saves ! 

3 Sing above the battling strife, 

Jesus saves, Jesus saves ; 
By His death and endless life, 

Jesus saves, Jesus saves ; 
Sing it softly through the gloom, 

When the heart for mercy craves, 
Sing in triumph o'er the tomb, 

Jesus saves, Jesus saves ! 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. MONTHLY MEETINGS. 



269 



4 Give the winds a mighty voice, 

Jesus saves, Jesus saves ; 
Let the nations now rejoice, 

Jesus saves, Jesus saves ; 
Shout salvation full and free, 

Highest hill and deepest caves, 
This our song of victory, 

Jesus saves, Jesus saves ! 



PRISCILLA J. OWENS. 



From "Songs of Redeeming Love." 

Published by John J. Hood. Edited by Prof. Sweeney, 

C. C. McCabe, T. C. O'Kane and W. J. Kirkpatrick. 



DEAR SAVIOUR OF A DYING WORLD. 

FOR EASTER. 

C. M. 
(Tune— " Howard.") 

1 Dear Saviour of a dying world 

Where grief and change must be, 
In the new grave where Thou wast laid, 

My heart lies down with Thee : 
Oh ! not in cold despair of joy, 

Or weariness of pain, 
But from a hope that shall not die, 

To rise and live again. 

2 I would arise in all Thy strength, 

Thy place on earth to fill ; 
To work out all my time of war 

"With love's unflinching will ; 
Firm against every doubt of Thee 

To all my future way — . 
To walk in Heaven's eternal light 

Throughout the changing day. 

3 Ah ! such a day as Thou shalt own 

When suns have ceased to shine, 
A day of burdens borne by Thee, 

And work that all was Thine. 
Speed Thy bright rising in my heart, 

Thy righteous kingdom speed — 
Till my whole life in concord say, 

"The Lord is risen indeed ! " 

4 Oh ! for an impulse from Thy love, 

With every coming breath, 
To sing that sweet undying song 

Amid the wrecks of death ! 
A " hail ! " to every mortal pang 

That bids me take my right 
To glory in the blessed life 

Which Thou hast brought to light. 

5 I long to see the hallowed earth 

in new creation rise ; 
To find the gems of Eden hid 

■ Where its fallen beauty lies ; 
To feel the spring-tide of the soul 

By one deep love set free ; 
Made meet to lay aside her dust, 

And be at home with Thee. 



6 And then — there shall be yet an end — 

An end how full to bless ! 
How dear to those who watch for Thee 

With human tenderness ; 
Then shall the saying come to pass 

That makes our homes complete, 
And, rising from the conquered grave, 1 

Thy parted ones shall meet. 

7 Yes — they shall meet, and face to face, 

By heart to heart, be known, 
Clothed with Thy likeness, Lord of life, 

And perfect in their own. 
For this corruptible must rise 

From its corruption free, 
And this frail mortal must put on 

Thine immortality. 

8 Shine then, Thou Resurrection Light,' 

Upon our sorrows shine ; 
The fulness of Thy joys be ours, 

As all our griefs were Thine. 
Now in this changing, dying life, 

Our faded hopes restore, 
Till in Thy triumph perfected 

We taste of death no more. 



ANNA L. WARING. 



JESUS CHRIST SHALL COME AGAIN. 



(Tune— "Holy Spirit, Faithful Guide.") 

1 Eager, listening to the words 

From the risen Christ, the Lord, 
Lo ! the waiting people stood, 

Gath'ring close with one accord. 
Then a silence o'er them fell, 

As they gazed upon His face, 
While a cloud ascending bright, 

Hid from view its wondrous grace. 

2 While they stood in sore distress, 

Two arrayed in glist'ning white, 
Suddenly the silence broke, 

Turned their darkness into light ; 
" Jesus Christ shall come again," 

Such the words that thrilled the air, 
"Jesus Christ shall come again, 

Reign victorious everywhere." 

3 Oh! the hours of prayer andpraise, 

As the little waiting band 
Talked of all that He had done, I 

Sought the blessing of His hand. 
Holy Spirit, heavenly power, 

In Thy strength alone we pray ; 
We would faithful witness bear, 

Come to us, Oh ! come to-day. 

MARGARETTE W SNODGRASS. 1882 
From D. C. Cook's "Sabbath School Teachers' Manual.' 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



DIVINE LOVE AS PEACE AND WEALTH 
AND REST. 



(Tune— "Jerusalem, my Happy Home," or "Warwick.") 

1 There is a peace supremely pure, 

A love of holy rest ; 
A sovereign balm, a gracious cure, 
Where souls are free and blest. 

2 There is a trust that gives us room, 

A faith that makes us whole ; 
That glorifies earth's darkest gloom, 
And heals the sin-sick soul. 

3 Faith, with its wealth, comes none too soon, 

Too late it is our loss ; 
'Tis best at morning, and at noon ; 
Without it life is dross. 

MES. L. D, W. FERRIS. 
Delmar, Iowa, 1883. 



DAY BY DAY WE MAGNIFY THEE. 



(Tune— "Missionary Hymn") 

1 With laud and loud thanksgiving, 

Thee, Saviour, we adore, 
The dead, who now art living, 

And shall live evermore ! 
Set in the eternal city 

At God's right hand above, 
The Infinite in pity. 

The Measureless in love. 

2 For Thee the myrrh and spices, 

,And the fine linen's fold ; 
But not for Thee suffices 

The ointment and the gold ; 
Things nobler still and fairer, 

O Saviour ! shall be Thine ; 
Our hearts have offerings rarer, 

Sweet sound and song divine. 

3 And prayer shall grow intenser, 

And love and faith more strong, 
As swings the golden censer, 

As swells the glorious song, 
Up through the minster arches, 

Up to the skies star-sown, 
Where planets in their marches 

Have music of their own. 

4 Till, wafted by devotion, 

Our human voices call, 
Across the crystal ocean, 

Across the jasper wall, 
Unto the city golden, 

Where Christ is on His Throne, 
Where sweeter harps are holden, 

And better hymns are known ; 



5 And blend their measure lowly 

With that eternal lay, 
The " Holy, holy, holy ! " 

That rises night and day ; 
And that great psalm expressing, 

While heaven's far echoes ring, 
" Salvation, glory, blessing, 

And honor to our King '. " 

CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER. 

PROPHECY FULFILLED 

(Tune —"From Greenland's ley Mountains.") 

1 Is there no hope of saving 

This world so vile, yet fair ? 
Is there no " Balm in Gilead," 

No Seer or Prophet there ? 
Must all the hope of ages 

Be lost in black despair ? 
No ark of refuge rearing 

Some souls from death to spare ? 

2 Yes ! lo ! the star appeareth, 

To guide the wise men where 
The babe lies in the manger, 

The Saviour, God's own heir. 
The promised hope of ages 

To Eden's banished pair, 
The sacrifice how costly, 

Despise it who can dare. 

3 Bend low, ye lofty mountains, 

Kneel by their side, ye hills, 
To list the song of angels, 

" On earth peace, and good will." 
Astonished shepherds gazing, 

Adoring, worship still, 
While all around, the brightness 

Of heaven night's spaces fill. 

4 " Hosanna ! in the highest, 

All glory to our King," 
Descending hosts repeating, 

Make heaven's wide arches ring. 
" Go tell the wondrous story, 

The gift to man we bring, 
Hosanna ! Glory — glory — 

To God, our Christ, our King." 



YOUR LAMPS TRIMMED. 

(Tune— "The Morning Light.") 

1 Rejoice, rejoice, believers ! 

And let your lights appear ; 
The shades of eve are thickening, 

And darker night is near ; 
The Bridegroom is advancing, 

Each hour He draws more nigh ; 
Up ! watch and pray, nor slumber ; 

At midnight comes the cry. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. MONTHLY MEETINGS. 



271 



2 See that your lamps are burning, 

Your vessels filled with oil ; 
Wait calmly your deliverance 

From earthly pain and toil : 
The watchers on the mountains 

Proclaim the Bridegroom near ; 
Go, meet Him as He cometh, 

With hallelujahs clear. 

3 The saints, who here in patience 

Their cross and sufferings bore, 
With Him shall reign forever, 

When sorrow is no more ; 
Around the throne of glory 

The Lamb shall they behold, 
Adoring cast before Him 

Their diadems of gold. 

4 Our hope and expectation, 

O Jesus, now appear ! 
Arise, thou Sun so looked-for, 

O'er this benighted sphere ! 
With hearts and hands uplifted, 

We plead, O Lord, to see 
The day of our redemption, 

And ever be with Thee. 



JANE EOBTHTTICK. 



HALLELUJAH. 
(Tune— "Hortcn," Repeat last line of tune.) 

1 Christ the Lord is risen again, 
Christ hath broken every chain ; 
Hark ! augelic voices cry, 
Singing evermore on high, 

Hallelujah ! Praise the Lord ! 

2 He who bore all pain and loss, 
Comfortless, upon the cross, 
Lives in glory now on high, 
Pleads for us, and hears our cry : 

Hallelujah ! Praise the Lord ! • 

3 He who slumbered in the grave 
Is exalted now to save ; 

Now through Christendom it rings, 

That the Lamb is King of kings : 

Hallelujah ! Praise the Lord ! 

4 Now He bids us tell abroad 
How the lost may be restored, 
How the penitent forgiven, 
How we, too, may enter heaven : 

Hallelujah ! Praise the Lord ! 

CATHERINE WINKWORTH, tr. 

THE CHILD OF A KING. 

1 My Father is rich in houses and lands, 

He holdeth the wealth of the world in His hands: 
Of rubies and diamonds, of silver and gold : 
His coffers are full, He has riches untold. 



Chorus. — I'm the child of a King, 
The child of a King ; 
With Jesus my Saviour, 
I'm the child of a King. 

2 My Father's own Son, the Saviour of men, 
Once wandered o'er earth as the poorest of men ; 
But now He is reigning forever on high, 

And will give us a home in the sweet by and by. 

3 I once was an outcast, stranger on earth ; 
A sinner by choice, an '"alien" by birth ; 

But I've been "adopted," my name's written down ; 
An heir to a mansion, a robe and a crown. 

4 A tent or a cottage, why should I care ? 
They're building a palace for me over there ; 
Tho' exiled from home, yet still I may sing, 
All glory to God, I'm the child of a King. 

HARRIET E. BUELL. 

Set to music by Rev. J. B. Sumner. 



'TIS HARVEST TIME. 

1 See ! the sun is high in heaven, 

'T is harvest time : 
Hark ! your Master's charge is given, 

'Tis harvest time. 
From His vineyard still you're staying, 
'Midst earth's pleasures idly straying, 
And your Master's work delaying, 

'T is harvest time. 

2 See ! the fields are white already, 

'Tis harvest time ; 
Come and labor, earnest, steady, 

'Tis harvest time. 
Few and weary hands are reaping, 
Sad and dreary bands are weeping, 
One for you a place is keeping, 

'T is harvest time. 

3 Work for Him whose blood has bought you, 

'T is harvest time ; 
Work for Him whose pity sought you, 

'Tis harvest time. 
Send the news of His salvation 
To each distant tribe and nation, 
Truth and peace and consolation. 

'Tis harvest time. 

4 See ! the fields in sunshine whiten, 

'T is harvest time ; 
'Neath the Master's smile they brighten, 

'T is harvest time. 
Up and work for souls around you, 
To this cause His love has bound you, 
Keep in heaven when He has crowned you, 

Love's harvest time. 



272 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



THE WORLD IS MY PARISH. 

"Lo ! I am with you always.even unto the end of the world." 
(Tune— "How firm a foundation.") 

1 Disciples of Jesus, why stand ye here idle, 

Go work in His vineyard, He calls you to-day ; 

The night is approaching, when no man can labor, 

Our Master commands us, and shall we delay ? 

Chorus.— The field is the world ! The field is the world! 

Look up,for the harvest, the harvest is near; 

When the reapers from glory will shout as 

they come, 

And the Lord, and the Lord of the harvest 

appear. 

2 Our field is the world, and our work is before us, 

To each is appointed a message to bear ; 

At home or abroad, in the cottage or palace, 

Wherever directed, our mission is there. 



3 Perhaps we are called from the highways i 

To gather the lowly, despised and oppressed; 

If this be our duty, then why should we falter ? 

We'll do it, and trust to our Saviour the rest. 

4 O'er islands that sleep in the wave-crested ocean, 

We'll scatter the truth, and its fruit it shall bear ; 

O'er ice-covered regions, and rock-girded mountains, 

The Lord will protect as His children are there. 

5 Instead of the thorn shall the myrtle be planted ; 

The desert shall blossom and bloom as the rose; 
The palm tree rejoicing shall spread forth her 
branches ; 
The lamb and the lion together repose. 

FANS! CROSBY. 

From "Singing Pilgrim," by per. Philip Phillips. 
Copyrighted 1866. 



Strike deep ! O tree of knowledge, 

Spread broad thy branches 
Till underneath their foliage . 

A ransomed world is seen. 
Give of thy fruit to raise them 

From ignorance and woe — 
Till with a clearer vision, 

Thy work, O God, they show, 



BOUNTEOUS CARE. 



1 Now thank we all our God, 

With heart and hand and voice, 
Who mighty, wondrous things hath done, 
In whom the worlds rejoice ; 

2 Who from our mother's arms 

Hath blessed us on our way 
With countless tokens of His love, 
And still is ours to-day. 

3 Oh ! may this bounteous God 

Through all our life be near, 

With ever grateful, joyful hearts 

And blessed peace to cheer ; 

4 To keep us in His grace, 

And guide us when perplexed, 
And free us from perplexing ills 
In this world and the next. 



THE COMING CONQUEST. 



BEHOLD THE EXPECTED TIME. 



"Many shall run to and fro, and knowledge shall increase." 
"If this work be of God, ye cannot overthrow it." 

( Tune— "The morniiuj Uyht is breaking.") 

1 The golden beams of knowledge 

Are spreading broad and clear, 
Guided by wisdom, virtue, 

The world to bless and cheer. 
In vain the plotting wicked 

May seek to stay, o'erthrow, 
The right they only strengthen, 

Their hatred only show. 

2 Roll on in sacred conquest, 

O glorious knowledge fair, 
Uplift the weak and lowly, 

Their burdens help them bear. 
Run to and fro, with ardor, 

Each day increased in skill ; 
The hardest work is easy, 

When done with courage, will. 



1 Behold the expected time draw near, 
The shades disperse, the dawn appear ! 
Behold the wilderness assume 

The beauteous tints of Eden's bloom ! 

2 Events with prophecies conspire, 
To raise our faith, our zeal to fire : 
The ripening fields, already white, 
Present a harvest to the sight. 

3 The untaught heathen wait to know 
The joy the gospel will bestow ; 
The exiled captive, to receive 

The freedom Jesus has to give. 

4 Come, let us, with a grateful heart, 
In this blest labor share a part ; 

Our prayers and offerings gladly bring 
To aid the triumphs of our King. 

MHS, VOKE. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. MONTHLY MEETINGS. 



273 



FORGIVENESS. 



(Tune—" Dundee") 

1 Blest Master, how exceeding broad, 

How deep Thy pure command, 
That lays upon earth's ferved pulse 
A calm, restraining hand. 

2 It turns the tide of passion back, 

II bids revenge be still ; 
For e'en the wrath of man restrained 
Shall execute Thy will. 

3 Though mocked and pierced Thou bidst us pray, 

Forgive, and bless, and love, 
As children of eternal day 
Whose life is hid above. 

3 Oh ' pierced hand ! Oh ! pierced heart ! 

O Man of Sorrow deep ! 
Unto our wounded souls impart 
Thy love, Thy spirit meek. 

4 Then shall we calmly trust and wait, 

And pray for friend and foe, 

Until we stand at heaven's gate 

In garments white as snow. 

KATE B. ODEN. 



CHILDREN OF LIGHT. 

(Tune—" Only Remembered.") 

1 Children of light, like the stars of the midnight, 

Guiding earth's weary ones home to their rest 

Shine for the heart that is burdened with anguish ; 

Cheer up the lonely, the sad, and oppressed. 

Cho. — Let your light shine ! for the world is in dark- 
ness ; 
Hide not one ray, lest some prodigal child, 
Seeking the pathway to home and forgiveness, 
Groping 'in darkness, returns to the wild. 

2 Children of light, Oh ! how great is your mission ! 

Shedding abroad the bright Gospel of truth ! 
Lighting the way to the glory eternal ! 
Guiding the aged : directing the youth ! 

3 Children of light, till the day-dawn appeareth, 

God has commanded you ever to shine 
All the long night till the brightness, God-given, 
Loseth its light in the glory divine. 

From "CrowDing Triumph." F. A. 



LOOK TO THE LIGHT-HOUSE. 

1 A beacon bright the Christian stands 
Upon the shore of time ; 
A light-house built on solid rock, 
That rears its head sublime. 



2 A tower high the Christian stands, 

A clear and shining light, 
To cast a gleam across the sea 
Of earth's dark, gloomy night. 

3 Grand sentinel upon life's coast, 

Be faithful, true, and brave ; 
And ever keep your light ablaze, 
Benighted souls to save. 

MRS. E. W. CHAPMAN. 

Set to music by J. H. Temiey in "Wreath of Praise." 
Edited and published by Asa Hull, 

ART THOU WAITING? 

(Tune — " Guide me, thou great Jehovah") 

1 Art thou waiting on the watch-tower, 

For the coming of thy Lord ? 
For His glorious appearing, 
The fulfilling of His word ? 
Chorus. — For behold, the Bridegroom cometh, 
Hear ye not the joyful cry, 
" Watch and be ye also ready, 
Your redemption draweth nigh " ? 

2 Watch and pray, the hour ye know not, 

Which shall bring your absent Lord, 
" For behold, I will come quickly, 
And with me is my reward." 

3 Art thou waiting on thy watch-tower, 

Joyfully thy Lord to greet ? 
'Till He comes in all His glory, 
And ye worship at His feet ? 

4 Wait, then, still upon thy watch-tower, 

'Till thine absent Lord appear ; 
Hold thou fast to thy profession, 
Thy redemption draweth near. 

From D. C. Cook's " Sabbath 



FREE GRACE. 

"Without money and without price." — Isa. lv : 1. 

1 Herald the tidings to every soul, 
Wave on wave let the echo roll ; 
Strong and gladly the chorus swell, 

The story, grand, of Free Grace tell. 
Chorus. — Free Grace, Free Grace, 

Echo the cry to a ruined race ; 

Free Grace, Free Grace, 
Shout, shout the story of grace, Free Grace. 

2 Sing of the wonderful grace, Free Grace, 
Given to all of our ruined race ; 

Shout the story afar and near, 
That every burdened soul may hear. 

3 Go, tell the story, so grandly true, 
Praise the Lamb who was slain for you ; 
Shout aloud of the Free Grace given, 
That you and I may dwell in heaven. 

ABBIE C. M'KEEVER. 

From "Songs of Free Grace," by per. D. B. Towner. 



274 



WOMAN IN SACBED SONG. 



A NEW DAY. 

1 While the weary world is sleeping, 
Up the hills the mists are creeping, 
Till the sun, all barriers, leaping 

Floods the world with light. 
O'er the hills the dawn is breaking, 
And all nature seems awaking, 
And her drowsy bed forsaking 

To greet the morning light. 
Hark ! the joyous birds are singing, 
Through the woods their notes are ringing, 
Every breeze their carols bringing — 

We have passed the night ! 

2 Lo ! the world in sin is sleeping ! 
Ignorance and error creeping 

O'er the soul to fill with weeping — 

Let us watch and pray. 
While our hearts in gloom and sorrow 
Sadly strive, from faith to borrow 
Brighter light for the to-morrow; 

Darkness turn to-day. 
Oh ! when breaks the glorious dawning 
Of the resurrection morning, 
Suddenly, and without warning, 

Shadows flee away ! 

3 Christians waking — homeward winging — 
Praises to the Lamb are singing, 
Christ's own voice like trumpet ringing ! 

Satan's reign is o'er ! 
No more weariness nor sleeping, 
No more mists of error creeping 
O'er the soul to fill with weeping 

Sad hearts sick and sore. 
Jesus comes ! by saints attended. 
Songs of love and joy are blended, 
Sin and pain forever ended ! 

Joy forevermore ! 

ANNA HOLYOKE HOWABD. 

Brooklyn, N V., 1883. 

THE SECOND TEMPLE. 

1 Oh ! glorious in beauty 

The temple rose of old, 
Its pillars hung with purple, 
Its portals crowned with gold. 
Chorus. — Thou art Thyself that temple, 
O Christ, our Saviour, King, 
Whom earthly shrine and glory 
Were but foreshadowing. 

2 But to the second temple 

Came Christ the temple's King, 
Whom sacrifice and altar 
Were but foreshadowing. 

3 Thou art the golden altar 

Whereon our gifts are laid ; 
Thyself the bleeding victim, 
By whom our sins are paid ; 



4 The veil by which we enter 
The holiest shrine within ; 
The Priest who stands to offer 
A sacrifice for sin. 



I HAVE REDEEMED THEE, THOU ART 
MINE. 

(Tune— "Not half has ever been told." Gospel Hymns.) 

1 " I, I have redeemed thee." Who saith it ? 

Our Jesus, our Master, our King ; 
He who upon Calvary suffered, 

The perfect salvation to bring ; 
The perfect redemption to give thee, 

sister, bound down by life's load, 
And clothe thee in garments immortal 

To adorn His all-glorious abode. 

2 "I, I have redeemed thee." Who saith it? 

The King who sits yonder enthroned — 
No longer the victim of Calvary, 

No longer the captive entombed, 
No longer the man of great sorrows, 

No longer acquainted with grief — 
But God's own triumphant Anointed, 

And heaven's Crown-jewel and Chief. 

3 Yes, with a great ransom He saves thee, 

And as He ascended He cried, 
" Go, teach thou the blessed evangel, 

And tell it abroad far and wide. 
Go, tell how I wait for my people, 

Expectantly wait, until all, 
Out of every kindred and nation, 

Have heard of my life-bringing call." 

MRS. L. L. NETVKLL. 

In "Woman's Work for Woman." 

Rochester, Minn., 1882. 

AFTER THE TOIL. 

1 From the fields white unto harvest, 

Swift the laden reapers come, 
Bringing treasures to the Master, 
Hearing the glad word of welcome, 

" Enter in, thou faithful one." 

2 Last of all the long procession, 

Master, at Thy feet I stand ; 

1 had dreamed of bearing sheaves, 
Flow'rs, or glory-tinted leaves, 

Now I come with empty hand, 

3 Neither flow'r, nor leaf, nor fruitage, 

Lay I at Thy footstool down, 
Weary days and nights of anguish, 
When the spirit-fires languish, 

What are these to win a crown ? 

4 " Welcome, child," the Master whispers, 

" Empty-handed, worn, and late ; 
Some must watch and meekly bear, 
Some must toil and bravely dare, 

But I bade thee only wait." 

cob A, 1880. 
From "Every Sabbath," set to music by T. 0. O'Kane. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. MONTHLY MEETINGS. 



275 



DUTY. 



Not duty's measured tithe alone 

Love lays upon her Master's shrine 

Lord, grant this gift, that all we own, 
And all we are be marked as Thine. 



WORK IN THE ZENANA. 

(Tune— "Memories of Earth," in "Gospel Hymns," or "Aut-Um. 

1 Do you see those dusky faces, 

Gazing dumbly to the west ; 
Those dark eyes, so long despairing, 

Now aglow with hope's unrest ? 
They are looking, waiting, longing 

For deliverance and light ; 
Shall we not make haste to help them, 

Our poor sisters of the night ? 

2 Long despised and wronged and slighted, 

Oh ! that, washed in Jesus' blood, 
Every soul might be a pillar 

In the temple of our God ! 
Is it time to build the temple ? 

Time to shape those living stones ? 
Time to turn to songs of praises 

Bitter tears and hopeless groans ? 

3 It is time ; the Master Builder 

Bids us work with heart and hand, 
Till His name and glorious gospel 

Shall be known through every land. 
It is time ; then let us labor 

That His Spirit be not grieved ; 
Let us give to others freely 

What we freely have received. 

J. L. 

In "United Presbyterian Missionary Re 



WHILE IN TOIL. AND IN WEARINESS. 

(Tune— "The Sweet By and By.") 
"All nations shall serve Him."-Ps. lxsii: 11. 

1 While in toil and in weariness here 

We are seeking our Lord to obey, 
Let us think of the glad days to come, 

When the nations shall own His mild sway. 
Let us think of the glorious time 

When the name of our God shall be known ; 
When the earth shall be filled with His praise, 

And the whole world shall bow at His throne. 

Choktjs. — In the sweet by and by, 

When our Saviour in glory shall reign ; 
In the sweet by and by, 

When our Saviour in glory shall reign. 



Then thro' Africa's night a bright dawn 

Shall all sorrow and darkness dispel ; 
Then India shall break from her chains, 

And be freed from her mythical spell ; 
Then the Crescent shall yield to the Cross, 

Sharon's Rose shall the Lotus replace, 
And the Isles of the Sea shall rejoice 

In the blessings of pardoning grace. 

Then, when hope to fruition is turned, 

When the terrible battle is o'er, 
When the swift-rolling years cease to move, 

And we all reach that beautiful shore, 
We'll sit down at the feast of the Lamb, 

With the tribes from the East and the West, 
While with saints and with angels we join 

In the rapturous song of the blest. 

Then all nations and kindreds and tongues, 

Made clean by the blood of the Lamb, — 
A great multitude, clad in white robes, — 

Shall forever give praise to Christ's name, 
Crying, " Blessing and honor and power 

Be unto the Saviour of men ; 
Thanksgiving and glory to God, 

Forever and ever, Amen. 



THE CLOUD OF GOD'S PRESENCE, 



(For Mothers' Meeting.) 
Numbers ix. 15. 

1 Cloud of the Lord ! ordained of old 

As Israel's desert guide, 
Thy radiant wings, with mystic fold, 
Both light and shade supplied. 

2 Symbol of Heavenly Providence, 

Which deigns with us to dwell ; 
Our constant glory and defence, 
As one of Israel ; 

3 Oh ! may our children's opening eyes 

Rest on thy guardian shade ; 

And see thy radiant lustre rise, 

When nature's glories fade ! 

4 By day, by night, with us abide ; 

And onward, as we move, 

Before us go, a faithful guide, 

In God's unfailing love. 

5 To that fair land revealed by faith, 

Conduct us by His will ; 
And when the parents sleep in death, 
Ah ! guide their children, still. 



276 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



LOOK TO THE CROSS. 



Words by MRS. S. M. I. HENRY. 



EMMA L. MORTON. 




1. Look to the Cross, look to the Cross, Oh! fix thine earn - est eyes, With changeless, trust - in 

-g g g— l-F 1*—*- ■ k 1^—* — '—r-^-M^-r--f^ 



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1 




2 Look to the Cross — not to the woes 

From which Christ came to save : 
Remember ye the risen Lord, 

And not the empty grave : 
Look to the Cross — thy groans and tears 

Cannot for sin atone : 
Look to the Cross, the blood-stained Cross, 

Thy hope is there alone. 

3 Look to the Cross — not to the one 

'T is given thee to bear : 
Nor to thy brother's, which may seem 

To thee more sin than care. 
Behold no guilt but thine, and know 

For this the Saviour died, 
And cast thy sin, thy care, thy woe, 

Upon the Crucified. 

4 Look to the Cross, look to the Cross, 

With such a steady eye 
That all who look to thee shall turn 

A thoughtful gaze on high. 
Thus shall thy life be hid in Christ, 

Thy death be life in Him, 
While earthly crosses fall to dust, 

When earthly crowns are dim. 

Words from " Every Sabbath," Edited by J. C. O' Kane. 
Pub. by J. Church & Co. 



SOUND THE LOUD ANTHEM. 

(Tune— "Shout the ylad tidings.") 

1 Praise to the grace which has triumphed so freely, 

Where sin had abounded and darkness had reigned ; 
Praise to the word, which has spoken so fully 

Of blessings in store, which are yet to be gained. 
Sound the loud anthem o'er ocean and sea, 
The hand of Jehovah is stretched out to thee. 

2 For Zebulon's sons yet " shall call to the mountain," 

The people from far to the house of the Lord, 
To partake of that altar, and wash in that fountain 

Whose virtues their " going" shall herald abroad. 
Sound the loud anthem o'er ocean and sea, 
The hand of Jehovah is stretched out to thee. 

3 The light of the promise already is dawning, 

For Zion is nursed by the ships of the sea ; 
Her temples the sailor now gladly is thronging, 

Rejoiced from the bondage of sin to be free. 
Sound the loud anthem o'er ocean and sea, 
The hand of Jehovah is stretched out to thee. 

4 On the shore, where his footsteps too often were taken 

In snares which the wicked had set for his feet, 
The Bethel now spreads for his welcome her beacon, 

And temples are rising his coming to greet. 
Sound the loud anthem o'er ocean and sea, 
The hand of Jehovah is stretched out to thee. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. MONTHLY MEETINGS. 



GROW NOT WEARY. 

(Tune-" Webb") 

1 O toilers, grow not weary, 

Weary by the way ; 
Though clouds and tempests dreary 

May darken o'er thy way, 
The sunshine's still above thee, 

And soon thou'lt joyful hold 
The flowers and fruits of harvest 

With sheaves of burnished gold. 

2 O toilers, grow not weary, 

Weary by the way ; 
And Satan's hosts shall fear thee, 

The powers of hell obey. 
And on the shores of India, 

And China by the sea, 
The sowing and the reaping 

Of Christ, your Lord, shall be. 

3 O toilers, grow not weary, 

Weary by the way ; 
The Master walketh near thee, 

To comfort and to stay. 
Thy hands He'll be upholding, 

Amid the furrows deep, 
And at life's quiet evening 

He'll give thee rest and sleep. 

ANNIE H. THOMSON. 

Set to music by T. C. O'Kane, 
In " Every Sabbath" 



MISSIONARY HYMN. 

(Tune— "ilf emorles of Earth." Gospel Hymns.) 

1 Love that blest the bread and wine, 
Love that spread the feast divine, 
Love that makes Thy table mine, 
Love of love, my song shall be, 
Blessed Giver, all of Thee. 

Love that makes Thy table mine, 
Love of love, my song shall be, 
Blessed Giver, all of Thee. < 

2 Lo ! since Thou the tabla spread, 
Since Thy lips such welcome said, 
Lives one soul uncomforted? 
Love of love, can any be 
Hungry now for lack of Thee? 
Lives one soul uncomforted? 
Love of love, can any be 
Hungry now for lack of Thee? 

3 Hark ! I hear a wail of pain 
Coming swiftly o'er the main; 
Voices plead and plead again, 
"Unto us no feast is spread — 
On our sight no light is shed." 
Voices plead and plead again, 
"Unto us no feast is spread — 
On our sight no light is shed." 



Master, can I sit at ease, 
While there perish such as these, 
Pleading for thy messages ? 
Love of love, my life shall be 
Spent in guiding souls to Thee. 
Pleading for thy messages. 
Love of love, my life shall be 
Spent in guiding souls to Thee. 



!IY EARLE HAJtDY. 



"PRAY FOR US." 

(Tune— "Memories of Earth." Gospel Hymns.) 

1 "Pray for us," the words are coming 

From a far-off heathen land ; 
They are echoed in our nation, 

Heard in every Christian land. 
"Pray for us" in far-off China, 

Let your prayers for this ascend, 
That the Holy Spirit's blessing 

Speedily on us descend. 

2 "Pray for us" in California, 

That a Father's love " 
That the right arm of a Saviour 

May our churches here defend. 
Pray for Syria and Oroomiah, 

For the far-off fair Japan; 
Pray that all the heathen nations 

Soon may know God's precious plan. 

3 Pray for love our hearts to lighten, 

Pray for light them to renew, 
Pray for hope our way to brighten, 

Pray for more expanded view. 
Pray now that the Lord, descending, 

May possess each Christian heart; 
Pray for grace, our hearts defending, 

Us from earthly love to part. 

S. E. F. 

Hopkinton, Iowa, Dec. 15, 1876. 



O LORD, HOW BOUNTEOUS I 

"On the Gentiles also was poured out the gift of the Holy Ghost"— Acts. 
(Tunes— "Woodworth" ( Eflat;) "Quke Street." (Eflat.) 

1 O Lord, how bounteous Thy grace ! 
Thy wondrous love, nor rank, nor place, 
Nor Jewish faith nor Gentiles bind , 
Thy gospel is for all mankind. 

2 The gracious truths Thy lips declare, 
O Lord, let me, Thy servant, bear ! 
For all who seek the gospel light, 

It shines with beams more purely bright. 

3 What though the place be poor and mean, 
Oh ! what am I, to cry, "Unclean ?" 

The message I alone can give, 
Some soul is waiting to receive. 

From D. C. Cook's 



WOMAN IN SAC BED SONG 



SOULS IN HEATHEN DARKNESS. 

(Tune— "Saviour, like a Shepherd lead us.") 

1 Souls in heathen darkness lying, 

Where no light has broken through, 
Souls that Jesus bought by dying, 
Whom His soul in travail knew, — 

Thousand voices 
Call us o'er the waters blue. 

2 Christians, hearken ! none hath taught them 

Of His love so deep and dear ; 
Of the precious price that bought them ; 
Of the nail, the thorn, the spear : 

Ye who know Him, 
Guide them from their darkness drear. 

3 Haste, Oh ! haste, and spread the tidings 

Wide to earth's remotest strand; 
Let no brother's bitter chidings 
Rise against us — when we stand 

In the judgment — 
From some far, forgotten land. 

4 Lo ! the hills for harvest whiten, 

All along each distant shore ; 

Seaward far the islands brighten, — 

Light of nations, lead us o'er ; 

When we seek them, 
Let thy spirit go before ! 

CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER. 



WHO WILL GO FOR US? 

1 Listen, listen, English sisters, 

Hear an Indian sister's plea, 
Grievous wails, dark ills revealing, 
Depths of human woe unsealing, 

Borne across the deep blue sea. 
" We are dying day by day, 
With no bright, no cheering ray, 
Naught to lighten up our gloom, 
Cruel, cruel is our doom." 

2 Listen, listen, Christian sisters, 

Show ye have a Christ-like heart; 
Hear us sadly, sadly moaning, 
'Neath our load of sorrow groaning, 

Writhing 'neath its bitter smart ; 
With no hope of rest above, 
Knowing not a Father's love ; 
Your true sympathy we crave, 
You can help us, you can save. 

3 Listen, listen, Christian sisters, 

Hark ! they call, and call again ; 
Can ye pass them by, unheeding 
All their eager, earnest pleading ? 

Hear ye not their plaintive strain? 
Let your tender hearts be moved, 
Let your love to Christ be proved, 
Not by idle tears alone, 
But by noble actions shown. 



4 This is no romantic story, 

Not an idle, empty tale ; 
Not a vain, far-fetched ideal, 
No, your sisters' woes are real ; 

Let their pleading tones prevail, 
As ye prize a Father's love, 
As ye hope for rest above, 
As your sins are all forgiven, 
As ye have a home in heaven. 

5 Rise, and take the gospel message, 

Bear its tidings far away ; 
Far away to India's daughters, 
Tell them of the living waters, 

Flowing, flowing, day by day, 
That they too may drink and live, 
Freely have ye, freely give ; 
Go disperse the shades of night 
With the glorious gospel light. 



6 Many jewels, rare and precious, 

If ye sought them, ye should find, 
Deep in heathen darkness hidden, 
Ye are by the Master bidden, 

If ye know that Master's mind ; 
Bidden, did I say ? Ah, no ! 
Without bidding ye will go 
Forth to seek the lone and lost ; 
Rise and go, whate'er it cost. 

7 Would ye miss His welcome greeting 

When He comes in glory down ? 
Rather would ye hear Him saying, — 
As before Him ye are laying 

Your bright trophies for His crown, — 
" I accept your gathered spoil, 
I have seen your earnest toil ; 
Faithful ones, well done ! well done ! 
Ye shall shine forth as the sun." 

ELLEN LAKSHMI GOREH. 

A young Brahmin Lady. 
Written in English by herself. 



HIGH UPON THE CROSS. 



1 High upon the cross suspended, 
Truth is hanging undefended, 

Shelterless and scorned indeed. 
Hate rejoices through the nation : 
From the cross comes supplication, 

" Pardon them, for whom, I bleed.' 

2 Not in lightning or in thunder 
Comes a truth of love or wonder : 

In a manger it is born ; 
And the crowd, its light unheeding, 
Nail it ever, torn and bleeding, 

To the cross with laughing scorn. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. MONTHLY MEETINGS. CONSECRATION. 



279 



3 But the light, by men rejected. 
Glows with power unsuspected, 

And the cross becomes a star ; 
Beckoning through the mists of ages 
Through the blood-stained martyr 

Witnesses from near and far. 

4 Jesus ! Saviour ! Hail forever! 
Throned on Calvary, dying never ! 

Crucified as Truth must be ; 
Each red drop of life-blood flowing 
Shows new thought, forever growing, 

Calling all mankind to Thee. 

EMMA E. MAREAU. 

Translated from K. Janson. 
"Christian Register." 

DOXOLOGY. 

L. M, 

1 Sing ye the honor of God's Name ! 
Spreading abroad His wondrous fame ; 
Sing ! sing ! ye people, in all lands, 
While trusting all into His hands. 

2 For, never will His power cease, 
Though earth shall yield her last increase ; 
Oh ! sing ! ye nations, far and wide, 

" The Lord, our Lord, be magnified ! " 

ELLA A. HOTCHKISS. 

From a poem entitled "Love's Song." 
Sept. 5. 1882. 



THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD FOR JESUS. 

(Written for the meeting of the Woman's Foreign Missionary Society, 

held in Baltimore, May 9. 1872.) 

(Tune.—" Webb.") 

1 The whole wide world for Jesus ! 

Once more before we part, 
Ring out the joyful watchword 

From every grateful heart. 
The whole wide world for Jesus ! 

Be this our battle-cry, 
The lifted cross our oriflamme, 

A sign to conquer by ! 

2 The whole wide world for Jesus ! 

From out the Golden Gate, 
Through all Pacific's sunny isles 

To China's princely state ; 
From India's vales and mountains, 

Through Persia's land of bloom, 
To storied Palestina, 

And Afric's desert gloom ; 

3 The whole wide world for Jesus 

Through all its fragrant zones ! 
Bing out again the watchword 

In loftiest, gladdest tones. 
The whole wide world for Jesus ! 

We'll wing the song with prayer, 
And link the prayer with labor, 

Till Christ His crown shall wear. 

MBS. DR. HERRICK JOHNSOIC. 



"OH I TO BE NOTHING!" 



' Neither is he that planteth anything, neither he that watereth." I Cor. iii : 7. 

1 Oh ! to be nothing — nothing ! 

Only to lie at His feet, 
A broken and emptied vessel, 

For the Master's use made meet ! 
Emptied that He may fill me, 

As forth to His service I go ; 
Broken, that so, unhindered, 

Through me His life may flow. 

2 Oh ! to be nothing — nothing ! 

An arrow hid in His hand, 
Or a messenger at His gateway, 

Waiting for His command ; 
Only an instrument, ready 

For Him to use at His will ; 
And willing, should He not require me 

In patience to wait on Him still. - 

3 Oh ! to be nothing — nothing ! 

Though painful the humbling 
Though it lay me low in the sight of those 

Who are now, perhaps, praising me : 
I would rather be nothing, nothing, 

That to Him might their voices be raised, 
Who alone is the Fountain of blessing, 

Who only is meet to be praised. 

4 Yet e'en as my pleading rises, 

A voice seems with mine to blend, 
And whispers, in loving accents, 

" I call thee not ' servant,' but ' friend ;' 
Fellow-worker with Me I call thee, 

Sharing My sorrow and joy — 
Fellow-heir to the glory I have, 

The treasure without alloy." 

5 O love so free, so boundless ! 

Which, lifting me, lays me lower 
At the footstool of Jesus, my risen Lord, 

To worship and to adore — 
Which fills me with deeper longing, 

To have nothing dividing my heart, 
My " all " given up to Jesus, 

Not " keeping back a part." 

6 Thine may I be, Thine only, 

Till called by Thee to share 
The glorious heavenly mansions 

Thou art gone before to prepare ; 
My heart and soul are yearning 

To see Thee face to face, 
With unfettered tongue to praise Thee 

For such heights and depths of grace. 

GEORGIANA M. TATTLOR, 
As originally ratten. England, 1869. 



280 



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WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

A WORKER'S PRAYER. 

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Thy hungering ones with manna sweet. 

3 Oh ! strengthen me, that while I stand 

Firm on the Rock, and strong in Thee, 
I may stretch out a loving hand 
To wrestlers with the troubled sea. 

4 Oh ! teach me, Lord, that I may teach 

The precious things Thou dost impart ; 
And wing my words, that they may reach 
The hidden depths of many a heart. 

5 Oh ! give Thine own sweet rest to me, 

That I may speak with soothing power 
A word in season, as from Thee, 
To weary ones in needful hour. 

6 Oh ! fill me with Thy fulness, Lord, 

Until my very heart o'erflow 
In kindling thought and glowing word, 
Thy love to tell, Thy praise to show. 

7 Oh ! use me, Lord, use even me, 

Just as Thou wilt, and when, and where, 
Until Thy blessed face I see, 

Thy rest, Thy joy, Thy glory share. 



HAVERGAL. 



Writing to a friend, Miss Havergal said; "Perhaps you will be inter- 
ested to know the origin of the consecration hymn, ' Take My Life.' 
I went for a little visit of five days. There were ten persons in the house, 
some unconverted and long-prayed for, some converted hut not rejoic- 
ing Christians. He gave me the prayer, Lord, give me all in this house ! 
Before I left the house every one had got a blessing. The last night of 
my visit I was too happy to sleep, and passed most of the night in praise 
and renewal of my own consecration, and these little couplets formed 
themselves and chimed in my heart one after another till they finished 
with 'Ever only, all for Thee.' " 



CONSECRATION. 



1 Take my life and let it be 
Consecrated all to Thee ; 

Take my hands and let them move 
At the impulse of Thy love ; 

2 Take my feet and let them be 
Swift and beautiful to Thee , 
Take my voice and let me sing 
Only for my Lord and King ; 

3 Take my lips and let them be 
Filled with images from Thee ; 
Take my silver and my gold, 
Not a mite would I withhold ; 

4 Take my moments and my days, 
Let them flow in ceaseless praise ; 
Take my intellect and use 
Every power as Thou wilt choose ; 

5 Take my will and make it Thine, 
It shall be no longer mine; 
Take my heart, it is Thine own, 
It shall be Thy royal throne ; 

6 Take my love, my Lord, I pour 
At Thy feet its treasured store ; 
Take myself, and I will be 
Ever only, all for Thee. 

FRANCES R. HAVERGAL. 




'BLESS THOU THE TRUTH, DEAR LORD, 
TO ME — TO ME." 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. CONSECRATION. 



281 



LEAD US, O SHEPHERD TRUE. 



1 Lead us, O Saviour dear ! 
Keep us Thy side so near, 
We shall no danger fear, 

Nor ever stray ; 
When quiet waters flow, 
And fairest flowers grow, 
Or when the storm-winds blow, 

Lead us alway. 

Chorus. — Lead us, O Shepherd true ! 

Lead, lest we stray ; 
Till we bid earth adieu, 

Lead us, we pray ; 
Thou who hast gone before, 
Guide to that blessed shore, 
Where we shall sin no more, 

Lead us, we pray. 

2 Lead us, O Christ divine ! 
Take our weak hands in Thine ; 
Let Thy love o'er us shine ; 

Call us Thine own ; 
Hearing Thy voice so sweet, 
May we with ready feet 
Follow Thee till we meet 

Round Thy pure throne. 

MISS M. a. : 

From "Songs of Love." Set to music by Dr. H. R. Palmer. 



RESCUE THE PERISHING, 

1 Safe now beneath the shadow of the cross, 

' Shall I but idly sit me down at rest, 
While round me still the cruel breakers toss 

Wrecked souls, who vainly strive the waves to 
breast ? 

2 Shall I abide at His dear feet and learn 

The heavenly wisdom He alone can teach, 
And from the hands despairing lifted turn, 

Which fain would after friendly succor reach ? 

3 I, who have known so well the treacherous deep, 

May not in ease my Saviour's smile enjoy, 
But like Him over helpless sinners weep, , 
And for their rescue all my powers employ. 

4 Then, when He shall appear to crown His own, 

Together, saved by grace, we'll Him adore ; 
Our labor o'er and His approval won, 

Praise shall engage our tongues forevermore. 

MRS. E. A. WILSON, 

In "Labor of Love." Springfield, 111., 1881. 

A BENEDICTION. 
A life made beautiful by kindly deeds, 
A generous heart and hand to sorrow's needs ; 
A smile that chastened grief by its warm glow ; 
A tear not for its own but others' woe ; 
A presence making sunshine where she trod, 
Glad with the happy, reverent toward God ; 
Such her we mourn, whose memory like a flower 
Gathers new fragrance with each passing hour. 



MRS. H. J. LEWIS. 



MORE LIKE JESUS. 



BY GALILEE. 



Break Thou the bread of life, 

Dear Lord, to me, 
As Thou didst break the loaves 

Beside the sea ; 
Beyond the sacred page 

I seek Thee, Lord ; 
My spirit pants for Thee, 

O living Word ! 

Bless Thou the truth, dear Lord, 

To me — to me — 
As Thou didst bless the bread 

By Galilee ; 
Then shall all bondage cease, 

All fetters fall ; 
And I shall find my peace, 

My AU-in-All ! 



MA»y A. LATHBTXBT. 
By per. Dr. J. H. Vincent. 



1 And is the gospel peace and love ? 

Such let our conversation be — 
The serpent blended with the dove, 

Wisdom and meek simplicity. 
Whene'er the angry passions rise 

And tempt our thoughts or tongues to strife, 
On Jesus let us fix our eyes, 

Bright pattern of the Christian life. 

2 Oh ! how benevolent and kind ! 

How mild ! how ready to forgive ! 
Be His the temper of our mind, 

And His the rules by which we live. 
To do His heavenly Father's will 

Was His employment and delight , 
Humility, and love, and zeal, 

Shone through His life divinely bright 

3 Dispensing good where'er He. came, 

The labors of His life were love : 
Oh ! if we love the Saviour's name, 

Let His divine, example move ! 
Thy fair example may we trace, 

To teach us what we ought to be ; 
Make us, by Thy transforming grace, 

Lord Jesus, daily more like Thee. 

ANNE STEELE. 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



CONSECRATION HYMN. 



MRS. G. C. SMITH. 



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ONLY, YET ALL. 



ENOUGH. 



Tune— "Strength." S. M. 



Only a mortal's powers, 

Weak at their fullest strength ; 
Only a few swift flashing hours, 

Short at their fullest length. 



Only one heart to give, 
Only one voice to use, 

Only one little life to live, 
And only one to lose. 



1 I am so weak, dear Lord ! I cannot stand 
One moment without Thee, 
But Oh ! the tenderness of Thine enfolding 
And Oh ! the faithfulness of Thine upholding, 
And Oh ! the strength of Thy right hand ! 
That strength is enough for me. 



I am so needy, Lord ! But well I know 
All fullness dwells in Thee ; 
And hour by hour that never-failing treasure 
Supplies and fills in overflowing measure 
My least, my greatest need. And so 
Thy grace is enough for me. 



Poor is my best, and small ; 

How could I dare divide ? 
Surely my Lord shall have it all, 

He shall not be denied ! 



It is so sweet to trust Thy word alone : 
I do not ask to see 
The unveiling of Thy purpose, or the shinin| 
Of future light on mysteries entwining ; 
Thy promise-roll is all my own, — 
Thy word is enough for me. 



4 All ! for far more I owe 

Than all I have to bring ; 
All ! for my Saviour loves me so,. 
All ! for I love my King. 



5 All ! for it is His own, 
He gave the tiny store ; 
All ! for it must be His alone \ 
All ! for I have no more. 



6 All ! for the last and least 
He stoopeth to uplift ! 
The altar of my great High Priest 
Shall sanctify my gift. 

PRANCES R. HAVERGAI* 

From "Song King," by per. Dr. H. R. Palmer. 



4 The human heart asks love. But now I know 
That my heart hath from Thee 
All real and full and marvellous affection, 
So near, so human ! Yet Divine perfection 
Thrills gloriously the mighty glow ! 
Thy love is enough for me. 



5 There were strange soul-depths, restless, vast and 
broad, 
Unfathomed as the sea, — 
An infinite craving for some infinite stilling ; 
But now Thy perfect peace is perfect filling ! 
Lord Jesus Christ, my Lord, my God, 
Thou, Thou art enough for me ! 

PRANCES R. HAVERQAL. 



286 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



TRUE-HEARTED, WHOLE-HEARTED. 



"With a true heart." -Heb. x : 22. 



Words and Music by FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL. 




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Yielding henceforth to our glorious King ! 
Valiant endeavor and loving obedience 
Freely and joyously now would we b-nng. 

3 Saviour of sinners, Thou knowest our story, 

Weak are the hearts that we lay at Thy feet, 



Sinful and treacherous ! yet, for Thy glory, 

Heal them, and cleanse them from sin and deceit. 
4 Holy Redeemer! beloved and glorious, 

Take Thy great power and reign Thou alone, 
Over our wills and affections victorious — 
Freely surrendered and wholly Thine own. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. CONSECRATION. 



287 



CONSECRATION HYMN. 

1 Thou Teacher of our spirits — Thou 

Who gavest these frames of ours, 
We own Thy right to rule and reign 
In all our mortal powers. 

2 The potter moulds his plastic clay- 

According to his will; 
And be the vessel great or small, 
He claims its service still. 

3 So we — the creatures of Thy hand, 

The clay that Thou didst mould, — 
Would consecrate to Thee each power 
Of body and of soul. 



MARY'S OFFERING. 

CM. Double. 

1 When Mary, moved by grateful love, 

The precious ointment poured 
Upon the head and feet of Him 

She owned as Christ and Lord, 
The odor of the costly gift 

Pervaded all the room; 
How grateful to the sense it seemed, 

How sweet the rich perfume. 

2 Thus, dearest Lord ! an offering meet 

I fain would bring to Thee : 
My heart's devoted love is all, 

But Oh A accept of me 
The gift, and may its fragrance rise 

As incense to Thy throne, 
Oh ! seal me with thy gracious hand, 

To work for Thee, thine own. 



I GIVE MYSELF TO THEE. 

1 Saviour, who died for me, 
I give myself to Thee; 
Thy love, so full, so free, 

Claims all my powers. 
Be this my purpose high, 
To serve Thee till I die, 
Whether my path shall lie 

'Mid thorns or flowers. 

2 But, Lord, the flesh is weak; 
Thy gracious aid I seek, 

For Thou the word must speak, 
That makes me strong. 

Then let me hear Thy voice, 

Thou art my only choice ; 

Oh ! bid my heart rejoice, 
Be Thou my song. 



3 May it be joy to me 
To follow only Thee ; 
Thy faithful servant be, 

Thine to the end. 
For Thee, I'll do and dare, 
For Thee, the cross I'll bear, 
To Thee direct my prayer, 

On Thee depend. 

4 Saviour, with me abide ; 
Be ever near my side ; 
Support, defend and guide ; 

I look to Thee. 
I lay my hand in Thine, 
And fleeting joys resign, 
If I may call Thee mine 

Eternally. 

MISS MARY J. MASON. 
Copyright, 1872, by Biglow & Main. Used by per. 



MY MORNING HYMN. 

L. M. 
"When I awake I am still with Thee."— Psalm cxxxix : 18. 

1 O Jesus ! for a touch divine 

To rest upon this frame of mine ; 
As now I lie, an empty cup, 
With vigorous life, Oh ! fill me up ! 

2 Touch Thou mine eyes that I may see 
What Thou would'st have me do and be ; 
Touch Thou my lips, my feet, my hands, 
That they may follow Thy commands. 

3 Touch Thou my heart, and flaming fire 
Shall burst and blaze, and life inspire, 
And circle round my home below 
And e'en for heathen sisters glow ; 

4 A flame to lighten like the sun, 

And warm and cheer me while I run ; 
To do Thy will through all the day, 
In even, or in roughest way : 

4 A flame to purge the dross of sin 
That chokes the cankers all within ; 
Oh ! let it burn, dear Lord, until 
The gold shall Thy desire fulfill, 

5 And on its molten surface all 
Can see Thy image clearly fall, 
Reflecting in their richest grace 
All the sweet beauties of Thy face. 

6 Jesus, this waking hour appear 
In all Thy glory with me here ; 
And make this first glad morning ray 
A benediction for the day. 

7 The hour with God was passing sweet, 
And life looked bright before my feet ; 
And all the day, as on I moved, 

The precious Christ-touch on me proved. 

HELEN E. BROWN. 1884. 



288 WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

" SHE HATH WROUGHT A GOOD WORK, SHE HATH 
DONE WHAT SHE COULD." 



MRS. L. L. NEWELL. Rochester, Minn., 1879. 

4 



WHITLOCK. 
From "SoDgKing," by per. DR. H. R. PALMER. 




4. Glo - rious Sav - iour, throned 



TS&&- 



m 



:«=* 



gum 



3^-5: 



Thy chil - dren's names,— of 




Naught can I 



with - hold from Thee, Since Thy - self 
1=t 



is giv 



All Thy chil - dren's names, — of me, 

I KNOW I LOVE THEE. 

( Tune— "Dundee.") 

' Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of 
,n, the things which God hath prepared for them that love Hini.i— Cor. ii : 9. 

1 I know T love Thee better, Lord, 

Than any earthly joy, 
For Thou hast given me the peace 
Which nothing can destroy. 

2 I know that Thou art nearer still 

Than any earthly throng, 
And sweeter is the thought of Thee 
Than any lovely song. 

3 Thou hast put gladness in my heart ; 

Then well may I be glad ; 
Without the secret of Thy love 
I could not but be sad. 

4 O Saviour, precious Saviour, mine ! 

What will Thy presence be 
If such a life of joy can crown 
Our walk on earth with Thee ? 

FRANCE'S K. HA.VERGAI.. 

Set to music by R. E. Hudson. 

in " Gems of the Gospel." 



One day speak this word of me. 

WAITING FOR THE KING. 

"Waiting for the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ,"— 1 Cor. i: 7. 

1 Waiting for His coming, toiling as I wait ; 
But a humble worker in His vast estate ; 
Yet my single talent must not idle lie, 
He will ask the increase of me by and by. 

CHORTJS.-Waiting for the coming of the King of 

Be it soon or late, I'm working as I wait 
How my heart rejoices, of His glory sings, 
Waiting for the King of kings. 

2 Though my lot be weary — toiling since the spring, 
Yet a time of resting cometh with my King ; 
Now the whitened harvest waits the willing hand, 
And the call for reapers soundeth through the 

land. 

3 Toiling in the morning, 'neath the sunbright ray ; 
Toiling still when evening draws its curtains gray, 
Yet though often troubled— weary of earth's guile, 
All will be forgotten, when I see His smile. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. CONSECRATION. 



289 



'I LOVE MY MASTER: 



By a singular coincidence. Ellen P. S. and her sister F, R. H. wrote on 
this subject the same day, E. in England, H. iu Switzerland. 



(Tune—" Webb:') 

1 I love, I love my Master, 

I will not go out free ! 
He loves me, Oh ! so lovingly, 

He is so good to me ! 
I love, I love my Master, 

He shed His blood for me, 
To ransom me from Satan's power, 

From sin's hard slavery. 

2 I love, I love my Master, 

Oh ! how He worked for me ! 
He worked out God's salvation, 

So great, so full, so free. 
My Master, O my Master, 

If I may work for Thee, 
And tell out Thy salvation, 

How happy shall I be ! 

3 I know not, but my Master 

Will teach me what to do ; 
Prepare the ground, point out the way, 

And work within me, too. 
" Take up the cross," He bids me, 

And this for me He bare ; 
And while I wear His easy yoke, 

He meekly takes a share. 

4 I cannot leave my Master, 

His love has pierced my heart ; 
He binds me to Himself with love, 

He will not let me part. 
I love, I love my Master, 

To Him alone I cling. 
For there is none like Jesus, 

My Saviour, Friend, and King. 

ellen p. sitaw. (nee Havergal.) 

WAITING AT THE LORD'S COMMAND. 

(Tune— " Holy Spirit, Faithful Guide") 

1 Waiting at the Lord's command. 

All were there with one accord ; 
Looking toward the heavenly land 
For the " promise " of the Lord. 
Chorus. — Holy Spirit, gift divine, 

Shine upon me from above! 

Fill, Oh ! fill this heart of mine 

With Thy overflowing love ! 

2 Unto all, the power was given, 

Upon all, the Spirit poured ; 
For they sought the gift from heaven, 
Waiting always for the Lord. 

3 Be amazed, ye wondering throng ! 

How could you the meaning tell? 
Unto them who loved Him long, 
From His lips the promise fell. 



4 If you'd learn what precious words 

From the lips of Jesus flow, 
Sitting daily by His side, 

You shall every promise know. 

5 Oh ! to breathe the Saviour's name ! 

Oh ! to tread where Jesus trod ; 

And, baptized with tongues of flame, 

Tell the wondrous works of God. 

ELLA M'AFFERTY. 

By per. DaYid C. Cook. From " Sabbath School Manual." 



NEW YEAR HYMN. 



1 Sunlight of the heavenly day, 

Mighty to revive and cheer, 
Bless our yet untrodden way, 

Lead us through the entered year. 
Where the shades of death we see, 
Let Thy living brightness be ; 
Let it speed our lingering feet, 
Let it shine on all we meet. 
While before our chastened gaze, 

Earthly pleasures fade and fail, 
Thou, the light of all our days — 

Thou, our steadfast glory, hail ! 

2 Open Thou beneath our tread 

Springs the distance could not show ; 
From the holy Fountain head, 

Let them rise where'er we go. 
Rather give us eyes to see, 
Love awake to love in Thee, 
Hearts that, trusting in Thy care, 
Find its traces everywhere. » 

Teach us, as we pass along, 

In the shining of Thy face, 
Many a sweet thanksgiving song, 

Even in a dreary place. 

3 Lord of all, we cannot know 

What our paths may yet unfold ; 
But the part that love should show — 

Wise to save us — Thou hast told. 
By our hearts' unmeasured price, 
By Thy life-long sacrifice, 
By Thy death to set us free, 
Lead us on to joy in Thee. 
On, to greet the perfect day, 

Blessed end of time and strife, — 
On, through all the shining way, 

Brightness of our human life. 

ANNA L. WARING. 
Canada, 1860. 



290 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



WAITING. 
" For they shall not be ashamed that wait for me." 

1 Yes, I am waiting, Lord, and it is sweet 
To rest the while at Thy sacred feet, 

Here with Thy wounded hand upon my head, 
My weary soul is blest and comforted. 

2 'T is joy to tarry at Thy bleeding side, 
Whence flows the healing, purifying tide, 
My only hope, my perfect righteousness ; 
Yes, I will wait in this dear hiding-place. 

3 For prone am I, my Lord, from Thee to stray, 
And lose Thy presence in earth's busy way ; 
Yea, sometimes out on errands Thine alone, 
Self rises, and I count them all my own. 

4 So eager am I to devise and do, 

And in my frantic zeal the way pursue, 
That I forget I should but follow Thee ; 
And hurry, till Thy face I cannot see. 

5 And Thou in love dost check my foolish haste, 
Take me apart into the desert waste, 

And bid me pause till Thou shalt point the way 
And go before me lest again I stray. 

6 So here beneath the shadow of Thy wing 
I stay my steps, and as I wait I sing ; 

While peace divine through all my soul distills, 
And love its blessed, perfect work fulfills. 

HELEN E. BROWS. 



A NEW YEAR'S PROMISE. 

"Certainly I will be with thee." Ex. iii : 12, 
(Tune— "Memories of JEarlh," or "Sicily-") 

1 " Certainly I will be with thee ! " Father, I have 

found it true : 
To Thy faithfulness and mercy I would set my seal 

anew. 
All the year Thy grace has helped me ; Thou my 

help indeed hast been ; 
Marvelous the loving-kindness every day and hour 

have seen. 

2 " Certainly I will be with thee ! " Let me feel it, 

Saviour dear ; 

Let me know that Thou art with me, very precious, 
very near. 

On this day of solemn pausing with Thyself, all long- 
ing still, 

Let Thy pardon, let Thy presence, let Thy peace my 
spirit fill. 

3 " Certainly I will be with thee ! " Blessed Spirit, 

come to me, 

Rest upon me, dwell within me, let my heart Thy 
temple be ; 

Through the trackless year before me, holy One, with 
me abide ! 

Teach me, comfort me, and calm me, be my ever- 
present Guide. 



4 " Certainly I will be with thee ! " Starry promise 
in the night ! 

All uncertainties, like shadows, flee away before its 
light. 

" Certainly I will be with thee ! " He hath spoken ; 
I have heard ! 

True of old, and true this moment : I will trust Je- 
hovah's word. 

FRANCES R. HAVERGAL, 



ANOTHER YEAR IS DAWNING. 

1 Another year is dawning ! 

Dear Master, let it be, 
In working or in waiting, 

Another year with Thee. 
Another year in leaning 

Upon Thy loving breast, 
Of ever-deepening trustfulness, 

Of quiet, happy rest. 

2 Another year of mercies, 

Of faithfulness and grace ; 
Another year of gladness, 

In the shining of Thy face. 
Another year of progress, 

Another year of praise ; 
Another year of proving 

Thy presence " all the days." 

3 Another year of service, 

Of witness for Thy love ; 
Another year of training 

For holier works above. 
Another year is dawning ! 

Dear Master, let it be 
On earth, or else in heaven, 

Another year for Thee ! 

FRANCES R. HAVERGAL. 



THE SINGER'S PRAYER. 

"And He hath put a new song in my mouth." 
L. M. 

1 My Saviour ! give me words for Thee — 
Sweet words of power and purity, 
Radiant with joy, and warm with love ; 
Words which may lift some heart above 
The mists of earth, and bid it soar 
Nearer its God forevermore. 

2 Without a thought of earthly fame, 
Without a wish for place and name, 
To Thee I consecrate anew 

The "song gift," which from childhood grew 
Within my soul, a heaven-sent thing, 
Touching my life with angel wing. 
My Lord ! let every thought be Thine, 
And shape these thoughts to words divine. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. CONSECRATION. 



291 



3 What shall I bring Thee ?— long ago, 
As years are counted, at Thy feet 

I laid repentance's precious myrrh, 
And sang glad psalms o'er sin's defeat ; 
And the frankincense of my love 
I pour in prayers, which rise above 
The toil and burdens of the day ; 

blessed boon, to love and pray, 
And know Thou answerest alway ! 

4 But for the gold ! dear Lord, I have 
No store of that, but only faith, 

The treasure which the good book saith 
Only Thy chosen ones possess ; 
And for such wealth Thy name I bless ; 
For riches garnered in the skies, 
Fruits of Thy glorious sacrifice. 

5 So would I pray, and trust, and sing, 
And work for Thee, my glorious King, 
Till through death's gently opening door 

1 see the light on Canaan's shore ; 
And my last song shall sweetest be, 
Forever saved, and saved by Thee ! 

MRS. LIZZIE FERMER 



FAITHFUL, O LORD. 

(Tunes— "Sweet hour of prayer ;" or "He leadeth me") 

1 Faithful, O Lord ! how can I prove 
Faithful to Thee for all Thy love ? 
Can off 'rings such as I may bring 
Be fitting service for a King ? 

2 Faithful, O Lord ! and is this all ? 
Faithful till Thou Thy servant call ; 
Shalt bid me lay my armor down ; 
Faithful till death — and then the crown ! 

3 Amazing thought ! O faith sublime 
That looks beyond the shores of time ; 
Till in transcendent glories bright 
That crown appears to mortal sight. 

4 Oh ! for the love that ne'er shall fail 
Till faith and hope shall lift the veil : 
Like martyred Stephen would I be 
A faithful witness, Lord, for Thee. 



2 God of mercy ! God of love ! 
Do not Thou my soul remove, 
Let me still Thy goodness prove, 
Let me live, and breathe, and move, 

Let me meekly, humbly dare, 
Tenant of Thine upper air, 
Object of Thy love and care, 
Ask another year to spare. 

3 Let me ever near Thy side, 
Trustfully, in Thee abide ; 
And if grief-worn, sorrow-tried, 
Let Thy grace not be denied. 

So if granted my request, 
This year shall be doubly blest — 
Faith and Hope be, each, a guest 
In my peaceful, happy breast. 

4 Let temptation be withstood, 
Let me do to others good, 
So in gay or saddened mood, 
Social hours, or solitude, 

If the message comes to me, 
Soul from body to set free — 
Let me feel, if this must be, 
I have lived one year for Thee. 



ADELIA C. GRAVES. 

Winchester, Tenn., 1 



From D. C. Cook's " Sabbath i 



ELLA M'AFFERTT. 

)1 Manual," by per. 



PRAYER FOR THE NEW YEAR. 

. 'Tis the last night of the year, 
And I sit with boding fear — 
When another draweth near, 
Shall I still be lingering here ? 
Or shall I have passed away, 
Mouldering back to native clay, 
Prisoned from the light of day, 
In the darksome grave to stay ? 



SERVICE. 



1 When o'er the heart redeemed from sin, 

The bliss of pardon rolls, 
A love that takes the whole world in, 
Goes out to erring souls. 

Chorus. — Wonderful, wonderful love, 
Sent by the Father above, 
That they whose hearts are free from sin,, 
More precious souls may win. 

2 It is the Christian's joy to tell 

What Christ for him has done ; 
The story that he loves so well, 
May teach some careless one. 

3 When saved by grace, no other toil 

Can ever be so sweet 
As gath'ring sheaves from earthly soil, 
To lay at Jesus' feet. 

4 Our lives are precious in His sight, 

And while He gives us breath, 
Our voice shall praise Him day and night, 
Until 'tis hushed in death. 



per. D. C. Cook in 



LANTA WILSON SMITH. 

' Sabbath School Manual.** 



292 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



ARE WE FAITHFUL? 

(Tune— " Memories of Earth.") 

1 Are we faithful to our Master ? 

Are His interests our own ? 
Are we doing work for Jesus 
In each way to us made known. 

Chorus. — my soul, be ever faithful ! 

Heart and hand be true and just! 
Squander not the Master's treasure, 
Nor betray His precious trust. 

2 Are we using well the talents, 

Few or many, great or small, 
Which the Master has committed 
To His followers each and all ? 

3 Do we seek the Father's glory, 

And the kingdom of His Son, 
By our constant, pray'rful working, 
That the world from sin be won ? 



MISS M. 

do "Songs of Love." Set to music by 
Dr. H. R. Palmer, and used by per. 



THE EMPTY HANDS. 

L. M. 
"The flower out of reach is dedicated to God.— Tamil Proverb." 

1 " The flower that blooms beyond our reach 

Is kept for God," the heathen say. 
Ah ! well for us if, each and all, 
The lesson to our hearts we lay. 

2 The lost ambition, vain desire, 

The brilliant hopes to mourning turned — 
Are but the blossoms out of reach, 
That in life's morning we discerned. 

3 Our thwarted aims, defeated strife, 

Have their appointed mission each : 
Better than conquest, far, may be 
The lesson sacrifice may teach. 

4 Poor, anxious soul, that waitest sad, 

Trembling to hear the Master's call ; 
Thy piteous gift of empty hands 
May seem the richest gift of all. 

ALICE WILLIAMS BROTHERTOif, 



FAITHFUL IN LITTLE THINGS. 



(Tune — "Nearer, my God, to Thee.") 



Faithful in little things, 

Lord, may we be, 
Joyfully all the way 

Working for Thee. 
We our account must give, 

Help us for Thee to live ; 
Knowing that everything 

Thou, Lord, dost see. 



2 What Thou hast given us 

Gladly we use ; 
Oh ! may we never, Lord, 

Thy gift abuse. 
Great though it be or small, 

Thou rulest over all ; 
Wisdom to use it, Thou 

Wilt not refuse. 

3 Talents, if never used,. 

Surely will rust ; 
Hid from the light away, 

Moulder to dust. 
Slighting what Thou hast sent, 

Losing what Thou hast lent, 
Have we at length betrayed 

Thy heavenly trust. 

4 So, may we labor on, 

Joyful alway, 
Seeking to know Thy will, 

Lest we may stray. 
Much did Thy love bestow, 

Deeply our hearts will glow, 
Waiting Thy word, " Well done," 

That gladsome day. 

MARGARETTE W. SNODGRASS. 

Set to new music by E. A. Kiddle. 

Used by per. David C. Cook. 

MY ALL FOR JESUS. 

"I am thine, and all that I have."— I Kings xx: i. 

1 All for Jesus, all for Jesus, 

All my being's ransomed powers ; 
All my thoughts and words and doings, 
All my days and all my hours. 
Chorus. — All for Jesus I resign ; 

All for Jesus ; He is mine ; 
Blessed Jesus, all for Thee ! 
Thou art all in all to me. 

2 Let my hands perform His bidding; 

Let my feet run in His ways ; 
Let my eyes see Jesus only ; 

Let my lips speak forth His praise. 

3 Oh ! what wonder ! how amazing ! 

Jesus, glorious King of kings, 
Deigns to call me His beloved ; 
Let me rest beneath His wings. 

MARY D, JAMES. 



CLOSER TO THEE. 

Closer, dear Lord, to Thee, 

Closer to Thee, 
In sweet communion drawn, 

Oh ! let me be ! 
Earth's joys forgotten quite, 
Whilst dwelling in the light, 
Closer, dear Lord, to Thee, 

Closer to Thee. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. CONSECRATION. 



293 



Oh ! let no cloud of sin, 

'Twixt me and Thee, 
Aught of Thy brightness hide, 

But let me be 
Now on the mount's blest height, 
Gazing on glory bright, 
Till faith be lost in sight, 

Closer to Thee. 

So shall my walk below 

Glorify Thee, 
Till that glad moment come 

When I shall see, 
Not, through a darkening glass, 
Glimpses of glory pass, 
But view Thee face to face, 

Closer to Thee. 



GEORGIANA M. TAYLOR. 

England, 1883. 



NEARER TO THEE. 

(Tune— "Varina.") 
Repeat last two lines. 

1 I would not be a stranger guest, 

To sit apart from Thee, 
And only as a distant friend 

Thy look of love to, see ; 
But I would nestle close, O Lord, 

To where Thy loved ones be. 

2 I would not sternly quench the love 

That rises in my soul, 
Nor speak the vain and empty word 

And thus the waves control ; 
But I would have Thine eyes to read 

And understand the whole. 

3 I would not face this dreary world, 

Unnoticed and alone, 
I would the music of my life 

Might be my Father's tone ; 
And that at eventide His voice 

Might speak me as His own. 

4 I would not stay amid the snows 

Of life's dark winter day, 
Nor walk the paths where Thou art not, 

Though bright and smooth the way ; 
But I would be Thy home-brought child, 

Close at Thy feet to stay. 

5 O Father, is the way not wild, 

And is the path not long ? 
Do I not weary evermore 

To sing the children's song ? 
When wilt Thou call me to come home, 

To join the ransomed throng ? 

MARIANNE FARMINGHAM. 



WHAT WILT THOU HAVE US TO DO? 

"Lord, what wilt Thou have us to do?"-Acts ix: 6. 

1 What wilt Thou have us to do, Jesus, our Lord ? 

This be our earnest petition ; 
Ready and willing to labor for Thee, 
Choose Thou the field of our mission. 
Cho. — Work, while the day lasteth, night is at hand ; 
Work, for the prospect is cheering ; 
Jesus will call to His mansion above 
Those who now wait His appearing. 

2 Lift up your eyes, 'tis the Saviour's command; 

See how the bright grain is bending ! 
Thrust in the sickle and gather the sheaves, 
Quick, for the noontide is ending. 

FANNY CROSBY. 

Set to music by P. P. Van Arsdale, in "Pure Gold." 

Copyright, 1871, used by per. 

UNFURL THE BANNER: 
"Lift ye up a banner upon the high mountain."— Isa. liji : 2. 

1 Unfurl the banner of the cross we love ; 

Let us rally round it while we sing ; 
All praise and honor to the Lamb of God ! 
He shall reign, our Saviour-King. 
Cho. — All hail ! thou banner of the cross we love, 
We will sing salvation pure and free ; 
And while we journey in the vale of time, 
Still the Lord our song shall be. 

2 Lift high the banner of the cross we love, 

And proclaim its triumphs far and wide, 
Till all the nations of the earth shall hear 
Of a Saviour crucified. 

3 When crowns and kingdoms in the dust are laid, 

And their fame and glory are no more, 
The blood-stained banner of the cross we love 
Shall be sung from shore to shore. 

FANNY CROSBY, 

Set to music by W. H. Doane, in "Pure Gold." 

Copyrighted 1871, and used by per. Biglow <fe Main. 



FATHER, WHOSE LOVE DIVINE 
(Tune— "America.") 

1 Father, whose love divine 
Did o'er my pathway shine 

Through wandering years, 
Whose hand did take my own 
When all but life had flown, 
Whose soft and gentle tone 

Did soothe my fears : 

2 Saviour, whose precious blood 
For me so freely flowed 

On Calvary, 
Whose brow with thorns was crowned, 
Scourged, mocked, reviled, and bound, 
Pierced through with many a wound, 

All, all for me : 



294 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



3 Spirit of gentle might, 
That, like a beam of light 

Holy and sweet, 
Scattered the night away, 
Brought in the perfect day, 
Opened a better way 

Unto my feet : 

4 Bring I this day to Thee, 
Humbly and gratefully, 

My offering — 
All years I have to live, 
All blessings Thou shalt give, 
Each grace I shall receive, 

These, these I bring. 

MRS. S. M. I. HENRY. 

From " Victoria," by per. Walden & Stcwe. 

TRUE SERVICE. 

(Tunes— "Martyn," "Refuge." ) 

1 Jesus, Master, whom I serve 

Though so feebly and so ill, 
Strengthen hand and heart and nerve 

All Thy bidding to fulfill ; 
Open Thou mine eyes to me 
All the work Thou hast for me. 

2 Lord, Thou needest not, I know, 

Service such as I can bring ; 
Yet I long to prove and show 

Full allegiance to my King. 
Thou an honor art to me ; 

Let me be a praise to Thee. 

3 Jesus, Master, wilt thou use 

One who owes Thee more than all ? 
As thou wilt ! I would not choose ; 

Only let me hear Thy call ; 
Jesus, let me always be 

In Thy service, glad and free. 

FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL, 

SUBMISSION AND CONSECRATION. 



(Tune—" Warwick.") 

1 I leave my life with Thee, my Lord ; 

1 dare not seek to know 
What pattern Thou hast set for me 
To work, as on I go. 

2 It may be gay with tints of rose 

And violet and pearl ; 
Perhaps a flag of victory from 
Some height, I may unfurl ; 

3 It may be sombre, grave, or dark 

With heavy lines of shade ; 
And tears may wash the roses out, 
Or time their brightness fade. 

4 Yet, though my trembling hands may fail 

Thy plan to carry out, 
And oft my heart within me sink 
Beneath its load of doubt, 



5 I still will leave my life with Thee, 

O mighty Heart of Love, 
And trust that when the reck'ning comes, 
Thou wilt my work approve. 

6 Because, though full of sad mistakes, 

And soiled with earthly mire, 
Thou seest running through it all, 
My soul's sincere desire. 

SUSIE V. ALDRICH. 



"TO DO THY WILL, O GOD" 

1 I want to work for Thee, my Lord. 

Oh ! give me strength to do. 

Show me the armor I must wear 

To fight the battle through. 

2 To work for Thee ! O blessed Lord, 

And shall my spirit faint, 
Or breathe, because the way is rough, 
One sentence of complaint ? 

3 Nay ! leaning closely on the arm 

Which promises to be, 
Through all the dangers of the road, 
A sure support to me, 

4 I'll watch with never-wearying eye 

To know Thy holy will, 
And though my earthly joys be few, 
Thy love my soul shall fill. 

5 Thus girt around with Heavenly peace, 

My Master's work I'll do, 
Nor backward look until the gate 
Of Canaan I view. 



WHOLLY THINE. 

"The God of peace sanctify you wholly."— I Thes. v : 23. 

1 Thine, most gracious Lord, 

Oh ! make me wholly Thine — 
Thine in thought, in word, and deed, 
For Thou, O Christ, art mine. 
Refrain. — Wholly Thine, wholly Thine ; 

Thou hast bought me, I am Thine : 
Blessdd Saviour, Thou art mine ; 
Make me wholly Thine. 

2 Wholly Thine, my Lord, 

To go when Thou dost call ; 
Thine to yield my very self 
In all things, great and small. 

3 Wholly Thine, O Lord, 

In every passing hour ; 
Thine in silence, Thine to speak, 
As Thou dost grant the power. 

4 Wholly Thine, Lord, 

To fashion as Thou wilt, — 
Strengthen, bless, and keep the soul 
Which Thou hast saved from guilt. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. CONSECRATION. 



295 



5 Thine, Lord, wholly Thine, 
Forever one with Thee — 
Rooted, grounded in Thy love, 
Abiding, sure, and free. 

MRS. ANNIE S. HAWKS. 

Set to music in "Brightest and Best," by Rev. R. Lowry. 

1875. Copyright by Biglow & Main, and used by per. 

CONSECRATION AND RESIGNATION. 

C. M. Double. 

1 My heart is resting, O my God! 

I will give thanks and sing; 
My heart is at the secret so.urce 

Of every precious thing. 
Now the frail vessel thou hast made 
■ No hand but Thine shall fill ; 
The waters of the earth have failed, 

And I am thirsty still. 

2 I thirst for springs of heavenly life, 

And here, all day, they rise ; 
I seek the treasure of Thy love, 

And close at hand it lies ; 
And a new song is in my mouth, 

' To long-loved music set : 
Glory to Thee for all the grace 

I have not tasted yet ; 

3 Glory to Thee for strength withheld, 

For want and weakness known, 
The fear that sends me to Thy breast, 

For what is most my own. 
I have a-heritage of joy, 

That yet I must not see ; 
The hand that bled to make it mine, 

Is keeping it for me. 

4 My heart is resting, O my God ! 

My heart is in Thy care ; 
I hear Thy voice of joy and health, 

Resounding everywhere. 
"Thou art my portion," saith my soul, 

Ten thousand voices say, 
The music of their glad Amen 

Will never die away. 

ANNE L. WARING. 

I AM THE 'LORD'S, AND HE IS MINE. 

"My beloved is mine, and I am His."— Sol. Song ii: 16. 

1 I am tbe Lord's, and He is mine ; 

sacred ground where strife doth cease ! • 
He takes the heart that I resign, 

And grants me pardon, light and peace. 
Refrain. — O blessed Lord ! Thou art my joy ; 
In Thee forever I abide ; 
If I am Thine, and Thou art mine, 
What can I ever want beside ? 

2 I am the Lord's ; O blessed thought ! 

All gain or loss He doth decree ; 
And every day, whate'er my lot, 
He works His gracious will in me. 

3 What though the flesh doth shrink and pine ? 

No pain or grief can harm my soul ; 
Since I am His, and He is mine, 

The living Christ can make me whole. 



4 Lord, I am Thine, forever Thine ; 

This precious truth Thou hast revealed ; 
O blessed portion, Thou art mine ! 
And by Thy blood the bond is sealed. 

ANNIE S. HAWKES. 

Set to music in "Brightest and Best," by R, Lowry. 
Copyright, 1875, by Biglow & Main, and used by per. 

FAITH. 

1 Jesus, I know Thy love 

Is rich, unbounded, free, 
And that no power can e'er remove 

Thy blood-bought saints from Thee ; 
Bend, Saviour, from Thy throne above 

And show that love to me ! 

2 Jesus, I know Thine arm 

Is powerful to save, 
That Thy redeemed should fear no harm- 
Though tempests round them rave ; 

Saviour, haste to calm the storm, 
Or lift me from the wave ! 

3 Jesus, I know Thy name 

Shall sound from shore to shore, 
Thy faithful ones with joy proclaim 
The God whom they adore : 

1 have been faithless, blessed Lamb, 
Yet would I serve Thee more ! 

4 Jesus, I know, at last 

t All they who win the race 

Low at Thy feet their crowns will cast, 

Singing for aye Thy grace : 
Oh ! grant me, Lord, when life is past, 
Thus to behold Thy face. 

SUSAN HAYES WARD, 1883. 

PERSISTENT PRAYER. 

"I will not let thee go, except thou bless me. '—Gen. xxxii : 26. 

1 Pray, though the gate of mercy 

Closed for a while may be ; 
Pray with a faith unshaken ; 
All shall be well with thee. 
Ref. — Oh ! the promise, blessed, blessed promise ! 
He will meet us there ; 
Though He hides His face from thee a moment, 
He will answer prayer. 

2 Pray as the Syrian mother 

Prayed at the Master's feet ; 
What though His voice be silent ? 
Still for His love entreat. 

3 Pray, though thy heart is breaking ; 

Pray, through the night of tears ; 
Pray with increasing fervor ; 
Pray till the morn appears. 

4 Pray when the hour seems darkest; 

Jesus will say to thee, 
Great is thy faith, believer ; 
So shall thy blessing be. 

FANNr CROSBF, 
Set to music in " Royal Diadem." by W H. Doane. 
Copyright, 1873, by Biglow k Main, and used by per. 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



FAITH AND GRACE. 



"By grace ye are saved, through faith. "— Eph. ii: 5. 

1 Saving faith in Jesus — 

This is what we need ; 
Pardon through His merits — 

This alone we plead ; 
If we ask, believing, 

Freely He'll forgive — 
Bid the wounded spirit 
Look to Him and live. 
Refrain. — Faith in Jesus — 

This is what we need ; 
Grace to save us — 
This alone we plead. 

2 Jesus hath appointed 

Work for every one ; 
All the day we labor, 

Till the work be done ; 
Faith and grace will teach us 

How the work to do — 
Faith will help us onward, 

Grace will bear us through. 

3 In the time of trial, 

When our star is dim, 
Lean by faith on Jesus, 

Leave it all to Him ; 
When at last He bids us 

Lay our armor down, 
Faith will lead us homeward, 

Grace will give the crown. 

F. J. CROSBY. 

Set to music in "Brightest and Best," by Rev, R. Lowry. 
Copyright, 1875, by Biglow & Main, and used by per. 



FAITH IN CHRIST. 

"By grace are ye saved, through faith."— Eph. ii: 8. 

1 Let faith in Christ my heart inspire, 

And tune my .voice to praise ; 
Direct in every thought I breathe, 

And every note I raise. 
'Tis faith that binds me to the cross 

And keeps me near my God ; 
'Tis faith that gives me joy and peace 
Through Christ's atoning blood. 
Chorus. — I know that my Redeemer lives, 
By faith His hand I see ; 
'Tis faith that saves me every hour, 
And faith my song shall be. 

2 'Tis faith that cheers my pilgrim way, 

When shadows o'er me fall, 
That bids me look above the storm, 

And trust the Lord for all. 
If faith be strong, though earthly ties 

Were broken one by one, 
My heart could rise above the wreck, 

And say, " Thy will be done." 



Faith is the rock on which I stand ; 

The anchor of my soul ; 
The magnet drawing me above 

Where life's pure waters roll. 
Come, trials, come ; one beam of faith 

Can pierce the darkest night ; 
'Twill guide me through the vale of death, 

And there be lost in sight. 

FANNY CROSBY. 

Set to music by A. Van Alstyne, in "Songs of Salvation." 

Used by permission of Biglow & Main. 

Copyright, 1870, by T. E. Perkins. 



MY FAITH. 

L. M. 

1 Jesus ! the ladder of my faith 

Rests on the jasper walls of heaven ; 
And through the veiling clouds I catch 
Faint visions of the mystic Seven ! 

2 The glory of the rainbowed throne 

Illumes those clouds like lambent flame ; 
As once, on earth, Thy love divine 

Burned through the robes of human flame. 

3 Thou art the same, O gracious Lord ! 

The same dear Christ that Thou wert then ; 
And all the praises angels sing 

Delight Thee less than prayers of men. 

4 We have no tears Thou wilt not dry ; 

We have no wounds Thou wilt not heal ; 
No sorrows pierce our human hearts 

That Thou, dear Saviour ! dost not feel. 

5 Thy pity, like the dew, distills ; 

And Thy compassion, like the light, 
Our every morning overfills 

And crowns with stars our every night. 

6 Let not the world's rude conflict drown 

The charmed music of Thy voice, 
That calls all weary ones to rest, 
And bids all mourning souls rejoice. 

HARRIET M'lWTN KIMBALL. 



WITNESS OF THE SPIRIT. 



1 My daily round I tread 

On heights serene, 
And nightly lay my head 
On angel-guarded bed, 
By love o'er-canopied, 

Felt, though unseen. 

2 What matter how the task 

Employ my hands ? 
God makes the work His mask, 
So in His smile I bask, 
And find that when I ask 

The promise stands. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. CONSECRATION. 



297 



3 I entered in the shade 

Shrinking, alone; 
" Let this cup pass, " I prayed ; 
When, lo ! Christ stood arrayed ; 
I could not be afraid, 

The darkness shone. 

4 When in the fire of pain 

I agonize, 
If neither spot nor stain 
Shall from its purge remain, 
I'll covet it again 

For sacrifice. 

5 And when to watch and wait 

Befits my soul, 
Some sweeter word than " Fate ' 
Still keeps my heart elate ; 
Gladly I trust my state 

To His control. 

6 Poised and sustained I rest, 

Whate'er betide, 
By life's hard duties pressed, 
My weakness all confessed, 
Stayed on a Heavenly Guest, 

And satisfied. 



:p.:hopkins. 



I AM TRUSTING THEE. 



1 I am trusting Thee, Lord Jesus, 

Trusting only Thee ; 
Trusting Thee for full salvation 
Great and free. 

2 I am trusting Thee for pardon, 

At Thy feet I bow ; 
For Thy grace and tender mercy, 
Trusting now. 

3 I am trusting Thee for cleansing, 

In the crimson flood ; 
Trusting Thee to make me holy, 
By Thy blood. 

4 I am trusting Thee to guide me, 

Thou alone shalt lead, 
Every day and hour supplying 
All my need. 

5 I am trusting Thee for power ; 

Thine can never fail ; 
Words which Thou Thyself shalt give me 
Must prevail. 

6 I am trusting Thee, Lord Jesus, 

Never let me fail ; 
I am trusting Thee forever, 
And for all ! 

FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL. 



THE LOVE OF JESUS. 

8s & 7s, with Chorus. 

1 Oh ! the precious love of Jesus, 

Growing sweeter day by day, 
Tuning all my heart so joyous 
To a heavenly melody. 
Chorus. — Christ is precious, Christ is precious, 
In life's journey He will lead thee ; 
Christ is precious, Christ is precious, 
He will lead thee all the way. 

2 But we cannot know the fullness 

Of the Saviour's wondrous love, • 
Till we see and know His glory, 
In the heavenly home above. 

3 Come and taste the love of Jesus, 

At His feet thy burdens lay ; 
Trust Him with thy grief and sorrow, 
Bear this joyful song away. 

ELIZA SHERMAN. 



Piss tepna p. hauler. 



Miss Taylor has recently issued a volume of choice hymns and poems 
entitled "Lays of Lowly Service," published in London. The following 
extract will show what the gifted and consecrated Frances R. Havergal 
thought of them. 

Extract from a letter by the late Frances Ridley Havergal, to Miss 
Taylor: " Your Hymns have a special ministry of their own. I would 
decidedly advise your letting them be published (and this is not what I 

say to many!) Of the verses I have just been reading. I can say, 

the thought is sweet, the form is fresh, and the versification is good. As 
to 'For Jesus' Sake,' it is second only to ' Oh! to be Nothing! ' I am de- 
lighted with it." 



"FOR JESUS' SAKE." 

II Cor. iv: 5; xii:10; I Peter ii: 13; Luke vi: 22. 

A MOTTO TEXT. 

" For Jesus' sake," all sin forgiven ! 

" For Jesus' sake," sweet rest ! 
'T is this glad word has wooed and won 

My heart to love Him best. 
His praise I sing, my Lord ! my King ! 

Who died my peace to make ; 
And all the day, and all the way, 
An echo in my heart shall say, 

" For Jesus' sake ! " 
" For Jesus' sake ! " These precious words 

Shall be like pinions swift, 
To waft my prayers through heaven's gate, 

And bear back many a gift. 
Each answer free God sends to me, 

Then joyfully I '11 take, 
And all the day, and all the way, 
An echo in my heart shall say, 
" For Jesus' sake ! " 



298 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



3 When often, like a wayward child, 

I murmur at His will, 
Then this sweet word, " For Jesus' sake," 

My restless heart can still. 
I bow my head ; and, gently led, 

His easy yoke I take ; 
And all the day, and all the way, 
An echo in my heart shall say, 
" For Jesus' sake ! " 

4 In suffering sore, or toilsome task, 

His burden light I '11 bear ; 
" For Jesus' sake " shall sweeten all, 

Till His bright home I share ; 
And then this song, more sweet, more strong, 

In heaven my harp shall wake ; 
Let all the earth glad sing the lay, 
Etex*nally my heart shall say, 
" For Jesus' sake ! " 

GEORGIANA M. TAYLOR. 



4 Then shall my latest breath 

Whisper Thy praise ; 
This be the parting cry 

My heart shall raise ; 
This still its prayer shall be : 
More love, O Christ, to Thee, 

More love to Thee ! 

More love to Thee ! 



MRS. E. PRENTISS. 

Set to music by W. H. Doane, 

1856. and pub. by Biglow & Main. 



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to. C Jrmttss. 



Of the following hymn is is said, that if Mrs. Prentiss had never 
written anything else, this, so nearly faultless in form, and melodious 
hi utterance, would have given her a lasting place in the heart of Chris- 
tendom. 



MORE LOVE TO THEE, O CHRIST. 

"Continue ye in my love."— John xv : 9. 

1 More love to Thee, O Christ ! 

More love to Thee ; 
Hear Thou the prayer I make 

On bended knee ; 
This is my earnest plea, 
More love, O Christ, to Thee, 

More love to Thee ! 

More love to Thee ! 

2 Once earthly joy I craved, 

Sought peace and rest ; 
Now Thee alone I seek, 

Give what is best : 
This all my prayer shall be, 
More love, O Christ, to Thee, 

More love to Thee ! 

More love to Thee ! 

3 Let sorrow do its work, 

Send grief and pain ; 
Sweet are Thy messengers, 

Sweet their refrain, 
When they can sing with me, — 
More love, O Christ, to Thee, 

More love to Thee ! 

More love to Thee ! 



Anne Steele was the daughter of a Baptist clergyman, in Hampshire, 
England. The family were of good talents and means, which they de- 
voted unreservedly to the cause of Christ. She was a sufferer from 
early life; was afflicted with the saddest bereavement, in early woman- 
hood, and wa.s confined to her home by sickness during her later years. 
She bore all with the resignation so beautifully expressed in this hymn, 
and her last triumphant words were,"Iknow that my Redeemer liveth." 
She permitted her hymns (one hundred and forty-four in number) to be 
published, with the understanding that the profits were to go to be- 
nevolent objects. Few women, if any, have ever written somanyhymns 
that have been generally accepted by the churches of all denominations. 

HUMBLE DEVOTION. 

1 Father ! whate'er of earthly bliss 

Thy sovereign will denies, 
Accepted at Thy throne of grace, 
Let this petition rise : — 

2 " Give me a calm, a thankful heart, 

From every murmur free ; 
The blessings of Thy grace impart, 
And make me live to Thee. 

3 " Let the sweet hope that Thou art mine, 

My life and death attend ; 
Thy presence through my journey shine, 
And crown my journey's end." 



ENTIRE CONSECRATION. 

(Tune—" Jesus, keep me near the Cross.") 

Lord, upon mine offering 

Look with Thy compassion ; 
All my inmost soul's desires 

Do Thou frame and fashion. 
On my head, O dearest Lord, 

Place the crown of blessing ; 
Sanctify the gift I bring' 

While my sins confessing. 
Earnestly I come to Thee, 

All Thy words believing ; 
Take the heart that oft has strayed, 

Oft Thy pure heart grieving. 
Take my hands, and all they hold, 

Gold, and ev'ry pleasure ; 
Purify, and to Thy use 

Take each earthly treasure. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. CONSECRATION. 



5 Cleanse Thou me from all my sin, 
Make me meek and lowly ; 
Ev'ry impulse of my heart 
Make Thou pure and holy. 



MATTIE PEARSON SMITH. 



THE SECRET OF A HAPPY DAY. 

1 Just to let thy Father do 

What He will ; 
Just to know that He is true, 

And be still. 
Just to follow hour by hour 

As He leadeth ; 
Just to draw the moment's power 

As it needeth. 
Just to trust Him, this is all ! 

Then the day will surely be 
Peaceful, whatsoe'er befall, 

Bright and blessed, calm and free. 

2 Just to let Him speak to thee 

Through His Word, 
Watching, that His voice may be 

Clearly heard. 
Just to_tell Him everything 

As it rises, 
And at once to Him to bring 

All surprises. 
Just to listen, and to stay 

Where you cannot miss His voice, 
This is all ! and thus to-day 
Communing, you shall rejoice. 

3 Just to ask Him what to do 

All the day, 
And to make you quick and true 

To obey ; 
Just to know the needed grace 

He bestoweth, 
Every bar of time and place 

Overfloweth. 
Just to take thy orders straight 

From the Master's own command. 
Blessed day ! when thus we wait 
Always at our Sovereign's hand. 

4 Just to recollect His love, 

Always true ; 
Always shining from above, 

Always new. 
Just to recognize its light 

All-enfolding ; 
Just to claim its present might, 

All-upholding. 
Just to know it as thine own, 

That no power can take away, 
Is not this enough alone 

For the gladness of the day ? 



5 Just to trust, and yet to ask 

Guidance still ; 
Take the training or the task, 

As He will ; 
Just to take the loss and gain, 

As He sends it; 
Just to take the joy or pain, 

As He lends it ; 
He who formed thee for His praise 
Will not miss the gracious aim; 
So to-day and all thy days 

Shall be moulded for the same. 

6 Just to leave in His dear hand 

Little things, 
All we cannot understand, 

All that stings. 
Just to let Him take the care 

Sorely pressing, 
Finding all we let Him bear 

Changed to blessing. 
This is all ! and yet the way 

Marked by Him who loves thee best : 
Secret of a Happy Day, 

Secret of His promised rest. 

FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL. 



THE SAVIOUR'S LOVE 



1 Dear Saviour, does Thy love, 

So wonderful and free, 
Delight to own Thy weakest child, 
Who upward looks to Thee ? 
Chorus. — love ! O wondrous love ! 
love that stoops to me ! 
A love that covers all my sins, 
And makes me free in Thee. 

2 Give us a deeper love, 

That loves Thy love alone ; 

Resigns all hope of earthly gain, 

This wondrous gift to own. 

3 Thee only would we love ; 

Be this our constant aim, 
To lose all thought of self in Thee, 
And glorify Thy name. 

4 Then, beautify us. Lord, 

And make us meekly show 
Our hearts to be Thy temple-home, 
Where love shall ever flow. 



From " Wreath 



ELIZA J. COFFIN. 

Set to music by J. H. Rosecrans. 

Praise," Asa Hull. Copyright, 1879. 



300 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

CONSECRATION. 



ELIZABETH SCOTT. Arr. 



MARIA TIDDEMAN. 
In "Methodist Hymnal," by Nelson & Phillips. 



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2 Thus would my rising soul 

Its heavenly Parent sing, 
To its original, 

The humble tribute bring. 

3 Serene I laid me down, 

Beneath His guardian care, 
Refreshed, I woke and found 
My kind Preserver near. 

4 My life I would anew 

Devote, O Lord to Thee ; 
And in Thy service spend 
A long eternity. 

TRUST. 

Build a little fence of Trust, 

Around to-day ; 
Fill the space with loving work, 

And therein stay. 
Look not through the sheltering bars 

Upon to-morrow ; 
God will help thee bear what comes 

Of joy or sorrow. 



SIRS. F. M. BUTTS. 



2 I thank Thee, for the crucible 

Of trial's dark-lined hour, 
When in the depths of sore distress, 
Thou, Father, wast my tow'r. 

3 I thank Thee, for that beauteous grace, 

Thy wondrous pardoning love ; 
Such untold mercy hast Thou pour'd 
Upon me from above ! 

4 I thank Thee, for communion sweet, 

Bright rainbow through my tears ; 
I thank Thee for deliv'rance real, 
From all sin's slavish fears. 

5 I thank Thee, for the present peace, 

The mind just stay'd. on Thee : 
For future haven of sweet rest 
Beyond life's sin-stained sea ! 

6 I thank Thee, for that blessed hope, 

That Christ will come again ; 

Let not my voice be missing then, 

To swell the advent strain ! 



PRAISE-NOTE FOR 1881. 

' Call upon Me in the day of trouble, I will deliver thee, and 1 
shalt glorify Me."— Ps. 1 : 15. 

1 I thank Thee, that I am Thy child, 
Redeemed by Jesus' blood : 
Brought back, beloved and reconciled, 
Cleansed in that crimson flood. 



7 Lord, tune this tiny note of praise 
To touch some stranger chord — 
Let it vibrate, till each lone heart 
Can sing, Thou art my Lord ! 

CECILIA HAVERGAX. 

Written for the "Young Women's Christian Association" Praise 
Meeting, December 18, 1881, England. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. CONSECRATION. 



301 



The following hymn may be sung to St. Petersburg, or Palestine. If 
something more elaborate is desired, it will apply to the tune " When 
starry eyes look on the sea," by Henry Tucker, which appeared in the 
Boston Folio, for October, 1877. 



FROM PERSIA'S PLAIN ; 

OR. LET EVERY CREATURE KNOW THE LORD. 

From Persia's plain, from India's sea, 
From Afric's sunny, sultry lea, 
A cry comes to us pleadingly, 
A wail of sadness, tenderly, — 
Come o'er and help us show the way 
To souls that deep in darkness lay. 

O ye who dwell in Christian land, 
Regard ye not the great command 
Of Him who died our souls to save 
From sinners' death and sinners' grave ? 
" To every clime the Gospel send ! 
Lo ! I am with you to the end ! " 

To China's distant heathen shore, 
Assistance lend those gone before. 
" The field is white, the laborers few ! " 
Go, gather sheaves with courage true, 
Till every souk; from high to low, 
The Saviour's free salvation know. 

Good Lord, forgive our doubts and fears, 

Our selfish pride and foolish tears. 

May souls be stirred and reach to Heaven ; 

Proclaim the Word with power and leaven, 

'Till every soul shall know the Son ; 

And then receive the glad — " Well done ! " 

MBS, G. c. smith. In "The Field is the World." 
Springfield, IU., 1878. 



SPEAK, LORD, FOR THY SERVANT 
HEARETH. 

1 " Speak, Lord, for Thy servant heareth ! " 

In wisdom, in power, in love, 
Oh ! speak, till this heart that feareth 

Is lifted all fear above ! 
Before I go forth to serve Thee, 

Whatever my work may be, 
Let words from Thy presence nerve me 

To do and to bear for Thee. 

2 " Speak, Lord, for Thy servant heareth ! " 

Thy will may the spirit show, 
Till step upon step appeareth 

The way Thou wouldst have me go ! 
And while in the path before me 

Thy precepts shall safely guide, 
Like the " bow for a token " o'er me 

Thy promises shall abide. 



" Speak, Lord, for Thy servant heareth ! 

Remind, as the hours roll on, 
That the shore of eternity neareth, 

When time will be over and gone. 
Let me each opportunity cherish, 

And tell me the words that will reach 
Poor souls that are ready to perish, 

Sad hearts that seem closed to all 



" Speak, Lord, for Thy servant heareth ! : 

Through sorrow and toil and pain, 
No voice like Thine own voice cheereth, 

No tones have such sweet refrain ; 
But tender and calm and healing, 

Like dew to the drooping flower, 
Thy Word, o'er my spirit stealing, 

Shall fill me with holy power. 



GEOEGIANA M. TAYLOR, 



WITH HEALING IN HIS WINGS. 



1 Health to the nations ! Lord of life, 

We thank Thee for the thought ; 
We bless Thee for the wondrous grace 
Thy dying love hath wrought. 

2 We joy to hail Thee Prince of Peace, 

To crown Thee King of kings, 
We drop our burdens at Thy feet, 
We rest beneath Thy wings. 

3 Yet, blessed Jesus, there are homes 

Where Thou art still unknown, 
Homes where no loving hands have reared 
Thine altar and Thy throne. 



4 Sad hearts are there, who never felt 

Thy tender, healing touch ; 

Dear Saviour, who hast pitied us, 

We humbly pray for such. 

5 And as we pray, we fain would work 

The labor of our hands 
May waft the tonic of Thy love 
To error-stricken lands. 

6 The ocean-isles rejoice to feex 

Thy radiance from afar, 
While Ethiop lifts her dusky arms 
To greet the Morning Star. 



MKS. D. LANDON. 

North Denver, Col. 1885. 



302 



WOMAJV IN SACRED SONG. 

WHAT IS MY MISSION? 



Words and Music by AMELIA CLEMENT. 
From D. C. Cook's "Sabbath School Manuel." 



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I knew,Methinks I'd to its light be true, Nor fal - ter tho' its 




path -way led A-way from sun-shine in - to shade, I'll ask of 



Lord, and I shall knou 

JL J&. J*L J*. 



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The path by which He'd have me go; Tho' all the way I cannot see, I'll trust in Him, He cares forme. 




2 Though but one step to me appear, 
He gathers all ; each day, each year, 
He'll guide my erring feet aright, 
And make each duty plain to sight. 

3 And when my tired feet shall rest 
Where earth's poor weary ones are blest, 
The hidden goal will be attained, 

The crown of life at last be gained. 

KEEP ME THINE. 

"I am Thine."— Psalm cxix: 94. 
(Tune— "Nearer, my God, to Thee.") 

1 Make Thine abode with me, 

Be Thou my guest ; 
Thou art my portion here, 

Thou art my rest ; 
Though like a summer day, 

Fond hopes may fade away, 
Jesus, my heart can say, 

Thou knowest best. 

2 "Why should I doubt and fear 

When Thou art mine? 
How can I faint or fall, 
My hand in Thine? 



Light of my pilgrim way, 

My soul's eternal day, 
Help me to watch and pray, 

Lord, keep me Thine. 

3 Though hedged on every side 

My path may be, 
Gladly I follow on, 

Trusting in Thee ; 
Love, on celestial wings, 

Peace to my spirit brings, 
While faith looks up and sings, 

Glory to Thee. 

4 Thine, though my clays be long, 

Saviour divine, 
Thine, when their light shall fade, 

No more to shine; 
O Thou unchanging Word, 

Thou from all time adored — 
Living or dying, Lord, 

Still I am Thine. 

FANNY J. CROSBY. 

Set tn music in "Brightest and Best," by W. H. Doane. 
Copyright, 1873, and used by per, Biglow & Main- 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. CONSECRATION. 



303 



DRAW ME NEARER. 
" luet us draw near with a true Heart."— Heb. x : 22. 

1 I am Thine, O Lord, I have heard Thy voice, 

And it told Thy love to me ; 
But 1 long to rise in the arms of faith, 
And be closer drawn to Thee. 
Refrain. — Draw me nearer, nearer, blessed Lord, 
To the cross where Thou hast died ; 
Draw me nearer, nearer, nearer, blessed Lord, 
To Thy precious bleeding side. 

2 Consecrate me now to Thy service, Lord, 

By the power of grace divine ; 
Let my soul look up with a steadfast hope, 
And my will be lost in Thine. 

3 Oh ! the pure delight of a single hour 

That before Thy throne I spend, 
When I kneel in prayer, and with Thee, my God, 
I commune as friend Avith friend ! 

4 There are depths of love that I cannot know 

Till I cross the narrow sea, 
There are heights of joy that I may not reach 
Till I rest in peace with Thee. 

FANNY J. CROSBY. 
Set to music in "Brightest and Best," 
by W. H. Doane. 
Copyright, 1875, and used by per. Biglowfc Main. 

ALL FOR JESUS. 

1 Toiling on for Jesus ! Oh ! how passing sweet ! 
He has called to service ; He has made us meet ; 
Meet to be co-workers with the God of might ; 
Meet to be partakers with the saints in light. 

2 Toiling on for Jesus, not for power or fame : 
Toiling on for Jesus, not for party name ; 
Love to Him, the motive which our ardor fires, 
He Himself sole object of our hearts' desires. 

3 Toiling on for Jesus, 'neath the noontide sun ; 
Toiling on for Jesus till the day is done ; 
Toiling on for Jesus through the shadows dim, 
Till He call the laborers to their rest with Him. 

4 Great indeed the harvest, and the fields are white ; 
AYho will bring the sickle, strong in Jesus' might ? 
Who will gain the "penny," when the Lord shall 

come? 
Who will share the gladness of the Harvest-home ? 

5 Who will follow Jesus, counting all but loss ? 

Who will win new triumphs for the Saviour's cross ? 
Who, for this, will welcome shame and toil and pain ? 
Who will suffer with Him, and hereafter reign ? 

6 For half-hearted service, let the past suffice ; 

We are His by purchase, His own blood the price. 

We are His to follow whither He doth lead ; 

We are His — His servants — He " the Lord, indeed." 

7 His by sweet and solemn " All for Jesus " vows ; 
His to serve Him better in His Father's house ; 
His to share His glory ; His to share His throne — 
Glory be to Jesus — We are not our own ! 



MY REFUGE. 

( Tune— "Battle Hymn of the Republic") 
Kepeat next to last line of tune. 

1 In the secret of His presence, how my soul delights to 

hide ! 
Oh ! how precious are the lessons which I learn at 

Jesus' side ! 
Earthly cares can never vex me, neither trials lay me 

low, 
For when Satan comes to tempt me, to the " secret 

place " I go ; 

A refuge dear to me. 

2 When my soul is faint and thirsty, 'neath the shadow 

of His wing- 
There is cool and pleasant shelter, and a fresh and 

crystal spring; 
And my Saviour rests beside me as we hold communion 

sweet ; 
If I tried, I could not utter what He says when thus 

we meet ; 

His love is dear to me. 

3 Only this I know; I tell Him all my doubts and 

griefs and fears ; 
Oh ! how patiently He listens, and my drooping soul 

He cheers. 
Do you think He ne'er reproves me ? What a false 

friend He would be, 
If He never, never told me of the sins which He must 

see; 

Reproof is dear to me. 

4 Do you think that I could love Him half so well, or 

as I ought, 
If He did not tell me plainly of each sinful word and 

thought? 
No ! He is very faithful, and that makes me trust Him 

more, 
For I know that He does love me, though He wounds 

me very sore, 

Reproof is dear to me. 

5 Would you like to know the sweetness of the secret 

of the Lord ? 
Go and hide beneath His shadow ; this shall then be 

your reward ; 
And whene'er you leave the silence of that happy 

meeting-place, 
You must mind and bear the image of your Master in 

your face ; 

His image will be there. 

6 You will surely lose the blessing and the fullness of 

your joy, 
If you let dark clouds distress you, and your inward 

peace destroy ; 
You may always be abiding, if you will, at Jesus' side ; 
In the secret of His presence you may every moment 

hide ; 

His love will comfort you. 

ELLEN L. GOKEH. 

A Brahmin of the highest caste, adopted daughter of Sjv. W. T. Storrs, 
Bradford, England. 



304 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



NEAR THE CROSS. 



"Peace through the blood of His cross."— Coll. i : 29. 

1 Jesus, keep ine near the Cross, 

There a precious fouutain, 
Free to all — a healing stream, 
Flows from Calvary's mountain. 
Chorus. — In the Cross, in the Cross, 
Be my glory ever ; 
Till my raptured soul shall find 
Rest beyond the river. 

2 Near the Cross, a trembling soul, 

Love and mercy found me ; 
There the bright and morning star 
Shed its beams around me. 

3 Near the Cross ! O Lamb of God, 

Bring its scenes before me ; 

Help me walk from day to day, 

With its shadows o'er me. 

4 Near the Cross I'll watch and wait, 

Hoping, trusting ever, 
Till I reach the golden strand, 
Just beyond the river. 

FANNY J. CKOSBY. 

Set to music by Rev. W. H. Doane. 
' Copyright, 1869, in "Bright Jewels," used by per. Biglow & Main. 



Sirs. Sarnl] JfJUrtocr $taira. 



"Nearer, my God, to Thee." This language is the heart utterance 
of Mrs. Sarah Flower Adams, who was born in Cambridge, England, 
February 22, 1805, and whose history has been but very slightly known 
to the great public, who have cherished her hymns as among its most 
sacred treasures for nearly half a century. Her father was the editor 
of a weekly Cambridge paper. Her mother was a woman of fine gifts 
and culture, and she herself was the youngest child. She was noted in 
early life for the taste she manifested in literature, and in maturer years 
for great zeal and earnestness in her religious life. She contributed 
prose and verse to the periodicals of theday, and her art criticisms were 
valued. Married at an early age, and of frail constitution, she still, 
amid many bodily sufferings, kept her pen busy, her thoughts and writ- 
ings always tending upwards. At what time and amid what circum- 
stances she caught the inspiration from which was evolved that 
wonderful hymn which has since echoed round and round the globe, is 
not known; but it was probably during some period of peculiar trial, 
when her spirit was uplifted through sorrow almost above its earthly 
body. She little dreamed that her hymn, like those of Toplady, Char- 
lotte Elliott and Ray Palmer, would be heard through the ages. 

It was first published in 1841, in a volume of sacred lyrics issued by 
Mr. Fox, of England, just eight years before the death of the gifted 
authoress, who only lived to the age of forty-four, and thus never knew 
the fame which was to attach to her hymn and her name. She visited 
America just after the hymn was first published. Mrs. Adams was also 
a composer of music, which is pronounced good, in England. Very 
little of it is known in this country. '■ He sendeth sun, He sendeth 
shower," is also quite a celebrated hymn by Mrs. Adams. 

Among prose writings, she prepared a catechism for children, entitled 
"The Flock at the Fountain." 

Some of her works were collected and published under the title of 
" Adoration, Aspiration and Belief." In 1841 she published a dramatic 
poem in five acts, on the martyrdom of "Vivia Perpetua," and which 
she dedicated to her sister. 



The "religious faith of Mrs. Adams has been the subject of much 
discussion. She has at times been classed as a Trinitarian and a Uni- 
tarian. The burden of proof, however, is in favor of the latter. But 
before her connection with the latter, which seems to have been largely 
a family affair, she was for years a member of the Baptist Church at 
Harlow, and it is hard to read her hymns without the conviction that 
her faith in the Crucified One, at whose tomb "an angel sat," was never 
entirely eradicated from her heart. 

Attentions to her beloved sister during protracted illness enfeebled 
her own health. Ere long she succumbed, as her sister had done, to pul- 
monary disease, in almost her last breath bursting into unconscious song. 
Her hymns touchingly reflpct her states of mind. In 1849 she was hur- 
ried by the side of her sister Eliza, in Essex, Eng., where, with their 
parents, their bodies await the resurrection. 



NEARER, MY GOD, ■ TO THEE. 

Gen. xxviii: 10—22. 

1 Nearer, my God, to Thee, 

Nearer to Thee ! 
Ev'n though it be a cross 

That raiseth me ! 
Still all my song shall be, 
Nearer, my God, to Thee, 

Nearer to Thee! 

2 Though like the wanderer, 

The sun gone down, 
Darkness be over me, 
* My rest a stone, 

Yet in my dreams I'd be 
Nearer, my God, to Thee, 
Nearer to Thee ! 

3 There let the way appear, 

Steps unto heaven ; 
All that Thou sendest me, 

In mercy given ; 
Angels to beckon me 
Nearer, my God, to Thee, 

Nearer to Thee ! 

4 Then, with my waking thoughts 

Bright with Thy praise, 
Out of my stony griefs 

Bethel I '11 raise ; 
So by my woes to be 
Nearer, my God, to Thee, 

Nearer to Thee! 

5 Or if, on joyful wing 

Cleaving the sky, 
Sun, moon and stars forgot, 

Upward I fly, 
Still all my song shall be, 
Nearer, my God, to Thee, 

Nearer to Thee. 

6 Christ alone beareth me 

Where Thou dost shine ; 
Joint-heir He maketh me, 

Of the Divine ! 
In Christ my soul shall be 
Nearer, my God, to Thee, 

Nearer to Thee! 

SARAH FLOWER ADAMS. 1841. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. CONSECRATION. 



305 



CREATE IN ME A CLEAN HEART, O GOD. 



Slowly and with feeling. 
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2. Lord, I am wait-ing and long-ing for Thee,Shine in my heart, Lord, and bid dark-ness flee, 
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Scat-ter the shad-ows and make the way bright, 



Je - sus! my Sav - iour,draw nigh un - to me! 
Fill me with joy, with love and with light! 




Come, Ho - ly Spir-it! Oh! come in Thy power, Cleanse me and make me Thine own from this hour; 
Thine is the glo - ry and Thine is the power, Cleanse me and make me Thine own from this hour; 




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# These words can be sung to " Rock me to sleep, mother," or by changing the last line, can be sung 



glad that our Father in Heaven.' 



306 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



$rs. 8fc*b*-pmer. 



Mrs. Phoebe Palmer has left a rich legacy to those who come after her, in her many beautiful hymns, which will have a permanent 
place in Sacred Song. She was also quite a prolific prose writer. Hei books on "Holiness," " faith and its effects," "Entire Devo- 
ion." &c. , are well known to the majority of Christians, and highly valued. Her daughter, Mrs. Joseph F. Knapp of Brooklyn. N. Y . 
3 no less talented, and added to her numerous qualifications for usefulness in this life, is a rich, cultivated voice, consecrated "to the ser- 
ice of the Master. She is one of the best musical composers in America, and her music is in much demand. Her Cantata has had an 
mmense sale for Christmas holiday entertainments and is pronounced one of the best ever written. To see the mother's and daughter's 
ivmns and music wedded, as they often are, renders them doubly interesting. Through her kindness, several selections appear in 
liis work. 



WELCOME TO GLORY. 



MRS. P. PALMER. 



MRS. J. F. KNAPP. By per. 



1. Oh ! when I shall sweep thro' the gates, The scenes of mor-tal - i - ty o'er? What then for my spir - it a - waits? 



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Will they sing on the glo - ri-fied shore? Welcome home! welcome home! 

Welcome home ! welcome home ! 




welcome in glo - ry for me; Welcome home! welcome home! A wel - come for me. 

Welcome home ! welcome home ! welcome home ! 



2 When from Calv'ry's mount I arise, 

And pass through the portals above, 

"Will shouts, Welcome home to the skies, 

Resound through the regions of love ? 

3 Yes, loved ones who knew me below, 

Who learned the new song with me here, 
In chorus will hail me, I know, • 

And welcome me home with good cheer. 

4 The beautiful gates will unfold, 

The home of the blood-washed I'll see : 
The city of saints I'll behold, 

For, Oh ! there's a welcome for me ! 



5 A sinner made whiter than snow, 
I'll join in the mighty acclaim, 
And shout through the gates as I go, 
Salvation to God and the Lamb ! 

HUMBLE DUTY. 
O Master dear ! the smallest work for Thee 

Finds recompense beyond our highest thought; 
And feeble hands that worked out tremblingly 

The richest colors in the fabric wrought. 
We are content to take what Thou shalt give, 

To work or suffer as Thy choice shall be ; 
Forsaking what Thy wisdom bids us leave, 

Glad in the thought that we are pleasing Thee 

"London Chilian.' 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. CONSECRATION. 



307 



I'VE NO ABIDING PLACE. 



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(Suitable for Praise Meetings, or the Consecration hour at Annual Missionary Gatherings.) 
Words by MRS. MARY O. PAGE. 

Andante con molto espressione. 



Music by MRS. CLARA H. SCOTT. 
Used by per. Messrs. J. Church & Co. 



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FOREIGN MISSIONS. CONSECRATION. 



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310 WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

FOREIGN MISSIONS. ANNUAL MEETINGS. 
Miss Havergal's sister, in writing her Memoir, says: " The words and music to this piece 'Tell it out,' flashed upon her while reading 
the Praise Book version. She arose from her bed and in an incredibly short time, both tune, parts and words were all written out with 
copperplate neatness, and she singing it away, as no one else can.'' 

TELL IT OUT. 

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2 Tell it out among the heathen that the Saviour reigns ! 

Tell it out ! Tell it out ! 

Tell it out among the nations, bid them burst their 

Tell it out ! Tell it out ! [chains ; 

Tell it out among the weeping ones that Jesus lives ; 

Tell it out among the weary ones what rest He gives ; 

Tell it out among the sinners that He came to save ; 

Tell it out among the dying that He triumphed o'er 

the erave. 



Tell it out among the heathen Jesus reigns above ! 

Tell it out ! Tell it out ! 
Tell it out among the nations that His reign is love, 

Tell it out! Tell it out! 
Tell it out among the highways and the lanes at home ; 
Let it ring across the mountains and the ocean foam ; 
Like the sound of many waters let our glad shout be, 
Till it echo and re-echo from the islands of the sea. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. ANNUAL MEETINGS. 

GOD BE MERCIFUL UNTO US. 

(DEUS MISERATUR.) 



311 




THROUGH THE ROLLING YEARS. 



( Tune— "Seeking to Save.") 

1 Gladly now we gather, 

Come from far and near, 
• Thanks to bring our Father 
At His altar here ; 
All the way He's brought us 

Joyous now appears ; 
Filled with countless blessings 
All the rolling years. 
Chorus. — Through ten years of labor, 
Seeking to save ; 
Lost ones in heathen lands, 
Seeking to save. 

2 Anxious days have met us, — 

Days of care and thought, — 
But the elder Brother 

Ever came when sought ; 
Filled with sweet compassion, 

Heard our feeble prayers, 
Lifted all the burdens 

Through the rolling years. 



3 Tenderly we've lingered 

In the border-lands, 
Where we've seen our loved oi 

Break their earthly bands ; 
Now, on high ascended, 

Free from cares and fears, 
Watch they now our progress 

Through the rolling years. 

4 Gladly we remember 

Many pleasant ways, — 
Many deeds accomplished, 

Many joyful days ; 
Many sheaves vouchsafed us, 

Many ripened ears, 
Many gladsome harvests, 

Through the rolling years. 

5 Not to us the glory, 

Not to us the praise ! 
But to God, our Father, 

Who, in wondrous ways, 
Hath His servants guided, 

Stilling doubts and fears, 
Granting strength and courage 

Through the rolling years. 

_ . . From "Life 

Written for the Tenth Annual Meeting of the ' 



312 WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

FROM "GLORY TO GLORY." 2 "From glory unto glory!" O marvels of the word! 

(Tune-"We&V' or "From Greenland's icy mountains. "With Open face beholding the glory of the Lord," 

, ' . _ L P nf I ^ E ' , • . We, even we (O wondrous grace!) "are changed into 

1 "Jb rom glory unto glory ! Be this our joyous song, the same 

AS °alon e King ' S ° Wn LighWay We braVdy marCh The ima S e of ' our Saviour, to glorify His Name. 

"From°gfo'ry unto glory ! " O word of stirring cheer, 3 j^f 1 **? H f f°T f 6 ' and Y"^ * the light 

As dawns the solemn brightness, another glad New And s . e ^g t0 d ° alwa ? s what ls P leasm S m Hls 
Year. sight ; 

n _ ,",,-,-»*■ n , , ■ ., We look to Him to keep us "all glorious within," 

2 Our own beloved Master "hath many things to say, Because "the blood of Jesus is cleansing from all sin." 
Look forward to His teaching, unfolding day by day; - „,, ... , , . , - Ai . , , , 

rr, , ■ c TJ . . ., '?., .. ° . , T . "'» r 4 1 he things behind forgetting, we only gaze before 

To whispers of His Spirit, while resting at His ieet, .. „ *= ■ f „=' ^ « ^- to ti i 

rr< i ■ l i- i • ■ i, i t . "irom glory unto glory, that "smiieth more and 

lo glowing revelation, to insight clear and sweet. & „ J & •" 

00 ° more, 

3 "From glory unto glory ! " Our faith hath seen the Because our Lord hath said it, that such shall be our 

Km g' way, 

We own His matchless beauty, adoringly we sing ; (Q splendor of the promise i) « unto the fect d » 

But He hath more to show us ! O thought of untold . ,,,-, , , ... J. „ „ , ,, 

,y i ° o "irom glory unto glory ! Our fellow-travellers still 

A j !,• . ■ i ., • Are gathering on the iournev. The bright electric 

And we press exulting on m certain hope to this : — th "II 

4 To marvellous outpourings of "treasures new and old," Q f quick, instinctive union, more frequent and more 



To largess of His bounty, paid in the King's own , 



sweet, 



To glorious expansion of His mysteries of grace, g hall sw if t i y pass f rom heart to heart in true and ten- 



To radiant unveilings, the brightness of His face, 

II. GRATITUDE. 



der beat. 



3 "From glory unto glory ! "What mighty blessings crown 
The lives for which our Lord hath laid His own so 



6 And closer yet and closer the golden bonds shall be, 
"From glory unto glory I" What great things He hath Enlinking all who love our Lord in pure sincerity ; 

done, And wider yet, and wider, shall the circling glory glow, 

What wonders He hath shown us, what triumphs He j^ s more and more are taught of God that mighty love 

hath won ! to know. 

We marvel at the records, the blessings of the year ! 
But sweeter than the Christmas bells rings out His IV - consecration. 

promise clear 1 Oye who seek the Saviour, look up in faith and love, 

mi , ,, , ,,. ' „, , Come up into the sunshine, so bright and warm above ! 

lhat "greater things, tar greater, our longing eyes -,.-,--, r , -, ,, ,, ' , , s. . , u . , , 

, & ,. , & ' & ' t> & ^ j^o longer tread the valley, but, clinging to His hand, 

w ,''•.-, j , . xi • v Ascend the shining summits and view the glorious land. 

We can but wait and wonder what "greater things , , , 

shall be ! ^ Our harp-notes should be sweeter, our trumpet-tones 

But glorious fulfillments rejoicingly we claim, more clear, ,■,,,,, 

While pleading in the power of All-Prevailing Name. 0ur anthems ring so grandly that all the world must 

Oh ! royal be our music, for who hath cause to sing 
Like the chorus of redeemed ones, the children of the 
freely clown ! K" <>• ? 

Omnipotence to keep us, Omniscience to guide, ° ' . . 

Jehovah's Triune Presence within us to abide ! 3 0h! let our adoration for all that He hath done, 

r „, . , . TT . , , . ,, Peal out beyond the stars of God, while voice and life 

I he fulness of His blessing encompasseth our way ; J _ 

The fulness of His promises crowns every brightening And \™ ^ ; onsecratioil be real? deep) and true . 

I a 7 ' , TT . , . , -j. t Oh ! even now our hearts shall bow, and -joyful vows 
I he fulness of His glory is beaming from above, . J J 

While more and more we realize the fulness of His ._.,„', ., . ., ™, 

j 4 "In full and glad surrender we give ourselves to 1 nee, 

_, ' , ... ,„. . itp Thine utterly, and only, and evermore to be ! 

"From glory unto glory ! Without a shade of care, Q gon of ^ who lo ^ t wQwm h& Thine ^ 

Because the Lord who loves us will every burden bear; ^ ^ we an(J ^ we h ^ henceforth be 

Because we trust Him fully, and know that lie will Thine own ' " 

And know that He will keep us at His beloved side. 5 Now onward,ever onward, "from strength to strength" 

we go, 

, IIL ,T, R V ST ' , ., i . r n While "grace for grace" abundantly shall from His 
"From glory unto glory ! though tribulation fall, fulness flow 

It cannot touch our treasure, when Christ is All in All ! To j , g M1 fr ' uiti from lory - s fore t a ste here, 

Whatever lies before us, there can be naught to fear, Unt ^ Hig ve presence crown ^ our happiest New 
For what are pain and sorrow when Jesus Christ is Year ! 

near ? fkances ridley havebqax.. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. ANNUAL MEETINGS. 



313 



THE TRUTH MAKES FREE. 

(Tune— "The Shining Shore") 

1 The days of summer brightness come, 

And we, with songs of gladness, 
Assemble in our place of prayer, 
And banish thoughts of sadness. 
Chorus. — For Oh ! we see that Truth makes free, 
And God is loving ever ; 
When work is done, and victory won, 
We shall be parted never. 

2 Though here the clouds above our path 

Sometimes in darkness lower, 

The bow of promise shineth there 

By Love's redeeming power. 

3 And so we gather here in hope, 

And praise the glorious Giver, 
Who brightens earth with blossoms fair, 
Of heaven a symbol ever. 

4 Lord, let the chrism of Thy love, 

Each faithful heart anointing, 
Prepare us for the earthly paths 
Of Thy divine appointing. 

REV. PHfEBE A. BCANAFORD. 

Jersey City, 1878. 

CHRISTIAN REUNION. 

9th P. M. 

" Let brotherly love continue." 
(Tune — " Martyn," or " Memories of Earth.") 

1 Soldiers in the ranks of Jesus, 

Workers in the field of grace, 
Preachers of our blessed Gospel, 
Welcome to this sacred place. 
Chorus. — What an hour of holy transport, 
God is in our midst to-day ! 
Praise the Lord this happy union, 
How it cheers us on our way. 

2 Some are here whose locks betoken 

Years of watching, toil and care ; 
Others in the prime of living, 
Just begin their Cross to bear. 

3 Tell us, Christians, are you planting 

Goodly seed on fertile ground? 
Is the glorious work progressing, 
Does the fruit of joy abound ? 

4 Do not think of earthly trials, 

With your crown of life in view ; 
Though afflicted, bear it meekly, 
Jesus bled and died for you. 

5 Though you sometimes feel discouraged, 

And your labor seems in vain, 
Look to God, and seek His blessing, 
He will bring the promised reign. 

6 Patient, then, be persevering ; 

Soon your mission will be o'er ; 
Through the glass of hope, though darkly, 
You can see the other shore. 

MRS. F. C. VAN ALSTYNE. 
By per. Biglow & Main. 



UP, FRIENDS OF JESUS. 

" Go therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of 
the Lord."— Matt, xxviii: 19 
(Tune— "Portuguese Hymn") 

1 Up, friends of Jesus, the harvest now is white, 
Work will soon be over, fast falls the shade of night ; 
Strong in His strength, let us bind the golden sheaves, 
Could we meet the Master with naught but leaves ? 

2 Up, friends of Jesus, for time will soon be o'er, 
Harvest days are passing to come again no more ; 
Wake from repose, hear the Master calling still, 
Rise to earnest effort with right good will- 

3 Sing ! friends of Jesus, for when our work is done, 
Joyful we will gather to greet the harvest home ; 
Then let us hasten the golden sheaves to bind, 
Rest and life eternal we all shall find. 

KATE SUMNER BURR. 

HOW BLEST THE SACRED TIE. 

L. M. 
"Of one heart." 

(Tune—" Hamburg.") 

1 How blest the sacred tie that binds 
In union sweet, according minds ! 

How swift the heavenly course they run, 
Whose hearts and faith and hopes are one. 

2 To each the soul of each how dear ! 
What jealous care, what holy fear ! 
How doth the generous flame within 
Refine from earth and cleanse from sin ! 

3 Their streaming tears together flow, 
For human guilt and human woe ; 
Their ardent prayers united rise, 
Like mingling flames in sacrifice. 

4 Nor shall the glowing flame expire 
'Mid nature's drooping, sickening fire : 
Soon shall they meet in realms above — 
A heaven of joy, because of love. 

ANNE L. BARBATTLD. 

INVOCATION. 

(Tune— "Autumn.") 

1 Great Jehovah, now inspire us, 

While Thy sacred Word we read, 
Fill us with Thy light and wisdom, 

As upon its truths we feed. 
Through the clouds the literal meaning, 

Thou art making now Thy way, 
Breaking down all skeptic's barriers, 

Ushering in a glorious day. 

2 Come, my soul, arouse thy slumbering, 

See, the Bridegroom draweth near : 
Go attired with heavenly garments, 

Shining raiments, white and clear. 
Go adorned with pearls and rubies, 

Precious truths of righteousness ; 
Go, proclaim the hidden manna, 

That Thou may'st the nations bless. 

MRS. WINSLOW. 



314 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

THE BANNER OF THE CROSS. 



MRS. M. O. PAGE. 



MRS. C. H. SCOTT. 
Author of the " Royal Anthem Book, ' &c. 



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2 Soldiers of a mighty cause, 

Raise the royal banner high ; 

While we heed our Master's laws, 

We may earthly pow'r defy. 

3 They who bear it bravely on, 

Soon their heart's desire shall see, 
For the world, ere long, must own 
This, the flag of victory. 

From "Songs of Love," by per. Dr. H. R. Palmer. 
Pub. by Messrs. Church & Co. 

IN THE NAME OF OUR GOD WE WILL 
SET UP OUR BANNERS. 

1 Lift up on the mountains, O host of the Lord, 

With voice of the trumpet's acclaim, 
Lift up on the mountains our banners of light, 
And girded with strength, march on to the fight 

In our Leader's victorious name. 

2 Bear on to the front our banner of Praise, 

In imperial purple arrayed ; 
For " glory to God in the highest " shall ring, 
As the army's grand choral to Jesus our King, 

Till all nations His own shall be made. 



3 And Faith's banner, pure white, unfold to the breeze^ 

For she marches beside us at night ; 
She leads through the desert our faltering feet, 
And sings in the darkness her litanies sweet, 

Of deliverance, triumph and sight. 

4 Then lift up the radiant banner of Hope, 

In her symbolic color of blue ; 
For clasping Faith's hand, Hope smiles like the light, 
And with beautiful prophecies follows the night, 

Like sunrise after the dew. 



And Love in its passionate crimson, the Love 

That is greater than Hope or than Faith ; 
The glory and crown of the army below, 
The holiest strain that all Heaven can know, 
The grace that abideth in death. 

Then lift up the heart, move onward with song, 

Our victory now draweth nigh ; 
Though the enemy's legions come in like a flood, 
Our " munitions of rocks " for ages have stood, 

And God's standards are floating on high. 

MRS. DR. BERRICK JOHNSOM- 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. ANNUAL MEETINGS. 

THE LORD IS KING. 



315 



' Make a joyful noise before the Lord, the King."— Ps. xcviii : S. 



FANNY CROSBY. 



Music by MRS. JOSEPH P. KNAPP. 

Prom "Notes of Joy," by per. 




hands and the moun - tains re - joice. 



We will praise Him, we will praise Him, we will 




join the might- y, might -y chor - us, For the Lord is our God, for the Lord is our King. 



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2 See the mansions of glory their portals unfold, 
Our Redeemer ascending, the angels behold. 

3 Though the kingdoms of earth and their splendor shall 

fall/ 
Yet the Lord is triumphant, He rules over all. 

4 To the Lord, our Creator, salvation belongs, 
Let His name be exalted with rapture and songs. 

WORK. 

(Tune—" Over the Ocean Waves.") 

1 Do thy work speedily, child of the earth, 
Waste not a moment in sorrow or mirth ; 
Life is a mystery shaded with gloom, 
Bearing us rapidly on to the tomb. 
Life is a mystery shaded with gloom, 
Bearing us rapidly on to the tomb. 



2 Work hath been given thee, do not delay, 
Carelessly trifling the moments away ; 
Dreamily floating on life's silvery tide, 
Stealthily down to the ocean we glide. 
Dreamily floating on life's silvery tide, 
Stealthily down to the ocean we glide. 

3 Life is receding, the hours as they pass 
Bear in their bosoms the sands from its glass. 
Why should we linger on time's crested wave, 
Gathering baubles to garnish the grave ? 
Why should we linger on time's crested wave, 
Gathering baubles to garnish the grave ? 

4 Think you the treasures that lie in the deep 
Would soften earth's pillow, or sweeten our sleep ? 
Far sooner the thought that earth's glittering toys 
Were lost in the struggle for holier joys. 

Far sooner the thought that earth's glittering toys 
Were lost in the struggle for holier joys. 

WAIF WOODLAND. 



316 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



CENTENNIAL HYMN. 



COME, SAINTS, LET US JOIN. 



(Tune— •'Autumn.") 

1 God of nations ! Thou All-seeing ! 

In whose sight the ages run 
Swift, as to our mortal being 

Daily threads of life are spun ; 
Thou whose tender care hath brought us 

To this happy festal day, 
And in all life's change hath taught us 

Of Thy wise and kindly sway ; 

2 Thee we thank for all the beauty 

To this joyful season brought, 
For the past of work and duty 

Which our fathers nobly wrought ; 
For the liberties they founded, 

Set with many a bloody seal, 
For the depths of woe they sounded 

To secure our country's weal ; 

3 For the century's record ended 

With its words and deeds sublime, 
With its lights and shadows blended 

On the moving scroll of time. 
God of liberty, we praise Thee ! 

God of love, we Thee adore ! 
God of Grace, Oh ! may we raise Thee 

Grateful songs forevermore ! 

MRS, MARY C. 
Rocky Hill, Conn., July i, 1876. 



(Tune— "Sow firm a foundation.") 

1 Come, saints, let us join in the praise of the Lamb, 

The theme most sublime of the angels above ; 

They dwell with delight on the sound of His name, 

And gaze on His glories with wonder and love. 

2 They worship the Lamb who for sinners was slain ; 

But their loftiest songs never equal His love ; 
The claims of His mercy will ever remain, 
Transcending the anthems in glory above. 

3 Yet even our service He will not despise, 

When we join in His worship and tell of His ways, 
Then let us unite in the song of the skies, 

And trusting His mercy sing Worthy the Lamb. 

MARIE DE FLEURY. 



MISSIONARY HYMN. 



To the realms of midnight darkness, 

Where our brothers dwell, 
Who will go to tell the story 

Of Emmanuel ? 
Who, with tender words and loving, 

Will stretch forth the hand, 
And along life's journey lead them 

Toward the better land ? 



ARISE AND SHINE. 

"Arise, shine, for thy light is come."— Isa. Ix: 1. 

1 Lift up, lift up thy voice with singing, 

Dear land, with strength lift up thy voice I 
The kingdoms of the earth are bringing 
Their treasures to thy gates — rejoice ! 
Chorus. — Arise and shine in youth immortal, 

Thy light is come, thy King appears ! 
Beyond the century's swinging portal, 

Breaks a new dawn — the thousand years ! 

2 And shall His flock with strife be riven ? 

Shall envious lines His church divide, 

When He, the Lord of earth and heaven, 

Stands at the door to claim His bride ? 

3 Lift up the gates ! bring forth oblations ! 

One crowned with crowns a message brings, 
His word, a sword to smite the nations ; 
His name — the Christ, the Kino- of kings. 



4 He comes ! let all the earth adore Him ; 
The path His human nature trod 
Spreads to a royal realm before Him, 
The Light of Life, the Word of God ! 



Used by per- John Church & Co. 



MARY A. LATHBURY. 

Set to music by P. P. Bliss. 
Orange, N. J., 1876. 



2 Who will plough the stony furrow, 

Scattering precious seed ? 
Who will bear the heavenly manna, 

Starving souls to feed ? 
Who will bid the arid desert 

Bloom with Sharon's rose? 
Who will plant the snowy lily 

Where the Upas grows ? 

3 Hark ! the cry from Macedonia 

Sounds upon the air ! 
" Come and help us, Christian brothers, 

Listen to our prayer. 
Lo ! the harvest in our valleys 

Waits the Gospel's light ; 
Come, and by your God-like teachings 

Hasten error's plight ! " 

4 Heed the call, O Christian people ! 

Be it not in vain 
That our glorious Lord and Master 

For these souls was slain ; 
Plant the Cross and tell His story 

On each distant strand, 
Till His banner wave victorious 

Over every land. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS, ANNUAL MEETINGS. 



317 



UNPROFITABLE SERVANTS. 

Suitable for Praise Meetings. 
(Tune— " Martyn " or "Refuge."] 

1 Vain we number every duty, 

Number all our prayers and tears, 
Still the Spirit lacketh beauty, 
Still it droops with many fears. 

2 Soul of Love, O boundless Giver, 

Who didst all Thyself impart, 
And Thy blood a flowing river, 
Told how large the loving heart, 

3 Now we see how poor the offering 

We have on Thine altar cast, 
And we bless Thee for the suffering 
Which has taught us love at last. 

4 We may feel an inward gladness 

For the truth and goodness won, 
But far deeper is the sadness 
For the good we leave undone. 



And the sound that went forth on the night 

of His birth, 
Shall be heard to the uttermost bounds of the 

earth. 

2 All creatures adoring shall bow at His word, 

All tongues shall confess Him their Saviour and Lord ; 
His truth and His glory extended shall be, 
And cover the earth as the waters the sea. 

3 How gently and kindly there comes from above 
His sceptre of mercy, His standard of love ! 

He ruleth in wisdom, the Monarch of peace, 
His reign shall be glorious and never shall cease. 

4 The day is approaching, the time draweth nigh, 
When nation to nation " Hosanna ! " shall cry ; 
The idols they worship in dust shall be laid, 
And Jesus be honored, exalted, obeyed. ' 



From " Brightest and Best." 
Set to music by Rev. Robert Lowry. 
Copyright 1875, by Biglow & Main. Used by p£ 



CHURCH RALLYING SONG. 

1 Awake ! awake ! the Master now is calling us ; 

Arise ! arise ! and trusting in His word, 
Go forth ! go forth ! proclaim the year of Jubilee, 
And take the Cross, the blessed Cross of Christ 
our Lord. 

2 A cry for light from dying ones in heathen lands, 

It comes, it comes across the ocean's foam ; 
Then haste, Oh ! haste, to spread the words of truth 

abroad, 
Forgetting not the starving poor at home, dear home. 

3 O church of God, extend thy kind maternal arms, 

To save the lost on mountains dark and cold ; 
Reach out thy hand with loving smile to rescue them, 
And bring them to the shelter of the Saviour's fold. 

4 Look up ! look up ! the promised day is drawing near, 

When all shall hail, shall hail the Saviour King ; 
When Peace and Joy shall fold their wings in every 

clime, 
And glory, hallelujah ! o'er earth shall sing. 

FANNY CROSBY. 

Used by per. J. J. Hood 

SHOUT ALOUD I ALL YE LANDS. 

" Shouted with a great shout so that the earth rang again."— I Sam. iv : 5. 

1 Across the blue waters the message of grace 
O'er kingdom and empire is flying apace ; 
The day-beam is breaking, majestic and bright, 
And millions are turning from darkness to light. 
Chorus. — Shout aloud! all ye lands, and be glad while 
ye sing ; 
Shout aloud ! all ye lands, for the Saviour is 
King! 



CHURCH OF GOD, AWAKE! 

(Tune — " The morning light is breaking.") 

1 Church of God, whose conquering banners 

Float along the glorious years, 
Gathering harvest rich and golden, 

Sowed in poverty and tears ; 
Onward press, the Cross is bending 

Far toward the morning skies, 
Speedy daNvn of light portending : 

Church of God, awake ! arise ! 

2 In your costly temples praying, 

" Let Thy kingdom come," we pray, 
Are but words of idle meaning, 

If with these we turn away. 
Boundless wealth to you is given, 

From His hand who owns it all, 
And His eye beholds in heaven 

What ye render back for all. 

3 Grace and glory He hath sent you, 

Cast your line in places fair, 
Scatter blessings now, He bids you, 

O'er His green earth everywhere ; 
Till the millions in the twilight 

Of the far-off Orient land, 
In the gracious morning splendor 

Of the Gospel light shall stand. 

4 Shake the earth, and rend the heaven, 

Wake Thy sleeping children, Lord, 
Till the measure full and even 

Has been rendered at Thy word. 
Then from out her chrism of sorrow, 

Shall the earth redeemed arise ; 
And the fair millennial morrow 

Dawn with opal-tinted skies. 

EMILY J. BUG BEE. 
Set to music by T. C. O'Kane, in "Every Sabbath.' 
Pub. by Messrs. Church & Co. 



318 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG 



ONE IN CHRIST. 



" Ye are all one in Christ,"— Gal. iii : 28. 
(Tune — " Horton" or "Autumn") 

1 Here in Christian love we meet, 

One in Christ, one in Christ ; 
Precious bond of union sweet, 

One in Christ, one in Christ ; 
Here before His throne we bend, 
Heart and mind and spirit blend, 
While our prayers of faith ascend ; 

One in Christ, one in Christ. 

2 Filled with rapture, lost in praise, 

One in Christ, one in Christ ; 
While our grateful song we raise, 

One in Christ, one in Christ ; 
Blessed name ! our Saviour dear ; 
Oh ! to feel Him now so near, 
Making of His children here, 

One in Christ, one in Christ. 

3 May we still in love abide, 

One in Christ, one in Christ ; 
Walking ever by His side, 

One in Christ, one in Christ ; 
When our trials all are o'er, 
May we reach the heavenly shore, 
There to dwell forevermore, 

One in Christ, one in Christ. 

MRS: VAN ALSTYNI. 
Copyright, 1871, and used by per. Biglow & Main. 



4 Rent the temple curtain's centre ; 
Come, ye nations, freely enter 
Through the vail the holy place ! 
Freely stand before His face, 
Here your grateful tributes bringing : 
Come, thou Bride, for ever singing, 
Hallelujah ! hallelujah ! 



FRANCES ELIZABETH COX, tr. 



JESUS FIRST. 

"Who is over all, God blessed forever."— Rom. ix : 5, 

1 Above the songs of heaven 

One raptured strain must burst, 
For souls redeemed, forgiven, 

Must sing of Jesus first. 
Beside life's crystal river, 

Lips that were long athirst, 
But now with gladness quiver, 

Are singing "Jesus first." 

2 His hand once pierced is holding 

The sceptre of all might, 
The universe unfolding 

His smile of love and light. 
First-born of Heaven, we name Thee, 

Who broke death's tyrant thrall ; 
Our heart's first choice shall claim Thee, 

Our God, high over all. 

PR1SCILI.A J. OWENS. 

Set to music by E. S. Lorenz, in " Holy Voices." 



P. M. 

I Pet, i: 10,11. 

1 Wake ! the welcome day appeareth, 
Every heart with joy it cheereth ! 
Wake ! the Lord's great year behold ; 
That which holy men of old, 

Those who throng the sacred pages, 
Waited for through countless ages : 
Hallelujah ! hallelujah ! 

2 Patriarchs erst and priests aspiring, 
Kings and prophets long desiring, 
Saw not this before they died : 

Lo ! the light to them denied, 
See its beams to earth directed ! 
Welcome, O Thou long-expected ! 
Hallelujah ! hallelujah ! 

3 In our stead Himself He offers, 
On the accursed tree He suffers, 
That His death's sweet savor may 
Take our curse for aye away ; 
Cross and curse for us enduring, 
Hope and heaven to us securing : 

Hallelujah ! hallelujah ! 



TELL OF JESUS 

(Old Tune— "Pass me not, O gentle Saviour.") 

1 When of old, the Lord's disciples 

Taught in Jesus' name, 
Peter, bidden by the Spirit, 
To the Gentiles came. 
Refrain. — Tell of Jesus.! 

Tell to all the earth, 
Of the tender, loving Saviour, 
And His priceless worth. 

2 Speeding on His holy mission, 

Welcome, true, received; 
When He spake the wondrous 
Many hearts believed. 

3 With a faith that questions never, 

Barren though the field, 
We must work, and trust the Master 
For unstinted yield. 

4 Into all the world He sends us, 

With His precious seed ; 
He will give us power to use it, 
Starving souls to feed. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. ANNUAL MEETINGS. 



319 



OUR GOSPEL. 



CHRISTIAN UNION. 



1 Rejoice, rejoice, with heart and powers ; 
The gospel of our Lord is ours. 

Not yours, while I remain in doubt, 
Not mine, still leaving you without, 

2 But ours ; and there is waiting still, 
Good news for whosoever will 
Repent, call humbly on the Lord, 
Accept His grace and trust His word. 

3 But heathen souls, in dark distress, 
Grope for the light that we possess ; 
How can they call in word or thought, 
On Him of whom they are not taught ? 

4 How learn they, saving teacher teach ? 
How hear, excepting preacher preach ? 
And who shall preach ere He be sent ? 
Who warn the nations to repent ? 

5 Who under God can send like we 
To whom the gracious gift is fres ? 
A gift we may not comprehend, 
Cannot, till time with us shall end. 

6 This much we feel, that every man 
Doth need to know the gospel plan, 
Ere steadfast hope and godly fear 
Can fit for Christian service here, 

7 Or saving faith and grateful love 
Prepare for endless rest above. 
Hence, duty calls us to explain 

Why Christ, the Lamb of God, was slain, 

8 And bids us labor, watch and pray, 
Trusting our precious gospel may 
Soon earth o'erspread, nor be denied 
To souls for whom the Saviour died. 

LUCY B. GREGG. 

THE NAME OF JESUS. 

8s and 7s, with Chorus. 

1 Take the name of Jesus with you, 

Child of sorrow and of woe : 
It will joy and comfort give you ; 
Take it, then, where'er you go. 
Chorus. — Precious name, O how sweet ! 

Hope of earth and joy of heaven : 
Precious name, O how sweet ! 
Hope of earth and joy of heaven. 

2 Take the name of Jesus ever, 

As a shield from every snare ; 
If temptations round you gather, 
Breathe that holy name in prayer. 

3 Oh ! the precious name of Jesus, 

How it thrills our souls with joy, 
When His loving arms receive us, 
And His songs our tongues employ ! 

4 At the name of Jesus bowing, 

Falling prostrate at His feet, 
King of kings, in heaven we'll crown Him, 
When our journey is complete. 

MRS. LYDIA BAXTER. 

Copyright, 1871, by Biglow & Main, and used by per. 



( Tune— "From Greenland's icy mountains.") 

1 And is the time approaching, 

By prophets long foretold, 
When all shall dwell together, 

One shepherd and one fold ? 
Shall every idol perish, 

To moles and bats be thrown, 
And every prayer be offered 

To God in Christ alone ? 

2 Shall Jew and Gentile, meeting 

From many a distant shore, 
Around one altar kneeling, 

One common Lord adore? 
Shall all that now divides us 

Remove and pass away, 
Like shadows of the morning 

Before the blaze of day ? 

3 Shall all that now unites us 

More sweet and lasting prove, 
A closer bond of union, 

In a blest land of love ? 
Shall war be learned no longer, 

Shall strife and tumult cease, 
All earth His blessed kingdom, 

The Lord and Prince of Peace ? 

4 O long-expected dawning, 

Come with thy cheering ray ! 
When shall the morning brighten, 

The shadows flee away ? 
O sweet anticipation! 

It cheers the watchers on, 
To pray and hope and labor, 

Till the dark night be gone. 



WHAT WORSHIPPERS ARE THESE? 



1 What worshippers are these 

Before the Queen of Heaven ? 

Their reverence shown to Ashtaroth, 

Their praise to Baalim given ? 

2 Those late from bondage led, 

Whose gratitude had poured 
In burning praise from glowing hearts 
Unto the living God ! 

3 Thou ever-faithful Lord, 

Our weakness, pitying, see ; 

Cast every tempting idol down 

And fix our hearts on Thee. 

JULIA P. BALLARD. 



320 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



WOMAN'S WORK. 

1 Let her not lift a feeble voice and cry, 

" What is my work ?" and fret at bars and bands, 
While all about her life's plain duties lie, 
Waiting undone beneath her idle hands. 

2 The noblest life oft hath, for warp and woof, 

Small steady- running threads of daity care; 
Where patient love beneath some lowly roof 
Its poem sweet is weaving unaware. 

3 And soft and rich and rare the web shall be, 

O wife and mother, tender, brave and true ; 
Rejoice, be glad ! and bend a thankful knee 
To God, who giveth thee thy work to do. 

KLLEN P. ALLKRTOM-. 

IS CHINA OUR NEIGHBOR? 

"And Jesus said, Which was neighbor uuto Hiru that fell among the thieves? 

And He said, He that showed mercy on Him. Then said Jesus unto Him,Goand 

do thou likewise."— St Luke. 

( Tune— " Webb.") 

1 Can China be our neighbor, 

And yet receive no care ? 
Shall Christians cease their labor, 

And leave her to despair ? 
Her children, sunk in sorrow, 

Are sick with many ills, 
To-day is sad —tomorrow 

A deeper shadow fills. 

2 And bowed in tribulation, 

No light athwart the gloom, 
That old and haughty nation 

Seems hastening to her doom ; 
The cup of woe is tasted, — 

And must she, 'neath war's frown, 
Like Babylon be wasted ? 

Like Egypt trodden down ? 

3 Oh ! when those nations perished, 

No Saviour's name was known, 
No brother's love was cherished — 

No Christian kindness shown ; 
Now where's the heart so frozen 

But feels the Gospel ray? 
And we, as Freedom's chosen, 

Should lead in mercy's way. 

4 As gentle dews, distilling, 

Caused withered plants to live, 
So love, her work fulfilling. 

Her alms and prayers must give ; 
Till China's millions, breaking 

From sin's dark bonds, arise, 
Like death to life awaking, 

When Christ descends the skies ! 

5 As early flowers, upspringing, 

Proclaim the opening year, 
So love and hope are bringing 

The clay of promise near. 
Each tear by pity given, 

Each mite in faith bestowed 
Makes earth more like to heaven, 

Where all is done for God. 



CHRISTMAS HALLELUJAH. 

"Good tidings of great joy." Luke ii : 10. 

1 Blow, ye golden trumpets, blow, 
Let the sleeping nations know, 

Christ the Lord is born. 
Yonder see the Bethlehem star, 
Guiding mortals from afar ; 
Peace shall reign forevermore, 

Christ the Lord is born. 
Chorus. — Hallelujah, praise the Lord! 

' Tis the blessed Christmas morn ; 

Hallelujah ! Hallelujah ! 

Christ the Lord is born ! 

2 Ring, Oh ! ring, ye silvery bells, 
Far and near your cadence swells, 

Christ the Lord is born. 
Ring, and banish doubt and fear, 
Ring, till all with joy shall hear, 
Sin is vanquished, victory's near, 

Christ the Lord is born. 

3 Sing, Oh ! sing, ye people free, 
Shout, for 'tis your jubilee, 

Christ the Lord is born. 
Sing, while reign the three in one, 
Rivers of salvation run, 
Now the mighty work is done, 

Christ the Lord is born. 

MRS. M. A. KIDDER. 

Copyright, 1870. Set to music by T. E. Perkins. 
From " Songs of Salvation," pub. by Biglow & Main. 

BY AND BY. 

(Tune— "Gospel Hymns." No. 1. Page 9.) 

1 There will be no sin nor pain, 

By and by ; 
All that's dark will be made plain, 

By and by ; 
For the Lord will come again, 
Oh ! how glorious His reign ! 
Like the sunshine after rain, 

By and by. 

2 We shall see Him eye to eye, 

By and by, 
We shall meet Him in the sky, 

By and by ; 
We shall hear His tender tone, 
We shall be no more alone ; 
He is coming to His own, 

By and by. 

3 When Life's lessons we shall learn, 

By and by, 
Jesus' voice we shall discern, 

By and by. 
Let us lift our heads on high, 
Our redemption draweth nigh; 
He will banish every sigh, 

By and by. 



Born in 1795. Died in 1879. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. ANNUAL MEETINGS. 

STRETCH FORTH THY HAND. SING WITH GLEE. 



321 



1 faithless soul, with hand so weak, 
Why turn from duty thou should' st seek? 
Remember him to whom Christ said, 
"Stretch out thy hand," though seeming dead. 

2 O joy ! the withered hand restored 
Is reached obedient to the Lord, 
And strength receives to bear the load 
Along the happy homeward road. 

3 Rouse, faith ! lift up thy fainting eyes, 
And view with joy the smiling skies ; 
And look for promised grace and strength 
Which God will give to thee, at length. 



(Tune— "Sweet By and . 



WHEN JESUS CAME TO EARTH OF OLD 



1 When Jesus came to earth of old, 

He came in weakness and in woe ; 
He wore no form of angel mould, 
But took our nature, poor and low. 

2 But when He cometh back once more, 

There shall be set the great white throne, 
And earth and heaven shall flee before 
The face of Him that sits thereon. 

3 O Son of God ! in glory crowned, 

The Judge ordained of quick and dead ! 
O Son of man ! so pitying found, 
For all the tears Thy people shed ! 

4 Be with us in this darkened place, — 

This weary, restless, dangerous night ; 
And teach, Oh ! teach us, by Thy grace, 
To struggle onward into light ! 

5 And since in God's recording book 

Our sins are written, every one, — 
The crime, the wrath, the wandering look, 
The good we knew and left undone, 

6 Lord, ere the last dread trump be heard, 

And ere before Thy face we stand, 
Look Thou on each accusing word, 
And blot it with Thy bleeding hand. 

7 And by the love that brought Thee here, 

And by the Cross, and by the grave, 
Give perfect love for conscious fear, 
And in the day of judgment, save. 

8 And lead us on while here we stray, 

And make us love our heavenly home, 
Till from our hearts we love to say, 
" Even so, Lord Jesus, quickly come." 

CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER. 



1 Let the fragments and ends of the earth 

Join with us in " New Songs " of Christ's birth ; 
Let the cliffs and the isles and the main, 
Shout aloud o'er wide seas the refrain. 
Sing with glee, sing with glee, 
For His heralds He asks us to be. 

2 As we climb toward yon heavenly hill, 
Let us work with the heartiest will ; 
Gathering up all the fragments so clean, 
That 'mid dust on the highways are seen. 

They are bright, they are bright, 

We must lift them from darkness to light. 

3 Let our love for the lost clasp around 
Every land where poor heathen are found ; 
Pluck the lamb from the wolf, and ne'er tire 
Lifting wounded humanity higher. 

Dark, but dear ; dark, but dear ; 
And our neighbors they are, even here. 

4 Let the wide world's poor daughter and son 
Take Life's bread with Life's waters that run, 
A free gift for each famishing child 

That faints on the desert's drear wild. 
Bid them taste, bid them taste, 
Hasten quickly, O Christian, make haste. 

5 From the Orient and Occident far, 

Bid them gaze on our " Bright Morning Star ; " 
Say His feast and His mansions are fair, 
While ye point them the path leading there. 
Narrow path, narrow way, 
Out of depths to the clearness of day. 



ENCOURAGEMENT TO WORKERS. 

(Tune— " Horton," or " Pleyel's Hymn,.") 

1 Sleep not, soldier of the Cross ! 

Foes are lurking all around ; 
Look not here to find repose : 
This is but thy battle-ground. 

2 Up ! and take thy shield and sword ; 

Up ! it is the call of Heaven ; 
Shrink not faithless from the Lord ; 
Nobly strive, as strength is given. 

3 Break through all the force of ill ; 

Pray the might of passion down, 
Struggling onward, onward still, 
To thy conq'ring Saviour's crown, 

4 Through the midst of toil and pain, 

Let this thought ne'er leave thy breast: 
Every triumph thou dost gain 

Makes more sweet thy coming rest. 

MRS. E. C. GAS KILL. 



322 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



EVERY HOUR. 



1 Saviour, more than life to me, 
I am clinging, clinging close to Thee ; 
Ever be a present friend, 
Leave me never, never to the end. 
Refrain. — Every day, every hour, 

Let me feel Thy cleansing power ; 

May Thy tender love to me 

Bind me closer, closer, Lord, to Thee. 

2 Through this changing world below 
Lead me gently, gently as I go ; 
Trusting Thee, I cannot stray, 

I can never, never lose my way. 

3 Let me love Thee more and more, 
Till this fleeting, fleeting life is o'er ; 
Till my soul is lost in love, 

In a brighter, brighter world above. 



Copyright, 1875, in "Brightest and Be 



F. C. VAN ALSTYNE. 
' used by per. Biglow & Main. 



THE CALL. 

(Tune— "How firm a foundation.") 

1 In the depths of the night then the clear message 

came, 
Filling the solitudes, ever the same ; 
In the hush of the darkness the strong spirit said : 
"Go, tell the glad message to souls that seem dead. 

2 "Of the safe-leading light of the Bethlehem star, 
Babe that was born in the manger afar, 

Go, proclaim to the laborers heaping up dross ;' 
Point them away to the gleam of the Cross. 

3 " Where the hearts that have yielded their treasures 

to earth, 
Ache in their emptiness, pine in their dearth, 
Do thou draw near the deep chill of the gloom, 
Breathe of the light that was born of the tomb. 

4 "Tell to the simple, to low and to high, 
'Jesus of Nazareth now passeth by ; ' 

Teach them the whole heaven is bending above, 
Sing the glad song of Salvation through Love."' 

AURILLA FURBER, 1883, 



WE'RE GOING HOME. 

4s & 7s, with Chorus. 

1 We're going home, 
No more to roam, 

No more to sin and sorrow, 
No more to wear 
The brow of care — 

We're going home to-morrow. 
Chorus. — We're going home, 

We're going home to-morrow, 
We're going home, 

We're going home to-morrow. 

2 For weary feet 
There waits a street 

Of wondrous pave and golden ; 
For hearts that ache, 
The angels wake 

The story sweet and olden. 

3 For those who sleep, 
And those who weep, 

Above the portals narrow, 
The mansions rise 
Beyond the skies — 

We're going home to-morrow. 

4 O joyful song ! 

O ransomed throng, 

AVhere sin no more shall sever ! 
Our King to see, 
And Oh ! to be 

With Him at home forever. 

PAULINA. 
Arr. and set to music by P. p. Bliss. 
Used by per. of the John Church Co., owners of the copyright. 
(See page 407.1 



PRAYER FOR FOREIGN MISSIONS. 



1 Night wraps the realm where Jesus woke, 

No guiding star the magi see ; 
And heavy hangs oppression's yoke 

Where first the Gospel said, " Be free ! " 

2 And where the harps of angels bore 

High message to the shepherd-throng, 

" Good-will and peace " are heard no more 

To murmur Bethlehem's vales along. 

3 Swarth India, with her idol-train, 

Bends low by Ganges' worshipped tide, 
Or drowns the suttee's shriek of pain 
With thundering gong and pagan pride. 

4 On Persia's hills the Sophi grope ; 

Dark Burmah greets salvation's ray ; 
E'en jealous China's door of hope 
Unbars, to give the Gospel way. 

5 Old Ocean, with his isles, awakes, 

Cold Greenland feels unwonted flame ; 
And humble Afric wondering takes 
On her sad lips a Saviour's name. 

6 Their steps the forest-children stay, 

Bound to oblivion's voiceless shore ; 
And lift their red brows to the day, 

Which from the opening skies doth pour. 

7 Then aid with prayer that holy light 

Which from eternal death can save ; 
And bid Christ's heralds speed their flight, 
Ere millions find a hopeless grave. 

MRS. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. ANNUAL MEETINGS. 



323 



THE GOSPEL TRUMPET. 



"Lift up thy voice like a trumpet."— Isa. lviii : 1. 

1 Sound the Gospel Trumpet, sound it loud and long ; 
Come before the King of kings, with a joyful song; 
So the glorious morning star shines with radiant 

splendor bright, 
Bids the nations from afar hail its welcome light. 
Refrain. — Great is He, the mighty Lord, countless 
ages are His own ; 
Sing the triumphs of His word, He is God 
alone. 

2 Sound the gospel trumpet forth; lift our standard 

high; 
Let the story of the Cross like an arrow fly. 
Blessed story, wondrous love ! we are ransomed from 

the fall ; 
He who left His throne above, gave His life for all. 

3 Sound the gospel trumpet forth, shouf salvation free, 
Till the truth o'erspread the earth like a mighty sea ; 
All shall bow at Jesus' name, every tongue His 

power confess, 
Him their sovereign Lord proclaim, Him their right- 
eousness. 

FANNY J. CROSBY. 

Copyright, 1875, by Biglow & Main, and used by per. 



6 Baptize with holy fire, 

Each heart before Thee now ; 
Kindle fresh zeal and new desire ; 
With life our souls endow. 



SHEAVES FOR CHRIST 

1 Not for myself, my God, I ask the sheaves, 

Though I have toiled beneath the burning sun, 
For he who asks for self, the Spirit grieves, ' 
Losing the goal for which the race is run. 

2 But for the harvest's Lord I make my plaint, 

He who for man His precious blood-drop shed, 
He who was planted, that in every saint 
There might be likeness to the living Head. 

3 May He soon see the travail of His soul, 

And usher in the glorious Harvest Home, 
While every mountain, every grassy knoll, 
In sweet acclaim re-echo, "Jesus, come ! " 



PRAISE GOD 



A MISSIONARY HYMN. 



"Go ye into all the world, and preach the Gospel to every creature." — 

Mark xvi : 15, 

( Tuue— "BoyUton.") 

1 Jesus, Thy " last command" 

We dare not disobey ; 
To preach Thy word in every land 
Is our glad task to-day. 

2 Does not "our brother's blood" 

"Cry" to Thee " from the ground," 
And o'er the earth a mighty flood 
Of sin and death abound ? 

3 O'er all earth's broad domain, 

On every heathen shore, 
We see Thy finger pointing plain, 
To each wide open door. 

4 From India's peopled plains, 

From Afric's teeming shores, 
From China's millions, come the strains 
Of deepest, saddest woes. 

5 And from Thy ancient land, 

From Jews and Gentiles all, 
Crushed 'neath the Moslem's iron hand, 
We hear the same sad call. 



(Tune— "How firm a. foundation.") 

1 Praise God for His goodness, 

Praise God for His love ! 
Praise God for the blessings 

He sends from above ! 
Praise God ! for the people that gather must praise!' 
A song of rejoicing God's Children must raise ! 

2 Praise God with glad anthems, 

Praise God with a shout ! 
Praise God, every ransomed one 
He hath "sought out! " 
Praise God! day and night we will mention His 

name ; 
Praise God ! we will ever salvation proclaim. 

3 Praise God for the sifting, 

Praise God for the lift ! 
Praise God for not letting us 

Float on adrift ! 
Praise God for the sadness ! He will not destroy ; 
Praise God for the brightness ! He giveth the joy 1 

4 Praise God for our struggles, 

Praise God for our peace ! 
Praise God, He hath promised 

That warfare shall cease ! 
Uplift now His standard, prepare now His ways j 
Till walls speak salvation, and gates utter praise ! 

CECELIA HAVERGAL. 

England, 1SS3. 



324 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



ANNIVERSARY HYMN. 



Words and Music by FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL. 



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2 Jesus, holy Saviour, 

Only Thou canst tell 
How we often stumbled, 

How we often fell. 
All our sins, (so many !) 

Saviour, Thou dost know ; 
In Thy blood most precious 

Wash us white as snow. 
Jesus, blessed Saviour, 

Keep us in Thy fear, 
Let thy grace and favor 

Pardon all the year. 

3 Jesus, loving Saviour, 

Only Thou dost know 
All that may befall us, 

As we onward go ; 
So, we humbly pray Thee, 

Take us by the hand, 



Lead us ever upward 

To the Better Land. 
Jesus, blessed Saviour, 

Keep us ever near, 
Let Thy grace and favor 

Shield us all the year. 

Jesus, precious Saviour, 

Make us all Thine own, 
Make us Thine forever, 

Make us Thine alone. 
Let each day, each moment, 

Of this glad new year, 
Be for Jesus only, 

Jesus, Saviour dear. 
Help us send the Gospel 

Far o'er land and sea, 
And Thy grace and favor 

Crown our bright new year. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. SONGS, PLAYS AND RECITATIONS FOR JUVENILE BANDS. 325 

LITTLE PILGRIM. 



MRS. M. O. PAGE. 



MRS. C. H. SCOTT. 






1. I'm a lit -tie pil - grim, With my staff in hand, Climbing up the narrow path,To join the heav'nly band. 







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2 Many, many clangers, 

All the way, I see, 
But the Saviour's ever near, 
And He my guide will be. 

3 If the way grows weary, 

In His arms I'll rest, 
For " the lambs," He says, "He'll bear 
Upon His loving breast." 

4 I'm a little pilgrim, 

I've not far to roam ; 
Heav'nly gates will open wide, 
Oh! soon I shall be home. 

From "Songs of Love," by per. Dr. H. R. Palmer. 



WORK AND PRAY. 

Go ye also into the vineyard."— Matt, xx: 4. 
(Tune—" Greenville.") 

1 We have come to Jesus praying, 

Lord, redeem us from all sin ; 
And His precious voice is saying, 

" Let the little ones come in." 
Oh ! there's work for all to do, 

Will you pray and labor too ? 

2 Breathe a prayer for every nation, 

Where the waves of darkness roll : 
Send the message of salvation, 

It may save some captive soul. 
Oh ! there's work for all to do, 

Will you pray and labor too? 



3 From the fold of Jesus, blindly, 
Loving hearts are led astray ; 

Tell them, ever tell them kindly, 
Jesus is the truth, the way. 

Oh ! there's work for all to do, 
Will you pray and labor too ? 



MRS. LYDIA C. BAXTER. 

• T. E. Perkins, in "Songs of Salvation." 
Pub. by Messrs. Biglow & Main. 



GOOD NEWS FROM AFAR 

" As cold waters to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country."— 
Prov. xxv : 25. 

1 Good news o'er the prairies is speeding its way, 
Happy voices of children are blending to-day ; 
They sing of their Saviour and Shepherd above, 
Who gathers the young in the arms of His love. 

Chorus. — Oh ! see it sweeping before us ! 

The banner of glory is sweeping along ; 
Angels with music are cheering the way, 
Harping, harping, harping to-day. 

2 The watchmen of Zion are spreading the light, 
Blessed light of salvation, o'er regions of night ; 
From isles of the ocean glad tidings they bring : 

" The nations are crowning Messiah their King." 

3 Roll onward the time when the East and the West, 
With the North and the South, shall in Jesus be 

blest ; 
When love all the kingdoms of earth shall unite, 
And this be their watchword: The Truth and the 

Right. 

ELLA DALE. 

Copyright, 1870, by T. E. Perkins. From "Brightest and Best." 
Set to music by W. H. Doane, and used by per. Biglow & Main. 



320 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



THE LITTLE BUILDERS 

1 Little builders all are we, 
Builders for eternity ; 
Children of the Mission Bands, 
Working with our hearts and hands, 
Building temples for our King,' 

By the offerings we bring ; 
Living temples He doth raise, 
Filled with life and light and praise. 

2 One by one the stones we lay, 
Building slowly day by day ; 
Building by our love are we, 
In the lands beyond the sea ; 
Building by each thought and prayer 
For the souls that suffer there ; 
Building in the Hindu land, 
Where the idols are as sand. 

3 Building in vast China, too, 
Living temples rise to view ; 
Building in Japan as well, 

Ah ! what stories we could tell ! 
Building on dark Afric's shore, 
That there may be slaves no more ; 
Building in the Turk's doomed land, 
For Armenia's scattered band. 

4 On Mount Lebanon's fair heights, 
By our many gathered mites ; 
Where the Nile's sweet waters pour, 
Building all the wide world o'er ; 
And one day our eyes shall see, 

In a glad eternity, 

" Living stones " we helped to bring 

For the palace of our King. 

MARIA A. west. Constantinople. 
In "The Missionary Helper." 



CHEERFUL WORKERS. 

Dedicated to the "Cheerful Workers" Mission Bands. 
(Tune— "Ring the bells of Heaven,") 

1 We are cheerful workers 

In the fields of truth, 
Glad to follow Jesus 

In our early youth. 
We can run God's errands 

With our nimble feet; 
We can take a message 

From His love so sweet. 

Chorus. — Cheerful little workers, 

Happy Christian band; 
Seeking souls for Jesus 

From each distant land. 
Working for the Master, 

Toiling soon and late ; 
Till we bring our off' ring 

To the srolden gate. 



2 Cheerful eyes that glisten 

• With the light above ; 
Cheerful ears that listen 

For God's voice of love,- 
Cheerful hands and e 

Noble work to do ; 
Cheerful hearts made ready 

For His service true. 

3 We are cheerful workers 

Toiling for the Lord ; 

We enjoy His service, 
Hope for His reward. 

May His daily blessing- 
Make our work complete ; 

May we rest from labor, 
Only at His feet. 

PBtSCILLA J. OWENS. 

Set to music by E. S. Lorenz, in "Holy Voices." 

Pub. by the. United Brethren Pub. House, Dayton, O. 

SEVEN-MOTION SONG. 

INFANT CLASS. 
(Time— "A, B, C") 
1, Strike the ends of the fingers upon the desk. 2, Point to the heavens with 
the right hand, 3, Move the hand, uplifted, from right to left. 4, Clasp hands. 

1 ' One ! two ! three ! four ! five ! six ! seven I 1 
Count the lovely arch of heaven ; 2 
Seven bright colors make the bow, 3 
Brightest, fairest thing I know ! 
See the rainbow in the heaven ; 2 
One ! two ! three ! four ! five ! six ! seven ! 
Hec. in con. — 4 And God said, I do set my bow m the 
cloud. When I bring a cloud over the sun the bow 
shall be seen. — [Gen. x: 13, 14. 

2 One ! two ! three ! four ! five ! six ! seven I 1 
Hear the promise God hath given ; 4 
Many troubles I may see, 

But the Lord will care for me. 

Hear the promise He hath given ; 
One ! two ! three ! four ! five ! six ! seven ! x 
Hec. in con.-He shall deliver thee in six troubles, yea, 
in seven there shall no trouble touch thee. — [Job v : 19. 

3 One ! two ! three ! four ! five ! six ! seven ! 1 
Nightly go across the heaven, 3 

Seven bright stars, the Pleiades, 2 
And the Lord created these. 4 
Nightly go across the heaven, 3 
One ! two ! three ! four ! five ! six ! seven ! 1 
Hec. in con. — Seek him that maketh the seven stars 
and Orion ; the Lord is His name. — [Amos v : 8. 

4 One ! two ! three ! four ! five ! six ! seven ! 1 
Hear the rule of Jesus given ; * 

Law of kindness, teaching me 
That I must forgiving be. 

Hear the rule by Jesus given : 
One ! two ! three ! four ! five ! six ! seven ! 1 
Hec. in con. — If thy brother trespass against thee 
seven times in a day, and seven times in a day turn 
again to thee saying, I repent, thou shalt forgive him. 
[Luke xvii : 4. 

MBS. M. B. C. SLADE. In "Good Times." 




AT THE CHURCH DOOR. 



1 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. SONGS, PLAYS AND RECITATIONS FOR JUVENILE BANDS. 



327 



CHILDREN'S MISSIONARY HYMN. 

1 Happy are we, God's own little flock. 
Sheltered so close in the cleft of the Rock, 
Far above storm or danger or shock, 

Happy are we in Jesus, 

2 What shall we do for the Master so dear ? 
Oh ! there are many in need of our cheer — 
Souls that know nothing but darkness and fear, 

Souls in the dark without Jesus. 

3 Many He has who are not of this fold, 
Out in the storm and the pitiless cold ; 

These we will win by our prayers and our gold. 
Win them to love our Jesus. 

4 Over the mountains and over the seas, 
Lovingly, joyfully, speed we to these, 
Seeking to save them by tenderest pleas, 

Saved by the blood of Jesus. 

5 Even a child, He has told us, may lead 
Any to Him, from their sorrow and need, 
Any who come He will shelter and feed, 

Any who come to our Jesus. 

6 Joyfully then let us spread the glad news, 
Never this service for Jesus refuse, 
Never a moment to work for Him lose ; 

Joyfully work for 



MBS. DR. HERRICK 

Chicago, 1881. 



A GLAD OFFERING. 



(Tune— "To the Work.") 



1 We will bring, we will bring a glad offering to-day, 
For the children who live in those lands far away, 
Who are reaching out hands from across the blue sea, 
And are pleading for light, here shining so free. 

Chorus. — We will give, gladly give, 

Our pennies for the Master's cause. 

2 Children's mites, children's mites will be pleasing to 
, God, 

Every small self-denial will bring its reward. 
Though our offering be little, if given in love 
It will bring down a blessing from Jesus above. * 



DEAR CHILDREN FAR AWAY. 

(Tune— "How firm a foundation," or " Some, sweet Home.") 

1 In lands full of darkness, across the blue wave, 
Are many dear children the Lord died to save, 
Who, reaching out hands from over the sea, 
Are pleading for light, here shining so free. 

2 No kind Christian parents to show them the way, 
To tell them of Jesus, to teach them to pray ; 

To lead them in paths of wisdom and truth, 
And teach them the love of God in their youth. 



3 No Bible to lighten life's pathway of gloom, 
No full hope of glory beyond the dark tomb, 
No promise of God, the sad soul to sustain, 

No knowledge that death to the Christian is gain. 

4 No Jesus, no Bible, how sad is the sight ! 

While here o'er our pathway the gospel shines bright. 
Let us open our hearts to the poor children there, 
And give them the Bible, our help and our prayer. 



ALL AROUND THE WORLD. 



'Every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory 
of God the Father."— Phil, ii : 11. 

1 See the flag of Jesus 

O'er the earth unfurled ! 
Sabbath schools are singing 

All around the world ! 
Sunday schools in China, 

India and Japan ; 
Training souls for glory, 

By the gospel plan. 

Chorus. — Lift the cross of Jesus, 

Bear the Bible on ; 
Soon the world will echo, 

With His vict'ry won. 
See the flag of Jesus, 

O'er the earth unfurled ! 
Sunday schools are singing, 

All around the world. 

2 Little Indian diamonds, 

Precious island pearls ; 
Learning Bible lessons, 

Happy boys and girls ; 
Afric's gold-dust scattered 

'Neath the feet of wrong, 
Rises up in brightness, 

From the darkness long. 

3 Sunday schools are singing, 

France and Spain and Rome 
Hear their joyous music, 

Songs of heaven and home, 
Where the martyrs suffered, 

Holy seed is spread ; 
Gather up these rubies, 

Dyed in life-blood red. 

4 Sunday schools in Chili, 

Reaching down the coast ; 
Mexico is leading, 

Gallant little host; 
Glad Brazilian children 

Praise to God shall sing ; 
Far-off Patagonia 

Answers Christ is Kino-. 



Set to music by E. 



PRISCILLA J. OWENS. 
Lorenz, in "Holy Voices.' 



328 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



I WOULD NOT DIE EARLY. 



(Tune— "Home, Sweet Home.") 

1 I would not die early, 

The harvest is white, 
And fain would I labor 

From morning till night ; 
I'd follow the reaper 

And glean what he leaves, 
And homeward at evening 
Return with my sheaves. 
Chorus. — I would not die early, 
I ask not to go, 
Till I have done something 

For Jesus below ; 
To those who are faithful, 

The promise is sure, 
And rest will be sweeter 
To those who endure. 

2 I would not die early, 

I long to fulfill 
The Saviour's commission, 

If such be His will : 
" Go spread the glad tidings, . 

Salvation is free, 
And none are rejected 

Who come unto me." 

3 I would not die early, 

But, if it be mine, 
In youth's merry morning 

This life to resign, 
I know my Redeemer 

Will meet me with joy, 
And give me in heaven 

Some blessed employ. 

MRS. E. S, KELLOGG. 

From the " Pacific Glee Book," by Root & Cady. 

Set to music by T. Martin Towne. 

Used by per. of the John Church Co., owners of the copyright. 



THE BANNER OF THE CROSS. 



(Tune—" Old Oaken Bucket." 

1 Though fondly we cherish the flag of our country, 
That waves in its beauty, the pride of the free, 
Yet dearer, far dearer, the standard of glory, 

The beacon that guides us, our Father, to Thee ; 
We'll rally around it with ardent devotion, 

Its praise to the world in our chorus we'll sing ; 
While nations far distant, with rapture unbounded, 
Shall fly to the banner of Jesus our King. 
Chorus. — The dearly-loved Banner, 

The bright-flowing Banner, 
The time-hallowed Banner 
Of Jesus our King. 



'Twas sealed by the martyrs, and blessed by the 
pilgrims, 

Our fathers revered it, it strengthened their laws ; 
Young soldiers enlisted, like heroes we'll guard it, 

We'll live to its honor and die in its cause : 
The Captain we follow will arm us with courage, 

If still to the Cross and the Bible we cling ; 
In peril or danger we'll never forsake them, 

But tight for the banner of Jesus our King. 
The hills of the north and the snow-covered moun- 
tains, 

The islands that sleep on the foam-crested wave, 
The east and the west shall rejoice and behold it, 

The star of the hopeless and shield to the brave ; 
Like those in the temple who shouted hosanna, 

Our loud hallelujahs transported we'll sing ; 
Float on in thy glory, standard immortal, 

Thou peace-speaking banner of Jesus our King. 



From ' Sunday 1 



Biglow & Main. 



EASTER CONCERT EXERCISE FOR 
MISSION BAND. 

To be spoken by four little girls.) 

First voice. — In fair Japan a thousand flowers 

Wear lovelier forms and hues than ours ; 
But saintly pale, and pure as snow, 
Our Easter lilies bloom, to show 
That One has risen to realms of light 
Whose love can make our souls as white. 

Second voice. — And in the Southern skies, afar 
Beams many a strange and glorious star, 
Planets to Northern heavens unknown ; 
But we, more blest, can call our own 
The radiant Star of Bethlehem, 
Brighter than Orient's richest gem. 

Third voice. — On India's dusky children shine 
Jewels from many a priceless mine ; 
But we can never envy them 
Ruby or diamond diadem, 
For through God's love we may behold 
The gates of pearl, the streets of gold. 

Fourth voice. — The bulbul sings, in Persian groves 
Close hid, beside the rose he loves ; 
But sweeter music we can hear 
As all around us, ringing clear, 
The sacred chimes of Sabbath bells 
Upon the air of Freedom swells. 

Four voices in concert. 

Thus, flower and star and gem and song, 
Unto the Christian faith belong. 
Send forth the Word to other climes, 
That never heard our Sabbath chimes : 
The banner of the Cross unfurled 
Brings happiness to all the world. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. SONGS, PLAYS AND RECITATIONS FOR JUVENILE BANDS. 



329 



•THE STONE IS ROLLED AWAY. 

1 The stone is rolled away, 

The gloom of death is past, 
Now breaks the golden day 
On all the earth at last. 
Chorus. — Now floats along 

The starry floors, 
Through crystal doors, 

The angels' song ; 

Through crystal doors, 

The angels' song. 

2 He's risen from the dead, 

By morning's early light; 
For this the angel said — 
The angel clothed in white. 
Chorus. — So keep we now 

Our Easter day, 
With joyful lay, 

And holy light ; 
With joyful lay, 
And holy light. 

3 So bring we early blooms, 

When morning gilds the past, 
Bright flow'rs with sweet perfumes, 
And garlands for the feast. 
Chorus. — The blossoms sweet, 
On Easter day, 
We humbly lay 

Low at His feet ; 
We humbly lay 
Low at His feet. • 



JACKSON. 

By per. 



BEHOLD I I AM ALIVE FOREVERMORE. 
EASTER MORNING. 

1 Open the gates of the temple ; 

Spread branches of palm and of bay ; 
Let not the spirits of Nature 

Alone deck the conqueror's way. 
While Spring from her death-sleep arises, 

And joyous His presence awaits, 
While morning's smile lights up the heavens, 

Open the beautiful gates. 

2 He is here ! The long watches are over ; 

The stone from the grave rolled away ; 
"We shall sleep," was the sigh of the midnight, 

"We shall rise," is the song of to-day. 
O Music, no longer lamenting 

On pinions of tremulous flame, 
Go soaring to meet the Beloved, 

And swell the new song of His fame. 

3 The altar is snowy with blossoms, 

The front is a vase of perfume, 
On pillar and chancel are twining 
Fresh garlands of eloquent bloom. 



"Christ is risen/" with glad lips we utter, 

And far up the infinite height 
Archangels the paean re-echo, 

And crown Him with lilies of light ! 



NO INTEREST IN THE MISSION CAUSE. 

1 "No interest in the mission cause!" — a Christian 

spoke the word ; 
She knew Dot how her listener's heart was startled, 

grieved and stirred, 
Nor what responsibility the uttered thought incurred. 

2 " No interest in the mission cause ! " when He, who 

died to save, 
For heathen nations, as for us, the priceless offering 

gave ; 
Yet unwarned, heedless multitudes are hastening to 

the grave ! 

3 Undying precious souls await the tidings we should 

bear, 
For the command is, " Go, and spread the glad news 

everywhere ! " 
For the fulfillment of that word, do we not even care ? 

4 Some noble consecrated souls, with grace-enkindled 

zeal, 
Have left their all and gone afar this gospel to reveal ; 
Have we in them no interest, for them no heart to feel ? 

5 They are our kindred ; we, as they, are under God's 

command ; 
They are our representatives in many a darkened land ; 
We stay because they go ; our prayers should nerve 

each fainting hand. 

6 ' Twas but a lightly-uttered word, let fall with little 

thought 
Of all the sad significance with which the speech was 

fraught. 
My friend forgot the far-off field, while nearer home 

she wrought. 

7 But let us think — one moment think- — of nations' 

pressing needs. 
While the constraining love of Christ with heart and 

conscience pleads, 
Our "interest" in the mission cause will grow to 

prayerful deeds. 



SPEECH FOR A MEMBER OF THE 
INFANT CLASS. 

1 Little feet can swiftly go, 
Little lips let others know 
That all can love to Jesus show, 

By work and prayer. 

2 Then hearts and hands together blend, 
And never rest till we can send 

The message of our Saviour Friend 
To every shore. 



130 



WOMAN IN S A CUED SONG. 



IDOLS. 

[Arrange the children so that they may be seen in a 
semicircle, pyramid, or other pretty shape. Remem- 
ber that the beauty of a movement-exercise depends 
on the exactness and uniformity of the motions. One 
little hand raised out of time will spoil all as effectu- 
ally as a note out of tune. But children love these 
action-pieces, and are very easily trained to perfect 
unison. 

Start with folded hands, or arms crossed on bosom. In 
both the Psalm and song, the motions are similar. 
At the word heathen or far-off, extend arms at full 
length toward the east ; at God, point upward : heav- 
ens, both hands raised; the work of men's hands, 
hammering motion ; touch eyes, ears, mouth, throat, 
etc., as each part is named. 

For the passage in Isaiah have several boys. They will 
fall naturally into the various motions of the black- 
smith and carpenter, hewing and planting of trees, 
warming hands at the fire kindled from the lopped-off 
branches, etc. From the words "He is hungry'' 1 to 
"and is faint? let the voice grow fainter and fainter, 
the head droop, and the whole attitude be one of 
complete exhaustion.] 

"If the Lord tie God, follow Him : but if Baal, then follow Mm." 

Single Voice. — Children, do you the story know 
Of idol gods ? And can you show 
What they are like, and by whose hands 
Are formed the Gods of heathen lands ? 
Recitation by the Band, of Psalm cxv, 2-8 ivith mo- 
tions. 
First Child. — King David in his Psalms hath told 
Their idols silver are, and gold ; 
Only the work of human hands, 
These gods of far-off heathen lands. 
Chorus. — Our God is in the heavens above. 

We'll praise Him with full hearts of love, 
We'll shout hosannas to His name, 
While heaven and earth His power proclaim. 
Second C. — They all have mouths, but cannot talk ; 
They all have feet, but cannot walk ; 
Two eyes that cannot see have they ; 
A tongue, that not a word can say. Cho. 
Third C. — Two ears, that ne'er a sound have heard ; 
Hands, that for work have never stirred ; 
Each has a nose that cannot smell, 
A throat through which no note doth swell. 

Cho. 
Fourth C. — So every one that trusteth them, 

These worthless idols, wrought by men, — 
They, too, who make them with their hands, 
Are like these gods of heathen lands. Cho. 

Recitation, with motions, of Isaiah xliv : 12-20. 

Single Voice. — Now folded be your little hands, 
Then, altogether, you may tell 



How unlike gods of heathen lands 
Is our great God we love so well. Cho. 
Class. — If we our love to Him confess, 
He will be mindful us to bless, 
He has enough to spare for all, 
Holds wide His arms to great and small. 

Cho. 
What priceless blessings thus are given 
By Him who made both earth and heaven! 
The earth for man to dwell on, gave ; 
In heaven, He waits our souls to save. Cho. 
Oh ! let us praise Him with each breath 
Before our eyelids close in death ; 
E'en now begin to sing His praise, 
E'en now to Him glad songs we'll raise. 

Cho. 

MRS. M. O. KENNEDY. 

Iii "Good Times." 



PLEA FOR THE CHILDREN. 

1 We plead for the little children , 

Who have opened their baby eyes 
In the far-off lands of darkness 

Where the shadow of death yet lies. 

2 But not to be nurtured for heaven, 

Not to be taught in the way, 
Not to be watched o'er and guided, 
Lest their tiny feet should stray. 

3 Ah, no! it is idol worship 

Their stammering lips are taught ; 
To cruel, false gods only 

Are their gifts and offerings brought. 

4 And what can we children offer. 

Who dwell in this Christian land ? 
Is there no work for the Master 
In reach of each little hand? 

5 Oh ! surely a hundred tapers 

In the small white fingers' clasp, 

May lighten as much of the darkness 

As a lamp in a stronger grasp. 

6 And then, as the line grows longer, 

So many tapers, though small, 
May kindle a brighter shining- 
Thau a lamp would, after all. 

7 Small hands may gather rich treasures, 

And the infant lips can pray ; 
Employ all the little ringers, 
Let the children learn the way. 

8 So, the lights shall be quicker kindled, 

And darkness the sooner shall flee, 
Many " little ones " learn of the Saviour 
Both here and " far over the sea." 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. SONGS, PLAYS AND RECITATIONS FOR JUVENILE CLUBS. 



331 



MY MOTHER'S PRAYER; 

1 I had learned my geography lesson, 

Teacher said I had done very well ; 

I could say all the capes and the rivers, 

All the capital towns I could tell. 

2 I knew all the countries of Asia 

From the sea to the distant Japan : 
And the Isles of the Indian Ocean, 
Sunny Persia and rich Hindostan. 

3 'I had learned of the tea and the spices, 

Of the bread-fruit and wide-spreading palm, 
Where the song of the bulbul rises 

From the cinnamon grove and the balm. 

4 But in thought all the time I went farther, 

All the while I was wanting to know 
How to me would appear the little children 
Should I chance to their countries to go. 

5 So I asked my mamma in the evening, 

As she held me awhile on her knee ; 
I shall never forget the sweet lesson 
That she taught in the twilight to me. 

6 She told me those people were heathen, 

Degraded and sinful and vile, 
Going on through the bondage of darkness 
To the judgment of God all the while. 

7 "We are trying to send them the gospel, 

For they sit in the shadow of night ; 
We are asking the dear Lord to help them, 
And to lead them out to the light. 

8 " For you know the dear Lord has commanded 

That we send this pure gospel to all, 
Has promised His help and His presence, 
And His love to the great and the small." 

9 She said, " In a little time longer 

All those who now labor to save, 
All those who are spreading the gospel 
Will lie down to sleep in the grave. 

10 " The girls, who so soon will be women, 

Must take up the Cross and prevail, 
Must labor and pray for the heathen, 

Or the work in those countries must fail." 

11 Then mamma knelt down in the twilight 

(She was weeping I plainly could see,) 
And prayed that the spirit of Jesus 
On all the dear children might be : 

12 On all the dear little children, 

Till they grew to be women and men ; 
And I prayed in my heart, " Jesus help me," 
And I said at the ending, " Amen." 

MARY BRAINARD. 



OH I THAT THE TOILERS MIGHT HEAR. 

TAt the close of each stanza let all recite or chant the Scripture passage.] 

1 Oh ! that the toilers of the earth might hear 
The sweet voice of the Saviour, sounding clear, 
Through the long centuries with this kind plea, 
"Ye weary, heavy-laden, come to me!" 



2 And those who stagger under loads of sin, 
Or seek, by heathen rites, some peace to win, 
How gladly would they hear the cheering word 
That bids them " Cast thy burdens on the Lord ! " 

3 Mothers, whose tender babes are snatched away, 
Would thrill with joy to hear the Saviour say, 
While in His arms He held them tenderly, 

" Suffer the little ones to come to me." 

4 Unto the mourner, desolate and lone, 

These words would come with music's sweetest tone 
From Him who is the lonely mourner's friend, 
" Lo ! I am with you, even to the end." 

5 And the poor outcast, sick of sin and shame, 
If he could hear the Master speak his name, 

The sound would seem a tender tone from Heaven, 
" Child, go in peace ; thy sins are all forgiven." 

6 So sweet the words our blessed Saviour gave 
To comfort and inspire, to soothe and save ; 
But not to us alone the gift was given, 

Christ died to lift the whole sad world to Heaven. 



7 Shall we keep back the message, 

From those who are as dear to God as we ? 
No ! Let us haste the Gospel to proclaim, 
Till every child may learn the Saviour's name. 



MRS, L. G. M'VEAN. 



JOHNNY'S PIECE. 

1 I fell asleep while learning my piece, 

And saw a little, dried seed 
Fall into the earth so cold and bare, 

And thought it was lost indeed. 
But anon in my dream, in the city of light 

I walked the golden street, 
And close by the throne, with its radiance bright, 

Sat down at the Master's feet. 

2 Then out of the white-robed throng one came 

To give me a welcome there, 
And I found the little seed was a thought ; 

And the earth, so brown and bare, 
Was the heart of a sinner, hard and cold ; 

But one with patient love 
Had waited and watched till its hundred fold 

Was garnered safe above. 

3 I woke me up with right good will, 

And studied and learned my piece, 
Ah ! the little things that we do here 

May the joy of heaven increase. 
So I am glad of every chance 

To work for the Master here ; 
I would help to spread abroad His love, 

To the far, as well as near. 



332 



WOMAN JN SACRED SONG 



ALL I KNOW. 

[Recitation for member of infant class.] 

1 I am a very little thing, 

As you can plainly see ; 
But then, I know who came to bring 
God's gift of love to me. 

2 When I am well, I know who makes 

My life so fair and bright ; 
When I am sick, I know who takes 
Care of me, day and night. 

3 And when I die, I know whose hand 

Will lead my soul away, 
Through death's dark valley, to the land 
Where it is always day. 

4 Just such dear little girls as I 

Live o'er the ocean-wave : 
They do not know who came to die 
A sinful world to save. 

5 Poor little heathen ! Friends, I pray 

That you will quickly go, 

Or send somebody, right away, 

To tell them — all I know ! 



REWARDED. 

1 I, happy little summer-cloud, 

Lay dreaming in the sun, 
Enjoying the warm, filtering rays, 
Down-dropping, one by one. 

2 A band of little summer-clouds 

Came floating up to me : 
" Arise ! " they sang, " join us, we bring 
A message unto thee." 

3 "And why," I asked in harshest tone, — 

Disturbed, and so displeased, — 
" Are you with such a sudden freak 
Of fellowship thus seized ? " 

4 " We need your help ! " they all exclaimed : 

" Whole fields of waving grain 
Are dying in their yellow prime, 
And just for want of rain. 

5 " We go to send them sweet relief, — 

A soft-descending shower 
Will satisfy the thirsty land, 
And brighten every flower." 

6 "But it will take my life," I cried; 

" I cannot give it all ! " 
They turned away in saddest grief, 
Because I spurned the call. 

7 A struggle rent my very heart ; 

At last I yielded. " Stay, 
My friends ! — I join your company ; 
I'll pour my life away." 



8 They caught me in a tender clasp, 

And whispered soft and low, — 
" 'T is for the Master that we love, 
He wills it even so." 

9 Together down to earth we went 

In evening's dying light ; 
Upon a drooping, parched bud 

I fell through all the night. 
10 Next morn the Master came that way, 

Perceived a rich perfume, 
And culled the flower on which I lay, 

A lily rare, in bloom ! 



DELL R. 8TR0WAN. 



COUNTING THE PENNIES 

1 Ah! what shall I do with my pennies? 

For see, I have such a store ! 
I never have sold my basket 
Of walnuts so soon before. 

2 How often I've trudged for hours, 

And taken a secret cry, 
Because I was tired and hungry, 
And nobody cared to buy ! 

3 I dreaded to think how mother 

Would look as I came and said, 
That I hadn't enough of pennies 
To bring her a loaf of bread ; 

4 How Nellie, my little sister, 

Would watch at the door and say, 
"I've thought and I've thought of the apple 
You promised to bring, all day." 

5 But now I can fill my basket, 

For there's never a nut behind ; 

One loaf — two loaves — and a dozen 

Of apples — the sweetest kind. 

6 And a pat of that yellow butter ; 

It's dainty and fresh, I know ; 
How good it will taste to mother ! 
And Nellie will like it so ! 

7 Five pennies — ten — fifteen — twenty — 

And thirty — and thirty-five ; 
Just think of it — here are fifty, 
As certain as I'm alive ! 

8 It must have been God who helped me 

To sell off my nuts so soon, 
Or else I'd been trudging, trudging, 
The whole of the afternoon. 

9 And how I would like to thank Him, 

So kind He has been — so true! 
Let's see if I cannot spare Him 

A few of my pennies too. 
10 Why, surely I can ! — Here's forty 

For mother and Nellie — and then, 
Dear Jesus, to help Thy heathen, 

I give Thee the other ten ! 

MARGARET J. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. SONGS, PLAYS AND RECITATIONS FOR JUVENILE BANDS. 



333 



THE VOICE OF THE MONEY. 



What do I see on this nickle cent 

That I gaze at o'er and o'er? 
I see his lips, and they seem to say, 
" Send me to India right away ; 
Don't send me so far all alone, I pray, 

But with me a great many more.'' 

What on this silver dime do I see ? 

A statue, seated, of Liberty. 

She seems now to utter, " Of all mankind 

None are so bound as the morally blind. 

Let me buy for the heathen moral sight ; 

Let me carry into their darkness, light." 

What do I see on this bill I hold ? 
A promise to pay to the bearer gold. 
But the gold of wisdom is better far 
Than precious metals and jewels are. 
And wisdom is needed by those who are in 
The depths of ignorance and of sin. 

So I drop my penny, a dime, or bill, 
In the mission box, and they whisper still, 
"To give to the poor is to lend to the Lord ;" 
And let knowledge of good done, be your re- 
ward. 



SONG OF THE " WILLING . WORKERS." 



1 Only a little penny ! 

Yet with assurance sweet, 
Fearing no scorn, we lay it 

Down at the Saviour's feet ; 
Saving for Him a portion 

Out of our slender store ; 
Gladly we give our pennies 

If we can give no more. 

2 Only ten little fingers ! 

But little things may grow, 
And little hands, now helpless, 

Will not be always so ; 
But if we train them early 

Unto His work alone, 
They will do greater service 

When they are stronger grown. 

3 Only a band of children, 

Sitting at Jesus' feet, 
Rejoicing now to enter 

Into His service sweet ; 
Seeking His light to guide us 

Where'er the way is dim ; 
Learning His precious lessons, 

Lonoino- to be like Him. 



Take us, dear Saviour, take us 

Into Thy heavenly fold; 
Keep our young feet from straying 

Out in the, dark and cold ; 
Call us Thy " Little Helpers," 

Glad in Thy work to share ; 
Make us Thine own dear children, 

Worthy Thy name to bear. 



PROBLEM: HOW TO REPLENISH. 



One girl stands at the blackboard while another 
recites. She pauses at each item, while the one at 
the board puts down the price in large figures, 
stating the numbers. 

First Girl. — Second G. — 

Let Annie buy one ribbon less : SI. 00 

And Fanny give one ring: 5.00 

Grace sacrifice one change of dress : 50.00 

One sash and fancy string : 3.00 

Let Julia, for her next new suit, 

One lace-trimmed ruffle spare : 
The laundry-bill that same to flute 

Shall be another share : 
Let Mrs. A, B, C and D, 

Their households keep with care 
And save from waste one ounce of tea, 

One needless luxury spare : 
Let Mary once with Jane forego 

Their pleasant carriage drive, 
And help her sister Abbie sew, 

Thus save another five : 
Let Susie save her furs with care, 

To serve next winter's cold, 
And guard her dress from stain and tear 

That she may give her gold: 
Let Mrs. Golden think again 

Ere she conclude to buy, — 
" This diamond's cost might save lost men ! 

I'll give its price and try : " 



8.00 



1.00 



2.00 



5.00 



20.00 



500.00 



The one at the board adds and reads: $600.00 
Then says : 

Now in astonishment look here, 

Ye arithmetic scholars ! 
One family saves thus per year 

A clear six hundred dollars. 
" IIov) to replenish " is the word ; 

Each item, you can view it. 
The problem's solved, — you all have heard 

The way, — now, — will you do it ? 



334 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



THE PENNY YE MEANT TO GI'E. 



1 There's a funny tale of a stingy man, 

Who was none too good, but might have been 

worse ; 
Who went to his church on a Sunday night, 
And carried along his well-filled purse. 

2 When the sexton came with his begging-plate, 
The church was but dim with the candle's light ; 
The stingy man fumbled all through his purse, 

And chose a coin by touch, and not sight. 

3 It's an odd thing, now, that guineas should be 

So like unto pennies in shape and size ; 
" I'll give a penny," the stingy man said ; 

" The poor must not gifts of pennies despise." 

4 The penny fell down with a clatter and ring, 

And back in his seat leaned the stingy man. 

" The world is full of the poor ! " he thought ; 

" I can't help them all ; I give what I can." 

5 Ha, ha ! how the sexton smiled, to be sure, 

To see the gold guinea fall in his plate ; 
Ha, ha ! how the stingy man's heart was wrung, 
Perceiving his blunder but just too late ! 

6 " No matter," he said. " in the Lord's account 

That guinea of gold is set down to me. 
They lend to Him who give to the poor ; 
It will not so bad an investment be." 

7 " Na, na, mon! " the chuckling sexton cried out, 

" The Lord is na cheated, he kens thee well ; 
He knew it was only by accident 

That out o' thy fingers the guinea fell. 

8 " He keeps an account, na doubt, for the puir; 

But in that account He'll set down to thee 
Na mair o' that golden guinea, my mon, 
Than the one bare penny ye meant to gi'e." 

9 There's a comfort, too, in the little tale, 

A serious side as well as a joke ; 
A comfort for all the generous poor, 

In the comical words the sexton spoke. 
10 A comfort to think that the good Lord knows 

How generous we really desire to be, 
And will give us credit in His account 

For all the pennies we long to " gi'e." 

H. H., in "St, Nicholas." 



POEM FOR MISSION READING. 

' My word shall not return unto me void, but it shall accomplish that I please.' 

1 I've been to the Mission-school, mother, 

With little Kyalee, 
And I saw a woman who has come 

From her home beyond the sea. 
She told us the sweetest story 

Of a Saviour, and they say 
He sees us all the time, mother, 

In the night as well as the day. 



2 He lives far up in the heavens, 

Away from the sight of men ; 
But once He walked this very earth, 

And they say He'll come again. 
Sometimes He stops in His journey 

To knock at the hearts of sin, 
And will make us, Oh ! so happy, 

If we'll only let Him in ! 

3 He'll take away all the trouble 

That has burdened us so long : 
He will take from our lives the sorrow, 

And teach us a glad, new song. 
All the unrest and the longing, 

The loneliness and the pain, 
He will bear for those who love Him, 

And they'll never be weary again. 

4 And then I thought of you, mother, 

Of the bitter tears you shed 
When the baby was thrown in the Ganges, 

And we knew she would soon be dead. 
Oh ! I fear the goddess Kali, 

Outstretching her awful hand ; 
Dear mother, how can you give me 

To die at her dread command? 

5 For I heard you say, " When the morrow 

Shall come again with its light, 
Zeleda must die for this Moloch," 
- And I trembled with wild affright. 
But now the fear is all over, 

And though this body they kill, 
Though father and mother forsake me, 

My Saviour will love me still. 

6 When my form lies mangled and bleeding, 

My soul shall be free from sin, 
And the beautiful gates of heaven, 

Will open to take me in. 
The cruel waves of the Ganges, 

With hungry, pitiless flow, 
Or Kali's terrible fury, 

I never again shall know. 

7 Some day, if you think of this Saviour, 

And the beautiful home up there, 
While you are weary and lonely, 

Oh ! offer to Jesus this prayer : 
" Dear Lord ! let my sins be forgiven, 

And bless those who brought us Thy word. : 
And then when we all meet in heaven, 

I'll say, if I may, to the Lord : 

8 " Behold, dear Saviour, the toilers 

Who loved me on earth below ; 
For when I was sinful and weary, 

And asking, ' To whom shall I go ? ' 
They showed me the Cross, and the fountain 

Of healing and power divine ; 
Then I knew that these were my sisters, 

And their wonderful God was mine." 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. SONGS, PL A YS AND RECITATIONS FOR JUVENILE BANDS. 



9 Then I think I shall hear Jesns saying: 
" The heathen Zeleda shall be 
A star in the crown of rejoicing 
Of some one who labored for me." 

10 The night-shadows gathered and deepened, 

And wrapt in a sombre shroud 
The forms of the child and the mother, 

Like an angry, threatening cloud ; 
Fit type of the bitter anguish, 

And the superstitions that roll 
With their life-long chain of sorrow 

O'er the heathen woman's soul. 

11 The hours passed by all unheeded, 

"While, holding the child to her breast, 
The mother's heart, bleeding within her, 

Kept crying and crying for rest, 
As she pondered the words of her daughter, 

Sweet words that had come from afar, 
Till they glowed in the sky of her sadness, 

With the beauty of Bethlehem's star. 

12 Peace tenderly folded its pinions 

O'er her heart, where the young child lay ; 
A wondrous sweetness enthralled her ; 

She looked ! and behold ! it was day. 
And thus Kali was robbed of her victim, 

For Jesus had broken the spell, 
And saved both the child and the mother, 

By the story that Christians tell. 



" Mas' Teacher, see ! De mudder beast, 

Me watch her go, — den up 
Me creep into de den and fetch 

De little spotted pup ; 
Dis ebery ting me hab to bring 

For pay de captain fee ; 
Me want to learn big English so, 

Wid you across de sea ! 
" Mas' Teacher ! take de boy along ! 

De pups dey no shall bite ; 
Me keep him in me bosom close, 

An' watch him day an night. 
De 'Meriky man, he buy him glad ; 

Dollars an' dollars pay. 
Me know big English, — me go teach 

Big English den, some day." 
Dim-eyed the teacher left the shore, 

And o'er the breakers' swell 
He still could see the Grebo lad, 

As rose the boat and fell, 
Lying in silent, hopeless grief, 

Stretched out upon the sands, 
While in his breast the leopard cubs 

Nestled and licked his hands. 

Margaret j. Preston, Lexington, Va., 1882. 



WHAT WILL YOU GIVE? 



THE LEOPARD CUBS; 



1 Out in the offing lay the ship, 

One tropic summer day, 
That was to bear the teacher home — 

Three thousand miles away ; 
And gathered for a last farewell, 

Around him pressed a crowd 
Of dusky followers on the beach, 

Who wept and sobbed aloud. 

2 Upon the surf the native boat, 

Waiting to waft him o'er 
The white-cajDped breakers, churned and chafed 

Against the pebbly shore. 
His soul was sad with toil and pain, 

So lately had he won 
From rites of fetich savagery 

These children of the sun. 
3' But soon the last good-bye was said, 

For he must be afloat ; 
And with a prayer upon his lips 

He stepped into the boat ; 
And stopping, heard a cry, and saw 

Come rushing o'er the sand 
A lad who held a leopard-cub 

Aloft in either hand. 



First Girl— 

There's a call from the far-off heathen land, 
Oh ! what can you give for the great demand ? 

All— 

We have not wealth like the rich man's store, 
We will give — ourselves ; we have nothing more. 

Second Girl — 

I will give — my feet, they shall go and go, 
Till the heathen's story the world shall know. 

Third Girl— 

I will give — my hands, till their work shall turD 
To the gold I have not, — but can earn. 

Fourth Girt — 

I will give — my eyes, the story to read 

Of the heathen's sorrow, the heathen's need. 

Fifth Girl— 

I will give — my tongue, that story to tell, 
Till Christian hearts shall with pity swell. 

Sixth Girl — 

We have little to give, but, by and by, 
We may hear a call from the Voice on hio-h ' 
" To bear My gospel o'er land and sea, 
Into the world — go ye! go ye ! " 

All {very slowly and solemnly} — 

Though of silver and gold we have none at all, 
We will give ourselves, if we hear that call. 

MRS. M. B. C. SLADE 

From " Gospel in all Lanus 



33 G 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



THE FOUR RUPEES. 



1 A gift has come to us over seas, 
A gift of beautiful, bright rupees ; 

And who do you think has sent us these ? 

2 "Was it one of the rajahs, rich and grand, 
Who live in that wonderful, far-off land — 
The land of simoom and sun and sand ? 

3 Or was it some Brahmin, who has thrown 
Forever away his gods of stone, 

And worships the Christian's God alone? 

4 Or was it the Viceroy, who controls 
The destiny of those million souls 
From Kyber to where the Hoogley rolls ? 

5 Nay, none of them all ; — nay, none of these 
Has sent us this royalty of rupees 

From that strange sun-land over seas. 

6 Who was it then ? — Listen, and I will tell ; 
For surely 'tis something to ponder well, 
Till the truth of it makes our bosoms swell. 



7 'T was an eight year-old, brown-faced Hindu lad 
Made gift of the four rupees he had, 

To help us at home : for he was so sad, 

8 Because he had heard his teacher's fear, 
That the work of the children, over here, 
Might wane with the waning of the year. 

9 And therefore he brought his four rupees, 
And eagerly whispered, — " Sahib, please 
Send this for the work beyond the seas ! " 

10 Sweet, innocent faith, that did not doubt 
That his four rupees would help us out 

Of the troubles that compass our work about ! 

11 Ah! think of it, Christian children! — Can 
You let this heathen of Hindustan 

Do more than you for his fellow-man ? 

12 Christ save this orphan, who of his store 
Gave all to aid us ; and may His four 
Rupees increase to a thousand more ! 

MARGARET J. PRESTON, Lexington, V». 



3 " And once, when the daily march was o'er, 
As, tired, I sat in my tented door, 

Hope failed me as never it failed before. 

4 " In swarming city, at wayside fane, 

By the Indus' bank, on the scorching plain, 
I had taught, and my teaching all seemed vain. 

5 " No glimmer of light (I sighted) appears ; 
The Moslem's fate and the Buddhist's fears 
Have gloomed their worship this thousand years. 

6 " For Christ and His truth I stand alone 

In the midst of millions, — a sand-grain blown 
Against yon temple of ancient stone 

7 " As soon may level it ! Faith forsook 
My soul, as I turned on the pile to look ; 
Then, rising, my saddened way I took 

8 " To its lofty roof, for the cooler air. 

I gazed and marveled ; how crumbled were 
The walls I had deemed so firm and fair ! 

9 " For, wedged in a rift of the massive stone, 
Mort plainly rent by its roots alone, 

A beautiful peepul-tree had grown ; 

10 "Whose gradual stress would still expand 
The crevice, and topple upon the sand 

The temple, while o'er its wreck should stand 

11 " The tree in its living verdure ! — Who 

Could compass the thought ? — The bird that flew 
Hitherward, dropping a seed that grew, 

12 " Did more to shiver this ancient wall 
Than earthquake, — war, — simoom, — or all 
The centuries, in their lapse and fall ! 



13 



14 



" Then I knelt by the riven granite there, 
And my soul shook off its weight of care, 
As my voice rose clear on the tropic air. 

" The living seeds I have dropped remain 

In the cleft ; Lord, quicken with dew and rain, 

Then temple and mosque shall be rent in twain ! ! 



MARGARET J. TRESTON. 



TWO AND ONE. 



? A BIRD'S MINISTRY. 

[Recitation for one of the older members.] 

1 From his home in an eastern bungalow, 
In sight of the everlasting snow 

Of the grand Himalayas, row on row, 

2 Thus wrote my friend : 

" I had traveled far 
From the Afghan towers of Candahar, 
Through the sand-white plains of Sinde-Sagar ; 



1 Two little feet have we, 

Two little hands to work for God above, 

Two little eyes to see, 
Two little lips to speak of Jesus' love. 

2 One little brain and heart 

To think and feel how we may serve the Lord, 

Oh ! may we do our part, 
And ever wait, dear Father, on Thy word. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. SONGS, READINGS AND RECITATIONS FOR YOUNG LADIES' SOCIETIES. 337 



SING OF HIS LOVE. 

'Because Thy loviug-kiuduess u better than life, my lips shall praise Thee."— 
Psalm bciii : 3. 

1 My soul would tell of the Saviour's love 

To all the world around rne ; 
For He left His glorious home above, 
And He sought for me and found me. 
Chorus. — We'll sing of His love! 

Exalt His holy name forever ; 
For His loving-kindness is still the same, 
And His goodness faileth never. 

2 His love shall gather each happy voice 

In glad and grateful chorus ; 
And in grief and pain still our souls rejoice, 
For we feel His shadow o'er us. 

3 Oh ! sing His love to the lands afar, 

The news of grace abounding ; 
Let it float in gladness from star to star, 
O'er the waves of life resounding. 

4 Then sing once more of that wondrous theme, 

His love exceeding measure; 
Let it iill our hearts, let it reign supreme, 
As our best, our brightest treasure. 

PKISCILI.A J. OWENS. 

Set to music by E. S. Lorenz, in " Holy Voicei." 

OH I SEND THE BIBLE. 

C. M. 
" Lift up a staurlard for the people." 

1 Oh ! send the Bible out to all ; 

Its blessing to each heart, 
To hush the stormy passions here, 
And peace, sweet peace impart. 
Chorus. — Oh! send it out! Oh! send it out! 
Across the distant sea ; 
Till hungry millions shall receive 
Its truth, so full and free. 

2 Oh ! send the Bible out to all ; 

'Tis Christ's divine command, 

To preach the Gospel everywhere ; 

Then give with generous hand. 

3 Oh ! send the Bible out to all — 

The weary captive one, 
Who suffers 'neath the tyrant's power, 
May know the pardoning Son. 

MRS. D. E. KNOWLE3. 

Set to music by U. E. Pollock. 
Copyright, 1883, by Emma Pitt, 
In " Gospel Light." 

JESUS IS KING. 

1 Love's blessed evangel sang angels to men, 
T is ours to repeat the sweet story again, 
Till city and hamlet, and mountain and glen, 

Shall know that our Jesus is King. 

2 To lead on the host is the mission of few, 

The ranks must be filled by the willing and true ; 

Oh ! see ! at your door there is something to do 

For Jesus your Saviour and King. 



3 We can pray while we sing, for the dark heathen land 
Where sisters we cherish unshrinkingly stand, 
And lift up the Cross with unfaltering hand, 

With praises to Jesus our King. 

4 We can give of our money, our talents, our time, 
To speed on the work in some dark heathen clime, 
Till the " uttermost isles " swell the anthem i 

To Jesus, all-conquering King. 

NETTIE A. ELCAN. 

Minneapolis, Minn. 



ANGELS ARE WAITING. 

(Tune—" We are watchiny, we are waiting " or " Memories of Earth.' 1 ) 

' Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for them who shall 

be heirs of salvation." 

1 They are waiting for the coming ; 

Angels on the other shore ; 
Waiting to receive the ransomed, 

When the storms of life are o'er. 
Semi-chorus. 
Watching at the shining portals, 

Of our Father's mansion fair ; 
They will strike their harps of glory, 

They will bid us welcome there. 
Full chorus. 
They are waiting, waiting, waiting, 

Angels on the other shore; 
Waiting to receive the ransomed, 

When the storms of life are o'er. 

2 They are waiting for the aged, 

Those who long the way have trod : 
Waiting for the poor in spirit, 

Rich in faith and love to God. 

Semi-chorus. 

For the young and valiant soldiers, 

Who have nobly borne their part ; 
For the self-denying Christian, 

For the meek, the pure in heart. 

3 They are waiting for the heralds, 

Who in distant lands proclaim 
Life eternal, free salvation, 

Through a dying Saviour's name ; 
Waiting for the silent mourner, 

For the weary and oppressed, 
Who have borne their Cross with patience, 

And are going home to rest. 

4 In the sunny vales of Eden, 

By the river, clear and bright, 
Where the tree of life is planted, 

And our faith is lost to sight ; 
We shall join the " Church Triumphant," 

Free from sorrow, toil, and care : 
Every tie again united, 

There will be no parting there. 

MllS. VAN ALSTYNE. 

From "Singing Pilgrim. "' 
Per. Philip Phillips. 



338 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

REJOICE WITH JESUS CHRIST TO-DAY. 



(MISSIONARY JUBILEE HYMN. Isa. liii : 11,) 



MISS PRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL. 
With firmness and dignity. 



From "Royal Anthem Book," by per. 
MRS. C. H. SCOTT. 



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FOREIGN MISSIONS. SONGS, READINGS AND RECITATIONS FOR YOUNG LADIES' SOCIETIES. 



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340 



WOMAN- IN SACRED SONG. 



JESUS SAID; "YE ARE THE LIGHT OF 5 
THE WORLD." 

" For ye were sometime darkness, but now are ye light in the world. Walk as 
children of light." 

1 Light! light! the heart-cry of a darkened world ; 
For o'er its millions Satan has unfurled 

His flag of foulest blackness, that no ray 

From the great sun may bring one glance of day. 

2 Yet light has come, the light has grandly beamed, 
And rent that flag of death, where'er it gleamed; 
Flooded with life and beauty former wastes, 
And onward toward the thickest darkness hastes. 

3 Hastes, yet whole nations cower underneath 
The heavy death-folds of that flag, nor breathe 
One breath of freedom's air, but writhe and sigh 
"More light! " O Source divine, heed Thou our cry. 

4 Make as reflections of Thyself, sweet Light, 
That we may send into those realms of night 
True day-beams, which shall rend the flag in twain, 
Beneath whose folds our kindred long have lain. 



A SONG OF EXULTATION. 

1 A Saviour, a Saviour ! Proclaim the glad tidings, 

Resound it afar through earth's spacious domain, 
Till each echo that now is in silence abiding, 

Has caught and re-echoed the wonderful strain, 
Till every soul wending earth's ways, sadly bending 

Beneath heavy crosses of suffering and sin, 
Hears, and in humble, implicit confiding, 

Hastens its part of the theme to begin. 

2 A Saviour, a Saviour ! No longer in anguish 

We sadly must languish, o'er burdened with guilt, 
A ransom was offered, a sacrifice proffered, 

The blood of the sinless for sinners was spilt ; 
The mountains have rended, the victims ascended, 

The sword sharp for vengeance in its scabbard is 
laid, 
We, freely forgiven, accepted of Heaven, 

No longer by fear or by doubt are dismayed. 

3 A Saviour, a Saviour ! now graciously pleading, 

For us interceding, with tenderest love, 
Urging humanity for moral frailty, 

Sharing our sorrows, His pity to prove ; 
With us abiding and tenderly chiding, 

Wherever we wander away from the way ; 
Guarding and guiding, and never deriding, 

Though from His love we rebelliously stray. 

4 A Saviour, a Saviour ! with awe we adore Him, 

And bow at His name with exultant accord, 
Our homage we offer, our services proffer, 

And gratefully claim Him our Master, our Lord ; 
His kind mediation secures our salvation, 

And we of the laws are no longer afraid ; 
No grace He denies us, but freely supplies us, 

So long as on Him our affections are stayed. 



A Saviour, a Saviour ! O mortals, receive Him, 

Own Him your Messiah, Redeemer and King, 
With cherubs and seraphs and highest archangels, 

Unite in glad concert, His praises to sing, 
His cross high upholding, His glory unfolding, 

Inspired by His wonderful mercy and love, 
In meek adoration, with devout exultation, 

Press on till ye view Him in glory above. 

ANGELINA. FULLER. 

THE LAST COMMAND. 

1 Soft floating on the Syrian breeze, a voice 
Serene is heard. As earnest tones oft greet 
The ear, in cadence low, so fall in rhythmic 
Measure, words that burn into the very 
Souls of those who listen. 

2 In tbat upper 

Chamber where the eleven are gathered, comes the 
Sacred message from the risen Master's ■ 
Loving heart. Love for a sinful world ! Love 
For a ruined race ! Sad are the deep, dark 
Eyes, and pale the visage of the holy, 
The anointed Son of God ; for Israel, 
His people, race chosen of the Father, 
Had the Son rejected. Saddest of all 
Sad days for them, but joy supreme for us, 
O gentile world ! 

3 Listen ! the Master speaks. 

" Go ye thro' all the world and preach the 
Gospel to all men ! Baptize them in 
The name of Father, Son and Holy Ghost ; 
And lo ! with you, forever, I abide." 
Seraphs and angels viewed the scene, methink's 
Well pleased, and bore aloft to Heaven the 
Tidings glad, that pardon full and free was 
Offered to all dwellers here below. Then 
Must again the morning stars have sang rich 
Strains of melody, and shouts of joy 
Resounded erstwhile thro' the dome of Heaven. 
But not without keen thorns and rugged ways 
Were beset the lives of those who cheerfully 
Obeyed the Saviour's mandate. Still on they 
Toiled, sowing the precious seed in love, 
Leaving results with Him who waters and 
Gives increase. They bore in patience and 
Submission meek, contempt and taunting jest, 
Imprisonment and cruel stocks, for sake 
Of Christ. Well knew they Him on whom their 

trust 
Was stayed. Ne'er could the chosen . few forge/ 
The sight, as He ascended to the waiting 
Father. Many who heard the preached 
Word, believed, and gave themselves with all they 
Had, to aid the Master's cause. Others with 
Scoflmgs and derisions rude, were stumbling- 
Blocks of dire offence to those who might have 
Come unto the waters, and drank freely 
Of unbounded love and mercy. Stands thus 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. SONGS, HEADINGS AND RECITATIONS FOR YOUNG LADIES' SOCIETIES. 341 



The holy cause to-day. 

Some offer self and all they have to 

Spread abroad the news of joy and peace. Some 

Will not see, but blindly grope, and heed not 

Christ's injunction to His followers all. Others 

Sit down in ease and apathy, content 

To let the work progress, so no disturbing 

Element, or call for aid, distracts the 

Quiet tenure of their lives. 

" At ease in 
Zion ! What are souls to them ? Rest they on 
Roses while the world is dying." Nations 
In profoundest darkness lie, pleading 
For help, across the dark expanse of 
Sea. At ease in Zion ! How can souls redeemed 
Thus sit on idle couch of luxury, 
While perish millions for the bread of life ! 
At ease in Zion ! "No love for Him who 
Braved life's sorrows and man's hate, to lift up 
To the gates of bliss, all who accept 
Salvation's offers full and free. No care 
To heed the last command, — 
No love for all the 

Earth, but selfishly regarding just this 
Little sphere in which we daily dwell. 
No zeal to spread His word and truth to heathen 
Tell. " Enough to do at home !" Up ! Up ! and 
Dj it, then ! Why linger ye in all the 
Plain ? Haste ! be about the Master's work, that 
O ;ean depths will have to be o'ercrossed, ere 
Oae be found who is not Christ's, redeemed and 
Saved by precious- blood alone. 

4 " But how 
Believe ? " say some. How comes the faith that 

leaves 
All else behind and works for God and souls ? 
How reason ye the matter ? As a 
Faculty, reason far below faith falls. 
Tho' we cannot view the stars in daylight 
. Fair, the stars we know are in yon heaven's 
Expanse, just as at night, and " we can call 
Them thus and thus, by light of science ; " So 
By faith, the light of those who walk in 
Christian fellowship and love, we know God 
Sent His only Son, beloved above all 
Else, to suffer ignominious agony 
Upon the cross that we might be 
Redeemed. By faith we know He rose, and 
Reigneth with the Father infinite, 
Compassionate, and full of tender love 
To fallen man. In faith we take the bread 
And wine, blest emblems of His broken body 
And shed blood, nor doubt the duty bounden 
On us, nor the wondrous good derived from 
Thus partaking. Yet of these same ones, 
Devout and full of love, some seem to doubt 
Our duty and high privilege to obey the last 

command 
Of Christ, which, once obeyed by followers 



Of Him, brought unto us the story of 
The cross ; the story of redemption, which 
Purchased e'en for us salvation. 

At ease 
In Zion ! Pardon, dear Lord ! the ease in 
Which we dwell. Arouse, by Thine almighty 
Pow'r, the siumb'ring ones. Make us to know and 
Heed Thy last command. Use us 
To haste the time when all shall know Thee and 
Thy risen Son who reigneth with Thee in 
The courts of radiant glory. Help us to 
Comprehend the joyous fact that if souls 
Be led, thro' us, from sin's dark doom into 
The light of that abode " whose bright foundations 
Are the heights of Heaven," 'twill be of more 

avail 
To us when done with earth, than to have gained 

the 
Plaudits of the world, won fairest fame, or 
Called our own, the bounteous wealth of land and 



MRS. GEO. CLINTON SMITH. 

Springfield, 111., 1884. 



NOW AND AFTERWARD. 

" Nevertheless, afterward." Heb. xii : 11. 
(Tune— "Martyn," or "Re/aye.") 

1 Now, the sowing and the weeping, 

Working hard and waiting long ; 
Afterward the golden reaping, 
Harvest home and grateful song. 

2 Now, the pruning, sharp, unsparing ; 

Scattered blossom, bleeding shoot ! 
Afterward, the plenteous bearing 
Of the Master's pleasant fruit. 

3 Now, the plunge, the briny burden, 

Blind, faint gropings in the sea ; 
Afterward, the pearly guerdon 
That shall make the diver free. 

4 Now, the long and toilsome duty 

Stone by stone to carve and bring ; 
Afterward, the perfect beauty 
Of the palace of the King. 

5 Now, the tuning and the tension, 

Wailing minors, discord strong ; 
Afterward, the grand ascension 
Of the Alleluia song. 

6 Now, the spirit conflict-riven, 

Wounded heart, unequal strife ; 
Afterward, the triumph given, 
And the victor's crown of life. 

7 Now, the training, strange and lowly, 

Unexplained and tedious now; 
Afterward, the service holy, 

And the Master's " Enter thou ! " 

FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERQAL. 



J42 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



A HYMN FOR THE MORNING. 



ELIZABETH G. B. BARRETT. 

-I — A-4 



CHARLOTTE C. BROWN. 

*H *J *-l- 




The morning breaks on thee, O France ! 

Thy fleur-de-lis is stained with gore, 
But Gospel light ere long shall glance 

From cliff to cliff along thy shore ; 
And fields and city yet shall send 

This tribute up with morning light, 
And myriad hearts and voices blend 

A nation's trumpet tones of might. 
And thou, O land of song and vines, 

Bright Italy, enslaved so long, 
On thee the morn serenely shines, 

And fainting captive hearts grow strong. 
Thy seven proud hills, imperial Rome, 

Have caught this holier, purer ray, 
And soon, through stately arch and dome 

Shall peal the notes of Freedom's lay. 
And thou, O haughty Austria, thou, 

The day of peace to thee is nigh ; 
There's morning on thy mountain's brow, 

Though war-clouds o'er thy valleys lie. 
And Russia marks the "climbing gold," 

And trembles on her lofty throne ; 
And Prussian tongues, ere this, have told 

How bright the first daybeam hath shown 
Old England marks this brighter ray, 

Whose heralds, centuries gone by, 
Proclaimed the coming Gospel day, 

With all its latter glories nigh. 
The spreading, all-diffusive light, 

O Germany, to thee is near, 
And soon the mists of error's night 

Shall fade, and leave the skies all clear. 



Even Ireland dares to spurn the yoke 

Which bound her down to earth so long, 
And patriot voices have outbroke 

And joined the notes of Freedom's song. 
And brighter clays on thee shall smile, 

And sweeter bards shall sing of thee 
Than sang in Tara's halls, Green Isle, 

In palmiest days of minstrelsy. 
'Tis day with thee, fair Switzerland. 

The rising of its herald star, 
As watchman for the morn, thy band 

Of martyrs saw of old, afar. 
Thine Alpine heights are crowned with gold, 

The gleam shall glance from hill to hill, 
Which, haply, some may yet behold, 

Who sit far down in shadow still. 
'T is day ! illumining the world : 

The Orient smiles amid its ray ; 
The Gospel page is wide unfurled, 

And many a nation owns its sway. 
Light speeds to China's opened gates, 

It gilds the Turkish minaret, 
And still its blessed beam awaits 

The tribes that long in darkness sat. 
What are our fathers' deeds of praise ? 

And what, our father's God, are we, 
That we amid these latter days 

Are spared Thy triumphs thus to see ? 
Before Thy throne in awe we fall, 

We, whom Thou thus dost deign to bless, 
To own Thee, Father, Lord o'er all, 

To hail Thy "reign of righteousness." 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. SONGS, READINGS AND RECITATIONS FOR YOUNG LADIES' SOCIETIES. 



:;i:j 



THE TREES OF THE BIBLE. 

[Tor older pupils.] 

All. — Let us look through sacred story, 
Soug and psalm, until we see, 
In their beauty and their glory, 

Forms of many a fair, green tree : 
Trees that shaded saints and sages, 

Trees that waved where prophets trod. 
Trees that lived through all the ages, 
In the ancient Word of God. 
First. — When the captives wept for Ziou, 
For her power and glory gone, 
What fair tree, with drooping branches, 
Hung they, sad, their harps upon ? 
Answer. — " By the rivers of Babylon there we sat 
down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion. We 
hanged our harps upon the Willows."— [Ps. exxxvii : i. 

! Second. — When the prophet sang the story, 

Zion's grandeur yet to be, 
Sang her beauty and her glory, 
Spake he then of any tree ? 
Answer. — " The glory of Lebanon shall come unto 
thee, the Fir-tree, the Pine-tree and the Box togeth- 
j er, to beautify the place of my sanctuary." — [Isa. lx : 13. 
Third. — When he gives the invitation, 

Come, ye thirsting, thirst no more, 
How, in joyful proclamation, 
Tells he of the good in store ? 
Answer. — " Instead of the Thorn shall come up 
the Fir-tree, and instead of the Brier shall come up 
the Myrtle-tree, and it, shall be to the Lord for a 
name." — "[Isa.lv: 13. 

Fourth. — What says he, when men, forsaking 
God most high, the living Lord, 
Out of wood their gods are making 
That can never speak a word. 
Answer. — " He heweth him down Cedars, and tak- 
eth the Cypress and the Oak, which he strengthened 
for himself among the trees of the forest ; he planteth 
an Ash, and the rain doth nourish it. . . . He mak- 
eth a god and worshippeth it." — [Isa. xliv : 14, 15. 
Fifth. — On the hills and mountains, burning 
Incense unto gods thus made, 
Israel, far from Zion turning, 

Sought what trees' most pleasant shade? 
Answer. — " They sacrifice upon the tops of the moun- 
tains, and burn incense upon the hills, under Oaks and 
Poplars and Elms, because the shadow thereof is 
good." — [Hos. iv : 13. 

Sixth. — When another prophet telleth 

Of God's judgments, falling fast, 
While his heart with sorrow swelleth, 
How speaks he of glories past ? 
Ansioer. — " The Vine is dried up, and the Fig-tree 
languisheth ; the Pomegranate-tree, the Palm-Tree 
also, and the Apple-tree, even all the trees of the field 



are withered : because joy is withered away from the 
sons of men." — [Joel i : 12. 

Seventh. — After words of solemn warning 
To the people in their sin, 
Then what hope, like gleams of dawning, 
Through the prophet's voice flows in ? 
Ansioer. — " But yet in it shall be a tenth, and it shall 
return. As a Teil-tree and as an Oak, whose sub- 
stance is in them when they cast their leaves . so the 
holy seed shall be the substance thereof." — [Isa. vi: 13. 
Eighth. — Unto Israel returning, 

Hear the promise of his Lord ; 
God to His dear children turning, 
Speaks to them what precious word ? 
Ansioer. — " I will be as the dew unto Israel , he 
shall grow as the lily, and cast fortli his roots as Leba- 
non ; his branches shall spread, and his beauty shall be 
as the Olive-tree." — [Joel xiv . 5, 6. 

JYinth. — When God called the "weeping prophet,'' 
When He said, "What dost thou see ? " 
Lifting up his eyes, what saw he ? 
Spring's first brightly-blooming tree. 
Answer. — " The word of the Lord came unto me, 
saying, Jeremiah, what seest thou ? And I said, I see 
a rod of an Almond-tree." — [Jer. i : n. 
Tenth. — When Elijah's spirit failed him, 

And he asked that he might die, 
When the angel touched and hailed him, 
'Neath what did Elijah lie ? 
Answer. — But he himself went a day's journey into 
the- wilderness, and came and sat down under a Juniper- 
tree ; and he reepjested for himself that he might die. 
— [i. Kings xix : 4. 
Eleventh. — When the Lord directed David 
Out to battle how to go, 
O'er against what trees, then said He, 
They should come upon the foe ? 
Answer. — "Come upon them over against the Mul- 
berry-trees. And it shall be when thou shalt hear a 
sound of going in the top of the Mulbekry-trees, that 
then thou shalt go out to battle." — [i Chron. xiv : 14, 15. 
Twelfth. — What tree, that now on Lebanon 
In solemn beauty reigns, 
In the grand days of Solomon 
Grew, like, upon the plains, 
Another tree, whose branches bore 

In a far later day, 
Zaccheus, who ran on before, 
When Jesus passed that way. 
Answer. — "And the Cedar-trees made he as the 
Sycamore-trees that are in the low plains in abund- 
ance." "And Zaccheus ran before and 

climbed up into a Sycamore-tree to see Jesus." — [n. 
Chron. ix : 27 ; Luke xix : 4. 

Thirteenth. — What trees that Hiram sent, with gold 
From far across the seas, 
Made terraces, as we are told, 
And harps and psalteries ? 



344 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Answer. — And the king made of the Algtjm-trees 
terraces to the house of the Lord." 
Fourteenth. — Of what trees did Ezekiel write, 
Strong, beautiful and fair. 
When the Assyria's strength and might 
And beauty would declare ? 
Answer. — " The Cedars in the garden of God could 
not hide him ; the Fir-trees were not like his boughs ; 
and the Chestnut-trees* were not like his branches, 
nor any tree in the garden of God was like unto him in 
his beauty." — [Ezek. xxxi : 8. 
Fifteenth — And now what tree more fair than all 
May priest and prophet see, 
And yet its wondrous leaves may fall 
To bless both you and me ? 
Answer. — " In the midst of the street of it, and on 
either side of the river, was there the Tree of Life, 
which bare twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her 
fruit every month ; and the leaves of the tree were for 
the healing of the nations." — [Rev. xxii : 1, 2. 

* The Chestnut tree of the Scriptures is the Plane tree, such as— 
"The Persian adorned with mantels and jewels." 

MRS. M. E. C. SLADB. 



BROIDERY- WORK. 

1 Beneath the desert's rim went down the sun, 
And from the tent-doors, all their service done, 
Came forth the Hebrew women, one by one. 

2 For Bezaleel, the master, who had rare 

And curious skill, and gifts beyond compare — 
Greater than old Misraim's greatest were — 

3 Had bidden that they approach at his command, 
As on a goat-skin spread upon the sand 

He sate, and saw them grouped on every hand. 

4 And soon, as came to pass, a silence fell, 
He spake and said : — " Daughters of Israel, 
I bring a word : I pray ye hearken well. 

5 " God's tabernacle, by His pattern made, 
Shall fail of finish, though in order laid, 
Unless ye women lift your hands to aid ! " 

6 A murmur ran the crouched assembly through, 
As each her veil around her closer drew — 

" We are but women ! — what can women do ? " 

7 And Bezaleel made answer : " Not a man 
Of all our tribes, from Judah unto Dan, 
Can do the thing that just ye women can ! 

8 " The gold and broidered work about the hem 

Of the priests' robes — pomegranate, knob and stem- 
Man's clumsy fingers cannot compass them. 

9 " The sanctuary curtains that must wreathen be 
And bossed with cherubim — in colors three, 
Blue, purple, scarlet — who can twine but ye ? 

10 "Yours is the very skill for which I call ; 

So bring your cunning needlework, though small 
Your gifts may seem : the Lord hath need of all! ; 



110 Christian women ! For the temples set 
Throughout earth's desert lands — do you forget 
The sanctuary curtains need your broidery yet ? 



THE DISCIPLE'S PRIVILEGE. 

Aots i : 6—8. 

1 When, Lord, they asked, wilt Thou restore 
Thy kingdom to Thy fiock once more ? 
When wilt Thou forth a conqueror ride, 
And who will sit on either side ? 

Fresh from a conquest greater far 

Than all this world's poor triumphs are, 

Why should not He who rent the grave 

Messiah's lesser glories have — 

A crown, a throne, a victory, 

That all the mocking world may see ? 

2 O Love divine ! Thy sweet reply 
Could brighten hope in every eye — 
Could lead each dreaming spirit forth 
To tread with Thee a conquered earth ; 
Yet fold a deeper meaning there 
Than any human heart could bear, 

Till God's own hand should light His word, 
The latest promise of our Lord. 

3 The same old throng is climbing yet 
The sacred steeps of Olivet ; 

And still Christ's little flock would share 
His counsels as they do His care ; 
And patiently He answers still 
Those who thus seek to know His will : 
" Behold, with power I send you forth 
To bear my gospel o'er the earth. 
Jerusalem shall hear your song, 
And Judah's hills the strain prolong, 
While dark Samaria's crown of pride 
Shall bow before the Crucified, 
As, wandering forth 'neath every star, 
My people bear my standard far ; 
Till all the world brings tribute meet 
To lay before my pierced feet, 
In every land, o'er every sea, 
' Ye shall be witnesses for me.' " 

4 Come, Holy Spirit ! touch with fire 
These words, which kindle new desire ; 
Open to blinded eyes once more 

This promise, as Thou didst of yore ; 
Light up the way our feet must go, 
Our faith to prove, our love to show, 
And lead us on, whate'er betide ; 
Break Thou each dream of human pride, 
And, if some sorrow waits to prove 
How strong our trust, how deep our love, 
If heavenly gain bring earthly loss, 
If Thou wilt lead us by the cross, 
Still, still, our truest joy must be 
That we may witness, Lord, for Thee ! 

I1ANNAH MORE JOHNSON. 

In " Womau's Work for Woman." 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. SONGS, READINGS AND RECITATIONS FOR YOUNG LADIES SOCIETIES. 



345 



THE MAIDEN'S OFFERING. 

1 " What shall I lay on the altar-shrine, 

For the land where darkness reigneth ? 
Across the billows are those who pine 
For Bread of Life, for the Word divine, 

And the love of Christ constraineth. 

2 " What shall I give that my Lord will own, 

And will bless to their salvation ? 
What precious thing that is mine alone ? " 
A prayer went up to the great white throne, 

Or a thought of imploration. 

3 Only a moment her heart rebelled, 

As its inner depth uncloses ; 
For vearnings fond in her bosom swelled 
For shores that a father's ashes held, 

For the shadowed Land of Roses. 

4 " Thine, Thine, dear Lord," was the murmur low, 

And the spirit-strife was ended. 
The pale cheek flushed with a stranger glow, 
The smile illuming the brow of snow, 

Was a beam from heav'n descended. 

5 Her locks were shorn, and the price in gold 

Of that wcndrous crown of glory, 
Bore precious tidings of love untold, 
Of mansions blest of the upper fold, 

And the sweet and olden story. 

"PAULINA." 



LOST NAMES. 

1 Those women which labored with me. in the Gospel,. and other my fellow 
laborers whose names are also in the Book of Life." 

They lived and they were useful ; this we know, 

And naught beside ; 
No record of their names is left to show 

How soon they died ; 
They did their work and then they passed away, 

An unknown band, 
And took their places with the greater host 

In the higher land. 

! And were they young, or were they growing old, 

Or ill, or well, 
Or lived in poverty, or had much gold, 

No one can tell. 
The only thing is known of them : they were 

Faithful and true 
Disciples of the Lord, and strong through prayer 

To save and do. 

But what avails the gift of empty fame ? 

They lived to God. 
They loved the sweetness of another Name, 

And gladly trod 
The rugged ways of earth, that they might be 

Helper or friend, 
And in the joy of this their ministry, 

Be spent and spend. 



No glory clusters round their names on earth, 

But in God's Heaven 
Is kept a book of names of greatest worth, 

And there is given 
A place for all who did the Master please, 

Although unknown, 
And their lost names shine forth in brightest rays 

Before the throne. 

Oh ! take who will the boon of fading fame ! 

But give to me 
A place among the workers, though my name 

Forgotten be ; 
And if within the Book of Life is found 

My lowly place, 
Honor and glory unto God redound 

For all His grace ! 

MARIANNE PARNINGHAM. 

London Christian World. 



FAR OR NEAR. 

1 When Monica lay on her dying bed, 

Beyond the walls of Rome, 
And saw the blue Campagna widths that spread 
Between her and her home ; 

2 And missed the yearning eye and reverent hand 

Of friends that would have striven, 
Who, with love's privilege, should nearest stand 
To one so close to Heaven ; 

3 She heard Augustine sigh, 'twixt tear and tear : 

u Ah, blinded that we are ! 
Had I but known, — I had not borne her here, 
To find a grave, so far, 

4 " So far from home ! " She turned her luminous eyes 

On her beloved one, 
With something of rebuke and strange surprise : 
" So far from home, — my son 'I 

5 "Why, here I'll lie and sleep in very bliss; 

Because this Ostian* sod 
Is just as close as home, to Heaven : There is 
No far nor near, with God ! " 

MARGARET J. PRESTON. 

* At Ostia, Monica, the mother of St. Augustine, was buried. 



FROM "SOUTHERN GLEANINGS." 

" Some find work where some find rest, 

And so the weary world goes on ; 
I sometimes wonder why it is, 

The answer comes when life is gone. 
Some hands fold where other hands 

Are lifted bravely in the strife ; 
And so through ages and through lands 

Move on the two extremes of life." 

MBS. GEORGIA HITLSE M'LEOD. 



546 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



DOUBLING THE MISSION DOLLAR. 

1 'Twas a thoughtful child that was seen one clay 
To turn from her toys and her careless play, 
With a questioning glance of sad surprise 
And a far-away look in her dark brown eyes ; 
For something so strange she had heard them say, 
Those older ones, talking that summer day ; 
They thought she had come for a fond caress, 
Nor dreamed they their meaning the child could 

guess. 

2 She listened while shadows came down apace, 
Then crept to her treasures with earnest face, 
And there in the twilight she told it all 

To one little hearer — her patient doll : 
" Why, Fanny, my dolly, across the sea 
Are millions who never will Christians be 
Till somebody tells them of Jesus' love, 
And how they may go to the home above. 

3 " And I heard them say that to lands afar 
A packet is going — the ' Morning Star ' — 
To carry the gospel ! I believe they said, 
'If the people to giving are only led.' 
Now I have a dime that I meant for you, 
To buy you, my dolly, a ribbon blue, 

But perhaps it will help them sail the ship ; 
We'll give it ! " she said, with quivering lip. 

4 The mother bent low at the evening prayer 
O'er the form of her darling kneeling there, 
And lovingly stroking the curly head, 

She noted the words that were softly said : 
" Dear Jesus, my dolly and I are glad 
To keep the poor heathen from being bad, 
And sometime we'll help them, perhaps, again ; 
I hope you will bless them, O Lord, amen." 

5 And then in the starlight a silence deep 
Betokened the coming of quiet sleep, 

But the head on the pillow turned once more, 
A puzzled expression the child-face wore : 
" I want to know, mamma, what 'twas I heard, 
The meaning of sacrifice — that's the word." 
She answered, " My child, I'll explain to you : 
Your sacrifice, dear, is the ribbon blue." 

6 She had given to send to those afar 

The wonderful light of the " Morning Star," 
And into her soul shall His presence shine, 
To beckon her on to the life divine ; 
And so in her girlhood's sunniest hour 
She yielded her heart to the Spirit's power, 
And she kept her desire of greatest worth 
To "carry the gospel " to all the earth. 

7 And out into maidenhood's hopes and fears, 
Far out in the whirl of the rushing years, 
She remembered the lesson learned that day 
In the magical hour of childish play. 

The dime to a dollar had now increased, 
The blessing of giving had never ceased, 
Her sacrifice often took shape anew, 
In the same old smise of the ribbon blue. 



8 For Europe and Asia her pleadings rise, 
For Africa, too, with her burning skies, 
For sin-enslaved souls in isles of the sea, 
That Jesus' atonement might make them free. 
'T was very surprising and sad indeed 

That she had forgotten her country's need, 
That over its Southland and prairies vast 
Her eye in its searchings had blindly passed ; 

9 And then into retrospect, one by one, 
Came duties neglected and work undone ; 

The voice of conscience seemed close by her side, 

" Your dollar for missions you must divide," 

And many another, by impulse stirred. 

Sprang up at the sound of this whispered wo • t, 

And dollars divided went o'er the sea 

And out through our country so broad and free. 

10 But what of their mission? 'twas half complete, 
Though harvests were gathered both rich mid 

sweet, 
Yet came not their fullness, and white fields wait 
The work of the reapers so grand and great. 
And back o'er the ocean this message came : 
Send more, " for your love of the Saviour's name ; " 
And up from the Southland and prairies vast, 
" Send more, lest the day of our hope be past." 

11 And she who remembered the days of yore — 
The mother's fond counsel she knows no more — 
Again in the starlight and silence deep 
Forgetteth her care in a quiet sleep. 

A presence whose coming the child had blest, 
Brings now in her dreaming a peaceful rest ; 
The problem whose study seemed all in vain, 
Grows simple and clear in the resting brain. 

12 "You asked me, my darling, one summer day, 
When you had grown weary with childish play. 
What sacrifice meant, and now by your side 

I come to make plainer the word divide. 

The promptings of conscience were right and good, 

'T would all have been well, had you understood, 

She bade you go forth on a mission wide, 

And double your dollar — 'twas not divide." 

13 The story is simple, and still I see 

The lesson which surely is meant for me, 
And I am so thankful that I may hear 
The calls for assistance that reach my ear ; 
I ask of my conscience to guide me right. 
This answer makes duty a pathway bright, 
While sinners afar from their Saviour roam, 
Not less for the foreign — as much for home. 

14 For millions of strangers have reached our shores, 
For them in their darkness the heart implores ; 
The dusky-faced tribes on our western slopes 
Are compassed in faith by our Christian hopes ; 
Those ransomed from bondage are clearly heard, 
" Send us in your pity the saving word." 

And so by this precept we must abide, 
'Tis double your dollars, and not divide. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. SONGS, READINGS AND RECITATIONS FOR YOUNG LADIES' SOCIETIES. 347 



HOME IN HEAVEN. 

[For Eight Voices.] 

First Voice. — 
Ye speak of heaven, — a home of bliss, 
Secure from the crosses and woes of this ; 
Ye say, that its joys are beyond the ken, — 
Far beyond the vision of mortal men. 
Can you tell me what, and where, is heaven ? 
Or aught of its joys to mortals given ? 
Second Voice. — (John xiv : 2.) "In my father's house 
are many mansions ; if it were not so, I would have told 
you : I go to prepare a place for you." 

Would you know of heaven, of the Christian's rest ? 
Jesus here has given answer to thy quest. 
Mansions pure and holy, decked by His own hand, 
Wait His poor and lowly in that better land. 
Of this realm of glory list ye once again : 
Hear the wondrous story of His love to men. 
Th ird Voice. — (Rev. xxii : 1, 2.) "And He showed me 
a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding 
out of the throne of God and of the Lamb. In the midst 
of the street of it, and on either side of the river, was 
there the tree of life which bare twelve manner of fruits, 
and yielded her fruit every month ; and the leaves of 
the tree were for the healing of the nations." 
Gently flowing river, soft thy waters glide ; 
Leaves of healing ever murmuring by thy side. 
Fields forever vernal, pure and balmy air ; 
Light and joy supernal, — Oh ! what beauty there ! 
Fourth Voice. — (Rev. xiv: 2.) "And I heard a voice 
from heaven as the voice of many waters, and as the 
voice of a great thunder; and I heard the voice of 
harpers, harping with their harps." 

( Rev. v : 9.) " And they sang a new song, saying : 
'Thou art worthy to take the book, and open the seals 
thereof ; for Thou wast slain, and hast redeemed us to 
God, by thy blood, out of every kindred, and tongue, 
and people, and nation.' " 

'T is a land of bright beauty, and Oh ! to be there! 
To join in the music that rings through the air, 
As the grand choral anthem peals up from the throng, 
That with myriad voices join in the song; 
'Tis a strain so melodious that echo again 
From the hills everlasting, sends back the refrain; 
Till with " Glory and honor to heaven's high King, 
Our Maker and Saviour," heaven's high arches ring, 
While the crowd of bright worshippers bow at His feet, 
And with glad acclamations the chorus repeat. 
'T would be rapture indeed, might I know that at last 
I too. at His feet might my " Crown of Life" cast, 
And with harp and with palm join the song of the blest, 
In the home of the righteous, the Christian's long rest. 
Fifth Voice.— (Rev. xiv: 13.) "And I heard a 
voice from heaven saying unto me, ' Write, blessed are 
the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth ; yea, 
saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labors, 
and their works do follow them.' " 



A resting home ! Oh ! yes, 't is sweet 
To know there is a sure retreat, 
. A goal toward which all weary feet 

May struggle on ; — 
To know the toiler may at last 
His heavy burden from him cast : 
Rejoicing that the day is past 

And work is done. 
'T is sweet to know the aching brain 
That long has toiled, perchance in vain, 
May cease its work ; may break its chain 

And find release ; — 
To know this sinning, sorrowing heart, 
So worn and harasssed with the smart 
Of life's sore conflict, may depart 

And rest in peace. 

Sixth Voice. — (Rev. xxi : 4.) " And God shall wipe 
away all tears from their eyes, and there shall be no 
more death, neither sorrow nor crying ; neither shall 
there be any more pain, for the former things are 

away." 

There, Christian friends shall meet ; 

Behold ! on yonder shore 
What crowds throng forth to greet 

The passers o'er. 
They never part again : 

Tears never dim the eye : 
For sorrow, sin and pain 

Dwell not 011 high. 



Voice. — ( Is. xxxiii : 24. ) " And the 
inhabitants shall not say, I am sick." 

No sickness there ! Poor suffering one, 
Still patient bear ; 'twill soon be done. 
A little while 't will pass away, 
And on thee smile eternal day. 

Eighth Voice. — (Is. xxxiii : 17.) " Thine eyes shall | 
see the King in His beauty : they shall behold the land 
that is very far off." 

Though the land seem far off, and we scarce can descry 1 
Its pure pearly gates, and its battlements high, 
Yet we're nearing it ever, perchance ere the night 
We shall find in our journey its towers in sight. 
Across the dark waters the breath of the flowers 
Is borne even now from the evergreen bowers ; 
'T is the earnest of welcome ; no more let us faint, 
Nor lift up to heaven a bitter complaint. 
As the heavenly portals to us shall unfold, 
The King in His beauty our eyes shall behold, 
And with joy and rejoicing, we too, with the band 
Of the loved gone before, in His presence shall stand. 
We oft here must part, and with tear-dimming eye 
For the loved absent ones, we in loneliness sigh ; 
But they're gathering home ; we shall soon all be there, 
In that heavenly land so radiant and fair. 

ORRIE M. OAVLORD. 

From " Good Times," published at Fall River, Mass. 



346 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



BRIDGE BUILDING. 



[ To the Young Ladies' Societies of the Interior who are building i 
sionary Bridge from Mexico to Turkey. J 

1 Once there stood two mighty cities 
On either side a bay, 

Ready to be united, 

But the sea stood in the way 

A bridge was all they needed — 

A bridge that should span the sea, 

Joining the cities together 

Till the two as one should be. 

So hundreds of men together 

Piled stone upon stone for piers, 

And hundreds more wove the wires 

Which should last a thousand years. 

Slowly it grew in beauty, 

As the workmen planned and toiled, 

Stone upon stone cemented, 

Wire upon wire they coiled. 

2 At length the bridge was builded 
And swung from land to land, 
Fair to the eye as a cobweb, 
But strong as the sea it spanned. 
And all men marvelled and wondered 
That hand of man could trace 

A thing of such strength and beauty, 
Such wonderful size and grace. 
But a mightier bridge is building, 
And the handmaids of God are they 
Who are chosen to weave the wires 
And build the piers to-day. 
'T is a work that the Lord hath need of, 
It will strengthen His kingdom's power, 
A highway built for His coming, 
Which is hastening every hour. 

3 In a quaint old Spanish city, 
On a Mexican mountain crest, 
Where a faithful woman will watch it, 
One pier of the bridge shall rest. 
Across the broad Pacific 

One giant span shall reach, 

To the dwellers in scattered islands, 

And join them each to each. 

For these faithful workers for Jesus 

A new " Morning Star " shall rise, 

And a promise of light from darkness 

Shall gladden the waiting eyes. 

4 The next span stretches northward 
And westward o'er sea and land, 
Till it reaches the land of China, 
Where the "Western Gateway" lies. 
This gate must be held for Jesus, 
That the seed of His word be sown 
'Mong the thousands who enter its portals 



From lands where He is not known. 

The last span reaches southward 

To the land where Christ's chosen few 

Preached a slain and risen Saviour, 

While the message was strange and new. 

But the message has been forgotten, 

It must all be told again, 

And this bridge-way will help to spread it, 

Over mountain and hill and plain. 

5 Where each of these piers is stationed, 
Are patient workers for God, 
Toiling for souls in Christ's vineyard, 
Treading the path He trod — 
Lifting the heathen woman 
From darkness into the light, 
Teaching the little children, 
Guiding their feet aright. 
They are willing and faithful workers, 
But they must not toil alone, 
There is need of your gifts and prayers, 
You can help, though you stay at home. 
If all are ready and willing 
Who are called to take a part 
In this glorious work for Jesus, 
His blessing shall till each heart ; 
Then the work shall be accomplished, 
Ere any have time for fears, 
And the Mission Bridge you are building 
Shall last through eternal years ! 

,\ 

Arkon, Ohio, Oct., 



SOME THOUGHTS ABOUT "THE BRIDGE/ 
FROM ONE OF THE PIEES. 



" A five thousand dollar bridge," you say? Methinks, 
dear friends, that the cost cannot be given in dollars and 
cents. The eye that seeth in secret, alone can tell the cost 
thereof. 

How staunch and strong it stands, prepared for the shocks 
of storm and wave! But beauty is in it as well as strength, 
and I see it, a lovely mosaic, perfect and finished in every 
part, lit up with shining deeds of faith and hope, with loving 
self-denials and beautiful sacrifices, that gleam like rare 
jewels and precious stones among the polished marbles of its 
arches and parapets. 

And will it endure and stand firm amid the tempests? Yes, 
for 'tis wrought in prayer, and its many-stranded and strong 
cables are strongly fastened to the great anchor in the bed- 
rock of faith. 

And best of all, is the use of " The bridge," for by it the 
feet of many who sit in darkness will pass from the hopeless 
gloom of Paganism and idolatry, and from the superstitious 
depths of heathenism and Papacy, to the solid foundation of 
the gospel of light and truth. We can well "count it all 
joy" that ours is the happy privilege to share in the blessed- 
ness of such a work. 

BELLE JI. HASEINS. 

Guadalajara, Mexico, 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. SONGS, HEADINGS AND RECITATIONS FOR YOUNG LADIES' SOCIETIES. 349 

THE FIRST MISSIONARY. THE WICK OF STRAW. 



Know'st thou the Leader of that train, who toil 
The everlasting Gospel's light to shed 
On earth's benighted climes ? 

Canst tell the name 
Of the first teacher, in whose steps went forth 
O'er sultry India, and the sea-green isles, 
And to the forest children of the West, 
A self-denying band, — who counted not 
Life dear unto them, so thej' might fulfill 
Their ministry, and save the heathen soul ? 

Judea's mountains from their breezy heights 
Reply, — "We heard Him, when He lifted up 
His voice, and taught the people patiently, 
Line upon line, for-they were slow of heart." 
From its dark depths, the Galilean lake 
Told hoarsely to the storm-cloud how He dealt 
Bread to the famish'd throng, with tender care; 
Forgetting not the body, while He fed 
The immortal spirit ; — how He stood and healed, 
Day after day, till evening shadows fell 
Around the pale and paralytic train, 
Lame, halt and blind, and lunatic, who sought 
His pitying touch. 

Mount Olivet, in sighs, 
Spake mournfully — "His midnight prayer was mine, 
I heard it, I alone, — as all night long 
Upward it rose, with tears, for those who paid 

His love with hatred." 

Kedron's slender rill, 
That bathed His feet, as to His lowly work 
Of mercy He went forth, still kept His name 
Securely hoarded in its secret fount, 

A precious pearl-drop ! 

Sad Gethsemane 
Had memories that it faltered to repeat, 
Such as the strengthening angel marked, appalled ; 
Finding no dialect in which to bear 

Their woe to Heaven. 

Even Calvary, who best 
Might, if it would, our earnest question solve, 
Pressed close its flinty lip, and shuddering bowed 
In silent dread, remembering how the sun 
Grew dark at noon-day, and the sheeted dead 
Came from their cleaving sepulchres, to walk 

Among the living. 

But the bold, bail host, 
Spirits of evil, from the lake of pain, 
Who held brief triumph 'round the mystic Cross, 
Bare truthful witness, as they shrieking fled, — 
" We know Thee who Thou art, the Christ of God:" 
While Heaven, uplifting its eternal gates, 
With chant of cherubim and seraphim, 
Welcomed the Lord of glory entering in, 

His mission done. 

LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY, 1850. 



1 Day with its heated toil was o'er, 

And of the dusky crowds, a few 
Crept curious through the low-browed door, 

Beneath the rafters of bamboo, 
And sat them on the earthen floor. 

2 Half-stifled in the murky room 

A single slender taper gleamed, 
That strove the darkness to illume, 

Yet showed it denser, as it seemed, 
So faint it flickered through the gloom. • 

3 A palm-oil drop within a shell, — 

An inch of braided barley-straw, 
With point of flame scarce visible, 

Was all the crouching listeners saw 
Of light athwart the dusk that fell. 

4 And stooping by that taper dim, 

Sat one of alien name and face, 
Who for the loving sake of Him 

Whose Cross lights earth's dark dwelling-place, 
Came round the world that lamp to trim. 

5 No wonder that disheartening fears 

Betray themselves in look and tone ; 
No wonder, gazing down the years 

Through which these myriads troop alone, 
This " Jesus-man " is blind with tears ! 

6 " Oh ! if from out the blaze of light 

That floods so many a Christian dome, — 
Oh ! if across the billows white 

That break betwixt me and my home, 
They would but spare one lamp to-night ! 

7 " If they believed what Christ still saith, — 

li they once saw what I have seen, — 
They could not draw such tranquil breath — 

They could not watch with soul serene 
These stumblers staggering down to death ! 

8 " By Him whose feet for us have trod 

The wine-press of the wrath, I pray, 
Ye churches, hold the torch abroad, — 

Ye people, point the upward way, 
And light these heathen home to God ! " 

' 9 Dare we deny Him ? Shall He draw 

No help from hearts unmoved and shut ? 
Can we, renouncing love's sweet law, 

Watch calmly in the bamboo hut 
The quenching of that inch of straw ? 

1880. 

MARGARET .1. PRESTON. 



'650 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



OTHER SHEEP I HAVE. 

"And Jesus went thence, and departed into the coasts of Tyre and Sidon." 

1 That goodly Syrian mountain, fair Lebanon the 

blest, 

With all its snow-crowned summits, looks off toward 
the west, 

Where Sidon, nestling at its feet, sits gazing on the 
waves 

That chant their mournful requiem o'er proud Phoe- 
nicia's graves. 

2 But not of earthly glory, thou city by the sea, 
Not of thy vanquished splendor, I sing this song to 

thee: 
A holier beauty lights thee, Sidon throned there, 
The tender memory of a day no after-day may share. 

3 Hither from hills of Galilee the loving Saviour came, 
Bending His steps this way to reach one heart that 

knew His name ; 
A door of hope to open as each poor Gentile comes, 
As did a Syrian mother, then, asking His children's 

crumbs. 

4 " Send her away," they murmured, " this stranger ; 

what hath she 
To claim of Israel's Shepherd ? for us His ministry." 
But though unchecked the harsh reproof, though 

love so long seemed cold, 
How strong and glad the words at last that called 

her to His fold ! 

5 Ah, well for us the lesson ! well for these later days 
We find our Saviour's footprint along these Syrian 

ways! 
Mark how He left the folded flock, the ninety and 

the nine, 
Seeking along this alien shore one wandering sheep 

to find. 

6 So, on these ancient highways and by the shining 

sea, 

Where Jesus' feet bave travelled in humblest min- 
istry, 

Behold His loving children yet walk like those of 
yore, 

So close beside the Master they catch the smile He 
wore. 

7 Were there no souls around us here, fainting for 

lack of bread, 
That these have gone on weary quest, Christ's table 

there to spread ? 
Ah! yes, but following on to know they learned that 

lesson sweet, 
To tread unquestioning each path marked by their 

Master's feet. 

8 For yet through all the ages the same sad mourners 

come, 
One of life's dreary shadows that fall on every 

home ; 
There earth hath had its triumphs, there souls grew 

wise and strong, 



But an undertone of sorrow has thrilled through 
every song. 

9 maimed and sick and heart-sore, would that ye 
might have been 

Among the throngs that followed the lowly Naza- 
rene ! 

Think of the humble cabins that knew His pres- 
ence then ; 

Oh! that the gracious Healer might walk this earth 
again ! 

10 1 see Him on those hill-sides and by the shining sea, 
Stand 'mid thy listening thousands, happy Galilee ! 
And each with some heart-burden, from hovel and 

from hall 
They come, a stricken army, to Him who heals 
them all. 

11 Still, still amid the suffering, O Friend of sinners, 

stand ; 
Lift o'er the sin-sick multitude Thy tender, pierced 

hand ! 
Oh! multiply the loaves we bring, as in our Master's 

stead 
We give Thy starving Syrian flock their heavenly 

Father's bread ! 

12 They come from Tyre and Sidon, from Hamath's 

border far, 

The dewy slope of Lebanon where goodly cedars 
are; 

From over Jordan's rocky bed where Hermon's 
shadows lower, 

And loneliest vale may know His name, the drear- 
iest home His power. 

13 O happy souls who know this love, so boundless and 

so free ! 
But happier they whom love hath brought to share 

its ministry, 
Whose sweet obedience to their Lord their faith in 

Him hath proved. 
And blessed us with His presence, this suffering 

world He loved ! 

HANNAH MORE JOHNSON. 



HARVEST HOME. 



[Kead before the Humphrey Memorial Band, by Miss Howe.] 

1 As tiny streamlets, adding to the river, 

Mingle their waters wending to the sea, 
So the small things of time fill up the measure 

That swells the chorus of eternity ; 
And oft we find the path of common duty 

The royal road that leads to God and heaven, 
And, as we cherish and improve the littles, 

We find the greater things are to us given. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. SONGS, READINGS AND RECITATIONS FOR YOUNG LADIES' SOCIETIES. 351 



2 How oft we've stopped to lift the simple burden, 

And sighed in sorrow at the common toil, 
But found that as our feet trod duty's pathway, 

The flowers of peace and joy bedecked the soil ; 
For duty is a bright and glorious sunbeam, 

That gilds the humblest lot with light divine, 
For Jesus walked amid its narrow windings, 

And made the lowliest aspects most sublime. 

3 We come and drink, and, wandering up the mountain, 

Trace back the cooling stream without one thought 
But that it quenches thirst, until the fountain 

From which it rose lies open all unsought, 
And we stand awe-struck as the light unfoldeth 

The love and care that wrap our very life, 
The hidden hand which every chord-string holdeth, 

Controlling still, 'mid joy, or pain, or strife. 

4 So came Samaria's woman to the wellside, 

To fill her earthen pot with water clear, 
Nor dreamed that in the weary Jewish stranger 

The " Gift of God " was waiting for her there. 
truth sublime ! O wondrous, wondrous Saviour ! 

In all Thy weariness to stop and tell 
That erring, wretched, sinful, wandering woman 

The story of Thy love, beside the well. 

5 The first great mission sermon heard by mortal — 

The first glad gospel-call the Gentiles knew — 
The only list'ner was a humble woman ; 

And He who preacher stood, was Saviour too ! 
She heard, believed, and, in Messiah trusting, 

Returned in haste to spread the story round 
Of One who, every secret sin unveiling, 

Yet in His heart for sinners mercy found. 

6 The brave, sweet gospel truth — how good it sounded ! 

How new, and Oh! how pleasant, unto all ! 
No wonder multitudes of hearts responded, 

And flocked to meet Him at her earnest call. 
' She was a woman, yet He did not stay her : 

Who says, then, woman has no right to speak? 
Had she been wrong, the Saviour had rebuked her, 

As she proclaimed Him through the open street. 

7 Nay, sisters, 'tis for us to tell the story, 

For us to bid salvation's waters roll ; 
To us the heathen woman looks expectant, 

And dumbly lifts to us her shackled soul. 
Her ignorance has claims upon our knowledge, 

And shall she cry and we refuse to give ? 
Our very privileges make us debtors ; 

To let her die forbids our right to live. 

8 Then, fear not sacrifice, or toil, or danger ; 

Give of the heart's best love — of children, wealth ; 
And, if He ask it, dream not of refusing, 

But on His altars lay thy very self. 
The fields are white ; who pants to join the laborers ? 

The Lord says "Go ! " — Oh! does He speak to thee ? 
And does thy willing heart, upspringing, answer, 

" Lo, here I am, dear Lord ; send me, send me " ? 



Dear Saviour, bless the workers heavy-laden, 

Who moisten with their tears the distant soil, 
And give them seed to drop along the furrows ; 

And add Thy showers and sun to crown their toil, 
And send more laborers, sowers, reapers, gleaners — 

For dusky thousands praying, bid them come. 
Oh! give us right to join at last the singing, 

As Thou shalt gather in the " Harvest Home." 

MRS. S. C. CLARKE. 

Lowell, Mass. 



THE PICTURE. 



1 Once I looked upon a picture 

That was marvellously fair ; 
Bright its tints, its shading mellowed — 
Beautiful beyond compare. 

2 While I gazed, entranced, before it, 

Thus 1 heard the whisper pass : 
" This was formed of worthless fragments, 
Bits of broken stone and glass." 

3 Could it be, that grand Mosaic, 

Meet to hang in temple high, 
Grew to beauty from the pieces 
Crushed by careless passers-by? 

4 Do you wonder that the lesson 

Sunk into my inmost heart — 
How the weakest, humblest creature, 
Has its own important part ? 

5 How the lowliest, feeblest Christian, 

Poor in talents and in purse, 
Fills the niche made by the Master 
Artist of the Universe ! 

6 Let us deem it glorious honor 

That the Saviour stooped to raise 
Us from out the dust and rubbish 
Of the world's thick-travelled ways. 

7 Let us shine our very brightest, 

Be our corner high or low ; 

Only wondering we were counted 

Worthy of the chisel's blow. 

8 When life's great Mosaic's finished, 

Every fragment in its place, 
Christ, the Artist, will present it, 
Fair, before His Father's face. 

9 On that scene shall troops of angels 

Look in wonder and amaze ! 
A world redeemed from sin and anguish, 
Saved through everlasting days ! 

MRS. R. M. WYLIE, 



352 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



&m\ 1. Jal*. 



Sarah J. Hale, nie Buell, was about the most talented and brilliant 
writer of her time. It is rare that anything finer than her poem "Iron" 
is found in literature. Her mother was a woman of high cultivation and 
intelligent conversation, and to her Mrs. Hale traced her own delightfor 
acquiring knowledge, and desire for intellectual advancement. Her 
husband was a lawyer.and his tastes were hi every way congenial withher 
own. It was not until his death in 1822, that straitened circumstances 
necessitated her becoming an author, in order to procure for her children 
the advantages of a good education. She first published a volume of 
poems; then a story entitled Northwood. In 1828 sheedited the "Amer- 
ican Ladies' Magazine," Boston. She published "Sketches of American 
Character," "Flora's Interpreter," "The Ladies' Wreath," &c„ &c.,with 
several valuable books for children. She afterwards resided in Philadel- 
pnia and edited the popular "Lady's Book," and a religious annual "The 
Opal." Another volume of poems was published in 1848, larger than 
the preceding. While "Iron" and some other of her works display a 
vigor of expression, many are marked by a chasteness and simplicity. 
All her writings inculcate a healthy religious sentiment and soundness 
of heart. Among her latest and best was "Harry Guy," a story of the 
sea, written to benefit the then much-neglected sailor, making his con- 
dition better understood and appreciated. This is another proof that 
the chief object of her industrious mind was a view to usefulness, and 
the desire to help others. 

IRON. 
" Truth shall spring out of the earth." Psalms, lxxxv : 2. 

1 As, in lonely thought, I pondered 

On the marvellous things of earth, 
And, in fancy's dreaming, wondered 

At their beauty, power and worth, 
Came like words of prayer, the feeling — 

Oh ! that God would make me know, 
Through the spirit's clear revealing, 

What, of all His works below, 
Is to man a boon the greatest, 

Brightening on from age to age, 
Serving truest, earliest, latest, 

Through the world's long pilgrimage. 

2 Soon vast mountains rose before nie, 

Shaggy, desolate and lone, 
Their scarred heads were threatening o'er me, 

Their dark shadows round me thrown ; 
Then a voice, from out the mountains, 

As an earthquake shook the ground, 
And like frightened fawns, the fountains, 

Leaping, tied before the sound ; 
And the Anak oaks bowed lowly, 

Quivering, aspenlike, with fear, 
While the deep response came slowly, 

Or it must have crushed mine ear ! 

3 " Iron ! Iron ! Iron !" — crashing, 

Like the battle-axe and shield ; 
Or the sword on helmet clashing, 

Through a bloody battle-field ! 
" Iron ! Iron ! Iron !" — rolling, 

Like the far-off cannon's boom ; 
Or the death-knell, slowly tolling, 

Through a dungeon's charnel gloom. 
" Iron ! Iron ! Iron !" — swinging, 

Like the summer winds at play ; 
Or as bells of Time were ringing 

In the blest Millenial Day ! 



4 Then the clouds of ancient fable 

Cleared away before mine eyes ; 
Truth could tread a footing stable, 

O'er the gulf of mysteries ! 
Words, the prophet bards had uttered, 

Signs, the oracle foretold, 
Spells, the wierd-like sybil muttered 

Through the twilight days of old, 
Rightly read, beneath the splendor, 

Shining now on history's page ; 
All their faithful witness render, 

All portend a better age. 

5 Sisyphus, forever toiling, 

Was the type of toiling men, 
While the stone of power, recoiling, 

Crushed them back to earth again ! 
Stern Prometheus, bound and bleeding, 

Imaged man, in mental chain, 
While the vultures, on him feeding, 

Were the passions' vengeful reign ; 
Still a ray of mercy tarried 

On the cloud, a white-winged dove, 
For this mystic faith had married 

Vulcan to the Queen of Love ! 

6 Rugged strength and radiant beauty — 

These were one in nature's plan ; 
Humble toil and heavenward duty — 

These will form the perfect man ! 
Darkly was this doctrine taught us 

By the gods of heathendom ; 
But the living light was brought us, 

When the gospel morn had come ! 
How the glorious change expected, 

Could be wrought, was then made free ; 
Of the earthly, when perfected, 

Rugged Iron forms the key. 

7 " Truth from out the earth shall nourish," 

This the word that God makes known, — 
Thence are harvests men to nourish — 

There let Iron's power be shown. 
Of the swords, from slaughter gory, 

Ploughshares forge to break the soil ; 
Then will mind attain its glory, 

Then will labor reap the spoil ; 
Error cease the soul to 'wilder, 

Crime be checked by simple good, 
As the little coral builder 

Forces back the furious flood. 

8 While our faith in good grows stronger ; ■ 

Means of greater good increase ; 
Iron, slave of war no longer, 

Heads the onward march of peace ; 
Still new modes of service finding, 

Ocean, earth and air it moves, 
And the distant nations binding, — 

Like the kindred tie it proves ; 
With its Atlas-shoulder sharing 

Loads of human toil and care ; 
On its wing of lightning bearing 

Thought's swift mission through the air! 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. SONGS, HEADINGS AND RECITATIONS FOR YOUNG LADIES' SOCIETIES. 353 



9 As the rivers, farthest flowing, 

In the highest hills have birth ; 
As the banyan, broadest growing, 

Oftenest bows its head to earth, 
So the noblest minds press onward, 

Channels far of good to trace ; 
So the largest hearts bend downward, 

Circling all the human race ; 
Thus by Iron's aid, pursuing 

Through the earth their plans of love, 
Men our Father's will are doing 

Here, as angels do above. 



THE DAY BREAKETH. 



" We see no new temple 
Letter from India, 



The vast faith of India is dying i 



1 O'er temple and column and cornice, 

The moss of the ages has grown ; 
Through the halls of great Brahma, the Golden, 
The stranger may wander alone. 

2 No longer shall Vishnu, Preserver 

Of Manu the Just, avenge men ; 
Or Siva, the dreaded Destroyer, 
Revisit his temple again. 

3 From the summit of lofty Olympus, 

The gods of the Ancients have flown ; 
The shrines of old Greece are deserted, 
And Venus lies sleeping in stone. 

4 In the aisles of the forest no dryad 

Shall dance in their shadows again ; 
No naiad shall bathe in their fountains, 
Or sport on Arcadia's plain. 

5 Nevermore shall the wandering Isis 

Stray, weeping, through Egypt's dark land 
While seeking the long-lost Osiris ; 
They are dead in her desert of sand. 

6 Still the sun gilds the cold lips of Memnon : 

But Memnon is voiceless and dumb ; 
And the stony-eyed Sphynx shall gaze outward 
O'er the desert for ages to come. 

7 From the far icy hills of the Northland 

The strong giant Ymir has fled ; 

And Veli, and Ve, and Great Odin, 

In the halls of Vathalla lie dead. 

8 And Thor, with his ponderous hammer, 

Mighty son of a mightier sire ; 
His thunder is hushed on the mountains 
In the land of the " frost and the fire." 

9 No more on the high Druid altar 

Shall victim or sacrifice moan ; 
Fallen on the hill-tops in ruins, 

Lie the cromlech and circle of stone. 
10 The funeral pyre of the widows 

No hand shall re-kindle again ; 
The fires of the Aztec and Persian 

Are quenched in the blood of the slain. 



11 For a light has arisen to lighten 

The isles of the Gentiles afar ; 
And nations shall flock to its risings 

And worship the bright " Morning Star." 

12 'Tis the herald of glorious dawning, 

The "Day Star" of life from on high : 
In the blaze of its light the proud Crescent 
Wanes apace in the Orient sky 

13 On the slopes of the myth-haunted Ida. 

O'er the JEgean isles of the sea, 
In the ruin-strewn, seven-hilled city, 
Has dawned the glad life of the free. 

14 In the courts of the guarded Zenana, . 

Where the voice of the world is unheard, 
Brave woman has ventured to carry 
The news of the Life-giving Word. 

15 O'er the islands that gem the Pacific, 

O'er the snow-crested hills of the North, 
O'er Ceylon, with its garden-like beauty, 
The gospel of light has gone forth. 

16 To the heathenish millions of Afric 

Is dawning a glorious day ; 
It has pierced the dark Indian jungle, 
And the idol-sown coast of Malay. 

17 And the angels that crowded the heavens, 

To bear the glad news of His birth, 
Shall rejoice with the Lord, "when He cometh 
To gather the ransomed of earth. 

18 O reapers, arjse to the harvest ! 

And gather in sheaves while you may , 
Cry aloud in the ear of. the sleeper, 
For brief are the hours of his day. 

19 And dark is the fate that awaits you, 

O reapers of life or of death ! 
If you have no share in the harvest, 

When " His glory shall fill the whole earth." 



THE TREASURES OF DARKNESS 

" I will give thee the secret of darkness and hidden riches of secret 
places. "--Is xlv : 3. 

1 What shall I give to thee, 

Daughter, low kneeling, 
Kneeling and seeking for blessings divine ? 
• Ask what thou wilt of Me — 

Mercy and healing ? 
Peace and the joy I have promised to Mine ? 

2 Nay, as the sun and air 

Freely they're flowing 
Unto each soul bought-by sacrifice free ; 
Ricner the gifts, more rare, 

Passing all knowing, 
Child of my inner heart, give I to thee. 



354 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



3 Treasures of darkness, lo ! 

Now do I offer, 
Gems at whose lustre all crown jewels pale, 
Rubies with fire aglow, 

Gold from my coffer, 
Spices and odors that lade every gale. 

4 Ask of Me, ask of Me 

Strength for their holding, 
Hands that can bravely such riches enfold, 
Eyes that undazzled see 
Wonders unfolding, 
Ears to hear music that cannot be told. 
-5 Only pure feet may tread 
Steady and fearless 
Down the steep steppings that lead to that mine ; 
Only faith conquers dread, 
Pure-eyed and peerless, 
Seeing through cloud-veils the perfect sunshine. 
<5 Down in the darkness lie 
Rubies whose lustre 
Mirrors that blood which can cleanse every stain ; 
Diamonds their brilliancy 
Flash from- each cluster — 
Tears that have rainbowed the sunshine again. 

7 Sapphires of truth there be 

Blue as the morning, 
Milky white pearls and the fair opal's dyes, 
Types of true purity, 

False meanness scorning, 
Red gold of holiness dropped from the skies. 

8 Burning by night and day 

Down in the darkness, 
Fiercely the furnace flames lick up the gold ; 
Fair are the forms that lay 

Polished and chiselled, 
Carven work, beaten work, work from the mould. 

9 Patience and peace are there ; 

Sorrow and doubting, 
Pain's sharpest weapons have fashioned their form 
Hope, love and trusting prayer, 

Gladness and shouting, 
Grow best in darkness, wax strongest in storm. 

10 So will I give to thee, 

Daughter, low kneeling, 
All My choice treasures hid safe in the mine ; 
So every bell shall be 

Joyfully pealing, 
Turned to the glory and bliss that is thine. 

MISS M. E. WINSLOW. 



2 So long the fiend of hunger 

By each bleak hearth-stone stood, 
With wild eyes fierce and longing, 
With gaunt hands asking food, 

3 That wild from their home the people 

Rushed forth in the hungry air ; 
The pitiless blue of Heaven 
But mocked at their despair. 

4 They went to castle and convent, 

Where dwelt the great and good, 
And begged, for love of Mary, 
A single morsel of food. 

5 So, shrieking still for mercy 

Through days of dreary length, 
They came to where the Wartburg 
Looked down in massive strength. 

6 With deep eyes dim with pity, 

With white hands strong with love, 
With hair like a saintly glory, 
The countess looked from above. 

7 She sold her broad possessions, 

And when these would not suffice, 
She sold her robes and jewels, 
And gave the poor the price. 

8 Then came to the count his mother, 

And his sister, proud and cold : 

" My son, thy thoughtless countess 

Her lands and gems hath sold. 

9 " Of her ancient line forgetful, 

With recreant hand she flings 
Among those worthless beggars 
A wealth to ransom kings." 

10 Then the count rose up in anger, 

To his trembling wife he spake : 
" No more of this, my Lisbeth, 
I charge thee, for my sake." 

11 But too strong in her was pity 

To heed her lord's command, 
And daily her stinted largess 
She gave with eager hand. 



[I. THE MIRACLE. 



GOD'S ROSES. 



THE FAMINE. 



1 The land was rung by famine ; 
Its pitiless grip of pain 
Crushed out the strength of manhood, 
The life of heart and pain. 



1 The sweetest saint, Elizabeth, 

Down from the castle stept ; 
Like clouds around the glorious moon 

Her mantle round her swept : 
And like a halo round her brows 

Shimmered her golden hair ; 
And like an angel in God's light, 

Her face was saintly fair. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS, SONGS, READINGS AND RECITATIONS FOR YOUNG LADIES' SOCIETIES. 355 



2 A/id underneath her mantle's fold 

She hid with trembling care 
A basket stored with scraps of food, 

For the beggars starving there ; 
Her blue eyes wide with terror, 

Her heart with fear opprest, 
She trembles like a timid bird, 

The spoiler near its nest. 

3 And the people watched her coming down, 

Like a light seen through the storm, 
And all the brightness in the air 

Gathered round her form, 
And unseen angels at her side 

Moved noiseless down the path, 
When sudden from concealing trees 

Count Louis burst in wrath. 

4 In courtly terms he greeted her, 

But his brow was stern with gloom : 
" What hid'st thou 'neath thy mantle fold ? 

Roses in crimson bloom ? " 
Then the sweet wife Elizabeth 

All trembling bent her. head, 
To hide her terrors and her tears, 

" God's roses, count," she said. 

5 Then darker grew Count Louis' frown ; 

" Nay, by my troth," he spoke, 
" 'T is scraps for thy filthy beggars ! " 

And tare away the cloak ; 
And lo ! beneath the round, white arm 

Where the crusts had lain concealed, 
The royal roses incense breathed 

In dewy bloom revealed. 

6 Then grave and kind grew Louis' face ; 

" Na} r , 'Lisbeth, go thy ways ; 
111 shall it fare henceforth with him 

Who speaks in thy dispraise. " 
And down the ages, while the fames 

Of king and kaiser faint, 
Still lives her name in grateful hearts, 

Elizabeth, the saint. 

III. GOD'S ROSES NOW. 

1 The while our sisters' hopeless hearts 

Drag on 'mid pain and strife. 
Shall we not freely send them 

The blessed bread of Life ? 
Yea, some as fair, as saintly 

As sweet Elizabeth, 
Have given home and loved ones, 

Have faced a lonely death ; 

2 Have suffered loss of all things, 

To bear their glorious Lord 
To souls that sit in darkness, 

And wait His kindling word ; 
And we who keep our pleasant homes, 

Our lives with comfort stored, 
Who give but scraps and fragments 

From our abundant board, 



3 Even these, if freely given, 

With fervent prayers and true, 
Our glorious Lord shall bless them, 

His mighty work to do : 
Transferred by His sweet miracle, 

Each gift in beauty grows, 
Till the wilderness shall brighten, 

And blossom as the rose. 



MKS. SHOUP. 



* Read before the Woman's Presbyterian Board Foreigu Missions of the 
Northwest, at the eleventh annual meeting, 1882. 



*THE BRIDE'S OUTFIT. 

Dr. Coan gives the following incident, as having oc- 
curred among theNestorian Christians of Persia, during 
the great financial panic in America in 1857: "All our 
great missionary societies were crippled, and the cry of 
retrenchment was borne passionately across to the for- 
eign fields; workers were discharged and missions closed. 
Report of the trouble came to the Nestorians, and they 
instantly summoned an assembly to consider how they 
might act so as to bestow help most quickly and effect- 
ively. The meeting was called to order by an aged 
believer, who began the conference by adistinct allusion 
to the costliness of their wedding ceremonies in those 
Oriental lands. He insisted that young people might be 
married in plainer costumes. 

What followed at their meeting, and their plans for 
help, as stated briefly by Dr. C, have been thrown into 
the simple verses here given : 

1 The clouds hung low in the Persian sky, 

Where gathered a little band, 
In sorrow and fear, this word to hear 
From the far, free Western land. 

2 " We've no more to give and no more to pledge ; 

Distress and misfortune reign ; 
Men's hearts are failing them for fear, 
And the land reels with the strain. 

3 " Withdraw the workers from every field, 

Their books from the children take ; 
Retrench — cut down — remove — disband — 
The outposts backward stake." 

4 Tears fell like rain 'mid the little band, 

When outspoke the leader old : 
" 'T is the Master's work, and it must not fail — 
We may have both silver and gold. 

5 " But we have it only if loving hearts 

Are ready for crosses and pain ; 
Behold before us the blessed way, 
If but pride and self are slain. 

6 " Our brides go decked for the marriage-rite, 

In costly and brave array. 
In beauty of silver and gold and pearl 
They shine for the joyous day. 

7 " But behold the Church, the Bride of our King,, 

As she goes to His palace of light ; 
She goes in the storm with her poor, bare feet, 
In rags and scorn and despite. 



356 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



8 " Did ever a bride in such meanest array, 

To so royal a husband repair ? 
Let us robe her anew, as befitteth the King ; 
His Bride for His palace prepare. " 

9 Then the loving little Nestorian band 

Caught the glowing Orient speech, 
And promise and pledge in beautiful word 
Went quickly from each to each. 

10 " A ring she must have, a shining pearl, 

It shall be my gift," said one ; 
Said another, then, " For her journey long, 
To shield her from storm and sun, 

11 She will need a veil — I will cover the face 

Of this fair, sweet Bride of a King." 
Still another spoke — " But she must not walk ; 
A sure, swift steed -Twill bring." 

12 " O Prince's daughter," rang soft, and clear, 

" How beautiful are thy feet ! 
If she ride, she must have the richer shoes ; 
They shall be for'her station meet." 

13 In a grave, sweet way, still another voice 

Took the circling symbol up : 
" The wine of the Kingdom, so rich and pure, 
She shall drink from a golden cup." 

14 " And what shall she eat on the wearisome way ? 

Said the leader, questioning still. 
" The sweetest fruit of my vineyard," said one, 
" From the sunniest spot on the hill." 

15 " Can a maiden her ornaments e'er forget ? " 

'T was the voice of a fair young girl — 
" I will give my own for this queenly bride, 
.Silver and agate and pearl." 

16 "I have nothing to give but a poor worn mat," 

From his poverty then spake one, 
" But perhaps the Queen would step upon that, 
When her long day's ride is done." 

17 Now, Mar Yohannan, their ruler, sat 

In silence, amid them there ; 
No word had escaped him, unless, perhaps, 
He were saying an inward prayer. 

18 Then the leader cried, with a piercing glance 

On the royal guest cast down : 
" Who gives for this daughter of a King, 
And this bride of a Prince, a crown ? " 

19 Then Mar Yohannan, where he sat, 

Upraised his princely hand : 
" Right royally with a crown," said he, ' 
" Shall the Bride go through my land." 

20 So the clouds were cleared from the Persian sky, 

And the earnest Nestorian band 
With their precious offerings thrilled the heart 
Of the far, free Western land, 

21 Where silver and gold, and wealth untold, 

Are heaped, or scattered, or stored, 
So much poured out for self and the world, 
So little for Christ, the Lord. 



22 Ah ! surely, the Prince's beautiful Bride 

Goes crownless through many a land, 
Nor ring, nor veil, nor a golden cup, 
Is offered from many a hand. 

23 Ah ! empty hands, with never a gift, 

With sacrifice never the least, 
Will the King reach down full hands to you, 
When He calls to the marriage feast ? 



MRS. K. H. JOHNSON. 



PARAPHRASE. 



1 Behold an open door ! behold a throne 

Was set in Heaven, and One 
Like to a jasper and a sardine stone, 
Who sat thereon ! 

2 I saw the twenty elders and the four ; 

The seven fires never dim ; 
I saw the six wings, full of eyes, which bore 
The Seraphim. 

3 They cry, with covered feet and veiled face ; 

Nor seest they night nor clay — 
" Holy, thrice holy, He which is, and was, 
And is alway !" 

4 Then said I, " Woe is me, a man unclean, 

Biding in evil coasts, 
For lo ! my sinful eyes the King have seen, 
The Lord of hosts." 

5 Whereat, a Seraph from the midmost light 

Flew with a living coal, 
Which touched my lips. " Now," said he, " thou 
art white, 
Sinless and whole." 

6 Also, I heard the Voice say, " Who will go, 

Or who my angel be ? " 
Still burning from the touch, I answer " Lo ! 
Thy child, send me ! " 

SUSAN HAYES WARD. 



firs. Walter f . lap, 



THE RESURRECTION FLOWER* 

1 Centuries old is this flower of the desert, 

Born 'neath the blaze of a tropical sky ; 

Tossed by the breath of the burning sirocco, 

Left on the sand-drifts, to wither and die. 

2 Bought with a price from the wandering Arab; 

Chief of my treasures, I give thee a place ; 
Touched by the scent of the life-giving water, 
Unfold thy dark petals in beauty and grace- 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. SONGS, READINGS AND RECITATIONS FOR YOUNG LADIES' SOCIETIES. 357 



3 It seemed as a trick of the wily magician, 

Or a glimpse from the "gates" that are always 
" ajar; " 
And I fancy it rich in the lore of the pilgrim, 
Away in the land of the " Book " and the " Star. 

4 Now do I know thee, mysterious stranger, 

Symbol of life in the ages gone by ; 
Spanning the tomb of the weary Crusader : 
Guarding the dust where the brave heroes lie. 

5 Slumbering ages are wrapped in thy bosom ; 

Mute are the secrets locked close in thy cell ; 

Our past is a wilderness, peopled with shadows, 

Dark flower of the Desert, thy silence is well. 

tf It has lately been discovered that the flower carved on the tomb of 
the Crusader is the "Resurrection Flower." 



THE TAPESTRY WORKERS. 

" Carry me out, my brethren ; 

For I can work no more, 
Carry me out to meet Him — 

My Master at the door ! 
The sun is slowly setting, 

And the old man's eyes are dim, 
And the task He gave is finished ; 

Carry me out to Him ! 
" The task He gave is finished : 

I mind when it began, 
How joyously and swiftly 

The busy moments ran : 
In ardor for His service, 

Methought I wrought so well 
That e'en His own appointings 

I should at last excel. 
" But through my vain ambition 

There fell the hand divine, 
That quietly effaced it — 

My dearly-loved design. 
And whilst I sore lamented 

For beauty swept away, 
'More beauty hath obedience,' 

I heard the Master say. 
" Then I was still, my brethren, 

And turned to toil anew, 
Leaving to Him the guidance, 

Whose plans are sure and true ; 
And though to trace His pattern 

At times I vainly tried, 
My heart found rest remembering 

He sees the other side. 
"I sat behind the canvas, 

I saw no beauty grow, 
I held His own directions — 

Enough for me to know ; 
Many had wider portions 

Of clearer, brighter hue, 
But the old man in the corner 

The Master needed too. 



6 'And if nor gain nor glory 

Shine out from this my weft, 
Still He will not be angry — 

I did the task He left. 
And now that I am helpless, 

And weary is my frame, 
My brethren, in the distance 

I hear Him call my name." 

7 They bore the old man gently 

Forth from the working-room, 
Forth from the ended labor, 

Forth from the silent loom ; 
And down a voice came floating, 

A voice serene and blest ; 
" Oh ! good and faithful servant ! 

Enter thou into rest. 

8 " Long, long in patient duty 

Thy yearning soul was tried ; 
Open thine eyes to beauty 

Upon the other side ! 
Behind the canvas toiling, 

Thou did'st not dream of this, 
■ That every shadow-tangle 

Wrought out eternal bliss. 

9 "And every thread mysterious 

Into the pattern given, 
Was waving rich perfection 

Of love and life in heaven. 
Now rise thou to the glory 

By lowly hearts possessed, 
Who but fulfill my bidding, 

And leave to me the rest ! " 



MABGABET SCOTT MACKITCHIE. 
"Sunday Magazine." 



: HE SHALL NOT FAIL NOR BE 
DISCOURAGED." 



Faint-hearted and weak are the children of men, 
O'ercome and discouraged again and again ; 
Over and over we falter and fail, 
Crying out, " What doth our labor avail ? " 
Verily, then, did the triumph depend 
Only on this, that we "hope to the end," 
Dark were the prospect of joy and salvation. 
Pledged and foretold for each sin-ruined nation. 

Nay, upon One that is mightier than we, 
Wait all the lands and the isles of the sea. 
Hark to this word for the weak and the tried, 
Hearken, then hasten to work at His side : — 
" He shall not be discouraged and He shall not fail ; 
Till judgment and truth in all kingdoms prevail." 
In faithful endeavor, in patient endurance, 
Let us "lean hard" on this gracious assurance. 



358 WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



THE LIFE OF CHRIST. 

[Addressed to an audience of heathen women in a zenana. J 



Silent and still they waited, pressing close 

Round the " white lady," those poor Indian 

Who have no joy in life, no hope in death; 

Waited with languid eagerness to hear 

That which might pass the time — the promised tale 

Of the great God of England, who, 't was said, 

Loved them, loved them, the poor zenana slaves. 

Scarce seemed it possible, but "Silence now, 

Hush ! and the lady will begin her tale ! " 

Deep silence fell, and thus the lady spoke : — 
God the Father, who hath loved us, from His home of central light, 2 Thess. ii : 16. 

Saw that all the world was lying in the gloom of sin's dark night, 

And it grieved His loving spirit, that when man in Adam fell, Gen. iii : 6, and 

He had doomed himself thenceforward to the "living death" of hell. 1 Cor. xv: 22. 

God, the holy, gracious Spirit, in His wisdom made a plan 
By which justice might be answered, and yet life be given to man. 

"Life and peace might yet be given unto Adam's fallen race, Rom. v: 12. 

If " said He, " some sinless saviour would but suffer in man's place." 
All the earth was searched, hut vainly ; vainly 'mid the angels too, 
Till the dear Lord Jesus offered the redemptive work to do. 

So He came, our blessed Saviour, as a little Child to earth, Matt, i : 21. 

And a manger was His cradle, in a stable, at His birth. Luke ii : 7. 

Not round Him were courtiers thronging, not for Him were satins spread, 
Only cattle mute, adoring, waited round His manger-bed. 

Day by day in stature growing, meek, obedient, good and mild, Luke ii : 40 and 52. 

Evermore our " childhood's pattern " grew the holy, pure Christ-Child. 

Nazareth's unnoticed cottage was a happy, holy place, Matt, ii : 23. 

For all sunbeams seemed to linger round that sweetly thoughtful face. 
Then as years and months swift passing, all His childhood's days were o'er, 
As a carpenter He labored, seated by the workshop door. Mark vi : 3. 

Thus He toiled for many summers, Joseph's son despised and poor, John vi : 42. 

Doing little deeds of kindness, noticed not till done no more. 

Till when thirty years He numbered, He His public life began, Luke iii : 23. 

When He proved at Cana's marriage He was more than only man. John ii : 11. 

By that miracle He shadowed, how He can by power divine 
Change the waters of life's duties into joy's delicious wine. 
Then He left His home to carry sunshine to each dreary spot, 

Came unto His own, who, faithless, scorned Him and received Him not. John i : 11. 

Never weary, ever patient, aye, He preached the Father's love, Luke viii : 1. 

Ever strove to guide their footsteps to the Paradise above. 

So He trod the land of Canaan, leaving many a trace behind, Mark x: 16. 

Healed the sick and blessed the children, raised the dead and cured the blind. Matt, xi : 5. 

But though all His deeds were kindly, travelling thus and doing good, Acts x : 38. 

There were those who hated Jesus, tried to harm Him all they could. 

So at last they took our Saviour as a prisoner to be tried, Matt, xxvii : 2. 

A.nd the governor, to please them, said He should be crucified. Mark xv : 15. 

Then the soldiers scourged and mocked Him, clothed in purple robe of scorn, Mark xv : 15, 17. 
Gave the " King" a reed for sceptre, for a crown — a crown of thorn. Matt, xxvii : 29. 

To His death-place then they led Him, up on Calvary's green hill, 

Drove the nails, ah, rough and ruthless ! through his quivering flesh and chill. Luke xxiii : 32, 33. 
Through the burning noon He hung there, nailed to the " accursed tree," 
Agonized in soul and body, that from such we might be free. Isaiah li : 9. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. SONGS, READINGS AND RECITATIONS FOR YOUNG LADIES' SOCIETIES. 359 



Round the soldiers jeered and mocked Him, " King of Judah, now arise ! 

" Father, pardon them ! " He murmured, looking up with pleading eyes. 

Self-forgetful, ready ever to assuage another's grief,' 

Peace and pardon He accorded to the blest, repentant thief. 

"When His work was all completed, ''It is finished! " loud He cried, 

With a last look upward, heavenward, down Pie bowed His head and died. 

There were those who truly loved Him, in whose hearts He had found room 

Who with tender, reverend fingers laid Him in a new-made tomb. 

There He rested, sleeping calmly, after the long toil of life ; 

Till He rose on Easter morning, Victor over death and strife. 

With His friends awhile He tarried, gracious, loving as before, 

Then, ' mid angel hosts, cloud-veiled, He returned to heaven once more. 

Now He lives and reigns in glory, and for sinful man He pleads ; 

He who died from hell to save us, there forever intercedes. 

Think how great the love and pity, superhuman grand and high, 

That could lead the Lord of Glory for the sake of man to die. 

For it was for foes and rebels that He left His throne above, 

And instead of awful judgments He would conquer us by love. 

He will gather in His kingdom, in the blessed land of light, 

All who truly love and please Him, all whose hearts are clean and white. 

Though our hearts are vile by nature, deeply stained with sin and woe, 

He will cleanse us if we ask Him, and will make them white as snow. 

Hark ! He speaks to you, my sisters, says to each one " Come to Me, 

Give to Me thy heart and love Me, in My love I died for thee." 

He, the Ruler, the Almighty, Lord of angel hosts above, 

Stoops to call you to His presence, deigns to ask you for your love. 

By His life of ministration, by His death at noonday dim, 

By His agony and sufferings, heed His call and come to Him. 

Silence still reigned unbroken till she stopped; 

Then from the furthest corner of the room 

Came a low voice, feeble and choked with sobs — 

" Lord Jesus, Saviour ! Thou the only one 

Who ever lovedst me, receive." She paused; 

Quickly they went to her. " She wanders oft 

She has been ill so long," they said — then stopped, 

Whispering, " Hush ! she's dead ! " Yes, young in years, 

But old in woe, a widow — she had left 

Earth's life unloving for heaven's loving life. 

Jesus the Saviour, the all-pitiful, 

Sad heard her prayer, and had received her soul. 

A Prize Poem by 
EDITH A. mayo, (aged 18) of England. About 1880. 



Luke xxiii: 36, 37. 
Luke xxiii : 34. 



Luke xxiii: 
John xix : 



Luke ii 
John xix: 41, 



Mark xvi : 6. 

Acts i : 9. 
Peter iii: 21, 22. 
Hebrews vii : 25. 



MARTHA 

1 Mount Olivet was crowned with gold, 
Rose petals opened, fold on fold ; 

Flashing with drops of dew ; 
But of their honeyed heart's delight, 
Of glowing day and dewy night, 

Poor Martha little knew. 

2 The dull, hard tasks that must be done 
Before the day's swift course was run, 

To make home bright and fair, 
The service no one thinks to praise, 
Yet all blame if it fail — always 

Was anxious Martha's share. 



3 Cumbered with service ! Troubled heart ! 
Oh ! not for her " the better part," 

Of folded hands and calm. 
Mayhap the fret of toil had cost 
Her spirit's peace, her lips had lost 

The power to chant a psalm. 

4 To make the loved ones warm for bliss, 
Yet all the sweetest joy to miss 

Of love's supreme accord; 
Never a tale hath poet told 
More sad than this plain story old 

Of Martha and our Lord. 



360 WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

PRISCILLA AQUILA AND PAUL. 



I 



1 Methought on Corinth's citadel, 

I gazed far down the strand, 
Where twice a thousand feet below, 

The fair fleets sail and land ; 
Where half across the Isthmian plain, 

The mountain's shadows chase, 
And clasp a thousand domes and towers 

Within their close embrace. 
I looked, and lo ! three other forms 

Beside me on the wall ; 
Priscilla one, Aquila one, 

And one the saintly Paul. 

2 They stood and viewed the stately ships 

Come back from Tyre and Rome, 
The black-prowed argosies from Ind, 

Bear gold and spices home ; 
I saw them scan the western shores, 

Where high Parnassus shines, 
Above the Delphian oracles, 

Above the Delphian shrines. 
" O Christ, be pitiful to these ! " 

They said, both one and all — 
Priscilla one, Aquila one, 

And one the saintly Paul. 

3 Unto the East I saw them turn, 

And gaze with wondering eyes, 
Where, gleaming on the Athenian heights, 

Minerva's altars rise. 
There on the bay fair Athens lifts 

Her temples to the sun — 
And, thither pointing, Paul relates 

The mighty works there done ; 
How, on the summit of Mars' Hill, 

Beneath Minerva's throne, 
He mocked the wrath of all the gods 

Proclaiming one unknown. 
They bowed their heads and blessed His name, 

Who loves both great and small ; 
Priscilla one, Aquila one, 

And one the saintly Paul. 

4 Below us the Saronic gulf 

Lays dimpling in the sun, 
For fertile islands reaching down 

Unto the fair Colonne ; 
At right of us Lepanto laughs, 

Beside thy Sycion shore, 
And all between the olive yards, 

And vineyards purpling o'er, 
And lemon groves and citron, 

And orange rows and corn, 
And Cyprus for the Isthmian crowns 

For heroes newly born. 
" It is a plenteous land and fair," 

They spake both one and all — 
Priscilla one, Aquila one, 

And one the saintly Paul. 



5 There, Neptune's mighty colonnades 

Above the Stadium rise, 
Where Greece sends down her knightliest youths 

To struggle for the prize ; 
And there, upreaching step by step, 

The theatre of stone — 
And hugging close the Isthmic wall 

The tower of Palaemon, 
It is a goodly sight I ween, 

This city of two seas — 
A queen between two lovers set — 

The citadel of Greece. 
"May Christ pour out His Spirit here," 

They prayed both one and all — 
Priscilla one, Aquila one, 

And one the saintly Paul. 

6 Then spake the great Apostle : 

"Across yon liquid blue 
There rise as glorious cities 

As any now we view ; 
As precious to that Saviour 

Who said, ' Go, tell of me 
Unto the lands and kingdoms 

In the lands beyond the sea.' 
Now ye, most wise Priscilla, 

And Aquila, go with me, 
Then even there at Ephesus, 

As here at Corinth, we 
May name the name of Jesus, 

Where great Diana's shrined, 
Till the ashes of her temples 

Shall be scattered with the wind." 
I heard the twain take up their vows, 

Unto the solemn call ; 
Priscilla one, Aquila one, 

And one the saintly Paul. 

7 And now from busy Cenchrea, 

Fair Corinth's strong right arm, 
Where Phoebe and the brethren give 

A God-speed, sad but warm ; 
Across the JEgean waters blue, 

Among her thousand isles, 
They sail and sail, until beyond 

The Ephesian harbor smiles 
Diana's glittering colonnades, 

Reflecting back the sun, 
From capitols, and cornices, 

And" friezes, one by one. 
And there from house to house they taught 

The people, one and all ; 
Priscilla one., Aquila one, 

And one the saintly Paul. 

8 O Paul, beneath thy rods and stripes, 

In perils on the deep, 
In perils from an hundred ills, 

That slumber not nor sleep, 
In weariness and watchings, 

In hungerings oft and thirst, 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. SONGS, READINGS AND RECITATIONS FOR YOUNG LADIES' SOCIETIES. 361 



111 nakedness, in agony 

From unbelief accurst, 
How blessed in such love to share, 

Such home thy home to call — 
Priscilla one, Aquila one, 

And one the saintly Paul. 
9 God only knoweth all they wrought, 

In that Ephesian town ; 
Priscilla and Aquila, 

Beloved in renown. 
Now toiling on with busy hands, 

Now jeopardizing all, 
Instructors of Apollos, 

Co-laborers with Paul. 
God onl}- knoweth how at Rome 

They cheered the martyr's heart, 
Now ready to be offered 

In that clamorous Roman mart. 
Methinks the three together walked 

Beyond that city's wall — 
Priscilla one, Aquila one, 

And one the sentenced Paul. 

10 At Rome, upon the Ostian way, 

Caius Cestius' tomb 
Still lifts its lofty cenotaph, 

Amidst the surrounding gloom ; 
And thence, down all the centuries, 

Has come the martyr's plea, 
" Priscilla greet, Aquila greet, 

Ye churches yet to be ! " 
They bore his body hence, with tears, 

When he had suffered all — 
Priscilla one, Aquila one, 

And one the martyred Paul. 

11 Again on Corinth's mount I stand, 

And view the land below, 
The idol temples in the dust 

Are crumbled long ago ; 
And where the three together stood, 

A thousand thousand stand, 
And sail, and sail to golden shores, 

Beyond the Ephesian strand. 
But still we hear the voice of Paul 

Unto all people call : 
" Priscilla greet, Aquila greet, 

That Christ be all in all." 



KATE B. SHERWOOD. 
Toledo, Ohio. 1882. 



TYRE. 



Ezelriel xxvii. 

1 Thou art high in thy glory, thou Queen of the sea ! 
And nations are bringing their tribute to thee ; 
Not a region of earth but has heard of thy fame, 
Thou merchant of nations, thou mart of the main ! 

2 Of fir-trees from Senir thy ship-boards are made ; 
Lebanus for thee is despoiled of her shade ; 

And Bashan hath lent thee invincible oaks, 
And ivory is purchased from Citium's coast. 



3 Fine linen from Egypt to thee has been brought, 
Blue and purple from Ehsha's isles thou hast sought ; 
Her mariners, Zidon was proud to lend thee ; 

Thy own wise men have guided thy ships o'er the 
sea. 

4 The riches of ocean are seen in thy fairs, 

Thou hast traded with Damus in multiplied wares ; 
Rare spices and jewels by Ramah are lent, 
And gold from the plenty of Sheba is sent. 

5 Thou shalt fall from thy glory, thou Queen of the 

sea! 
The Lord by His prophet proclaims it of thee ; 
And nought shall avail thee, thy pomp and thy 

wealth, 
When the wrath of Jehovah pursues thee to death. 

6 Now, come ye and mourn for the ruin of Tyre ! 
The Chaldean comes in the strength of his ire ; 
A dark pile of ruins alone doth remain 

Where once stood that city, the pride of the main ! 

But see ! from a wreck it hath risen again ! 

7 As the sun which was veiled by the vapors of heaven, 
Bursts forth with new light, when those vapors are 

riven, 
Lo, the mists which obscured thee, no sooner removed, 
Than thou shinest again but with splendor renewed. 

8 All nations are bringing to thee of their store, 
Thy glory is greater than ever before ; 

Even Judah, despised, has heard of thy power, 
And the land thou has scorned, forwards gifts to 
thy shore. 

9 Though honors surround thee, and wealth seems thy 

stay, 
And again o'er the ocean thou holdest thy sway, 
Alas ! for thy pride hath returned with thy might, 
'T will immerge thee ere long in oblivion's dark 

night. 

10 Now, hear from the prophet the mandate of God, — 
Yes, listen, O monarch, awhile to his word. 

Thou hast gotten the riches of silver and gold, 
Thou hast numbered thy treasures till they are 
untold. 

11 Yes perfect in wisdom and beauty thou art, 
And this has exalted the pride of thy heart ; 
Thy palace is lined with bright gems of the sea, 
They reflect, as thou walkest, their radiance on thee. 

12 But heed, O vain monarch, this warning, and fear, 
For soon shall be finished thy sinful career : 

The Lord is against thee, O king ! for thy hurt, — 
Thou canst not the sword of His vengeance avert. 

13 Now quickly, Gammadim, bring hither your shield ; 
Oh ! come from your high towers, your war weapons 

wield, 
And hasten, Oh ! hasten, each brave Arvadite, 
For Macedon's lion hath come in his might. 



362 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



14 Since Tyre thou art guilty, and guilty thy king, 
The Almighty hath sent him to punish thy sin ; 
His earthly abode thou hast dared to profane, 
And carj He the hand of His vengeance restrain ? 

15 She has gathered around her her own warlike host, 
Like the sands of the ocean they compass her coast, 
And Persia has lent her brave men of might, 
They haste to the combat; they rush in the fight ; 
Now swiftly their grapple they hurl from the wall, 
And widely around their catapultas fall. 

16 Now, deep as the purple for which she was famed, 
In her desolate streets flows the blood of her slain ; 
She is fallen, alas ! and the victor may ride 
Triumphant o'er wrecks of the splendor and pride. 

17 The waves now are troubled the lone bark to meet, 
Which once were obscured by thy numberless fleets ; 
Where proud ships have anchored beneath thy tall 

cliffs, 
Nought is seen to approach but the fishermen's 
skiffs. 

18 No more shall the nations bring thee of their store, 
They shall speak of thy riches and glory no more ; 
That night hath no morning which settles on thee, 
Thou merchant of nations ! thou Queen of the sea ! 

CHABLOTTE AUGUSTA SMITH. Bom 1820. 

Written at the age of 17 years. Died at 19. 
Stonington, Conn. 



THE HEAVENLY SECRET. 

1 I ponder oft the wondrous things 

On Patmos' isle in vision shown : 
The trumpet voice, the seven stars, 

The lamps of fire before the throne ; 
The book which Judah's Lion loosed, 

With awful secrets, seal by seal, 
The golden vials, full of wrath, 

The seven thunders' fearful peal ; 

2 With here and there a triumph note, — 

The song of Moses and the Lamb, 
The multitude before the throne, 

With blood-washed robe and crown and palm 
And ending all, the City fair, 

Spread out like sunlight far and wide, 
With " Whosoever will, may come," 

For last sweet words sent down the tide. 

3 But ever, 'mid these mysteries, 

Sublime, prophetic, tender, grand, 
One precious promise fills my heart, 

And binds the book with golden band : 
" To him that overcometh " — this 

The sweep the benediction takes — 
If Sardis, Smyrna, Pergamos, 

Your church, or mine, no difference makes. 

4 One sole condition binds the gift, 

Though struggle sore behind it lie ; 



A faith, a life that overcomes, — 

A warfare unto victory. 
And then, reward ! A pure white stone, 

And in the stone, a secret name, — 
A strange new name, and no two stones 

Shall bear inscription quite the same. 

5 For surely, — thus my musing runs — 

Since 't is no name already known, 
It cannot be some name of Christ, 

Both loved and worn by all His own ; 
For thus the sacred record reads : 

" No man may know it saving he 
Who shall receive it," — his alone 

This new and blessed name shall be. 

6 This is the thought that thrills me through : 

We have a secret — God and I ! 
He keeps it now, but unto me 

He will reveal it by and by. 
And while I wait, my heart still holds 

Some fancy, beautiful and fair, 
Of what that glad surprise will be, 

When He His thought with me shall share. 

7 Perhaps some precious name by which 

He knows me in His heart of love, 
Because of special service given, 

Or special grace I've learned to prove ; 
As wrestling Jacob, after prayer, 

Had seal of victory on him set, 
In that new name which crowned his seed, 

And clings to all God's people yet ; 

8 And Mary with her broken box 

Of fragrance for the burial-day, — 
I wonder in what heavenly name 

Christ keeps that memory hid away? 
Or that poor, lowly child of His 

Who of her want gave all she had, — 
I wonder what sweet word up there 

Translates that deed, to make her glad ? 

9 Or it' may be the precious stone, 

Like rich intaglio, given to each, 
Of Christ shall some impression hold, 

Expressing more than any speech; 
How in some great emergent hour, 

When heart and flesh were failing fast, 
He showed us such or such a face, 

Till all the fear was overpast ; 

10 Or once, in some communion hour, 

We went with Him up Tabor's steep, 
And that transfigured Face, for us 

Forevermore the stone will keep. 
And thus I muse ! I know not what 

The secret is — yet still the same, 
His thought of me, or mine. of Him, 

Will sweeter be in that new name. 

MltS. DR. BERRICK JOHNSON, 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. SONGS, READINGS AND RECITATIONS FOR YOUNG LADIES' SOCIETIES 



363 



TALITHA CUMI. 
A CALL TO WORK. 

1 Was it a marvel the maiden dead 

Straightway should open her wondering eyes, 
Soon as she heard what Jesus said — 
* " Darliug, I say unto thee, arise" ? 

2 Something like this the tender tone 

Hid in the Hebrew's ancient guise, 
As in His hand He took her own : 
" Darling, I say unto thee, arise." 

3 Can she obey or understand, 

Wrapt in her grave clothes, as she lies ? 
Has she the strength to lift a hand ? 
" Darling, I say unto thee, arise." 

4 Does she with tremulous doubtings stir, 

Turn with a look of lost surprise, 
Waiting to know who spake to her : 
" Darling, I say unto thee, arise " ? 

5 Calls she upon her dearest first, 

Father and mother, from whose eyes 
Tears, as they in gladness, burst, 
'• Darling, I say unto thee, arise " ? 

6 " Nay, I am weak — I cannot " — Was 

That what she said in humble wise, 
After the words of Christ had pause ? 
' '• Darling, I say unto thee, arise." 

7 Read what the gospel saith : " Straightway : " 

Never a breath of vague surmise, — 
Never a moment of delay ; 

" Darling, I say unto thee, arise ! " 

8 If as He touched, she had not stirred, 

Nor, as He spake, unclosed her eyes, 
Think you the maiden had ever heard, 
" Darling, I say unto thee, arise " ? 

9 Ah ! if ye knew ! Each child of you all, 

Shrouded in deatli that is deeper lies ; 
Yet you may hear the same sweet call : 

" Darling, I say unto thee, arise." 
10 Jesus is speaking to you to-day ; 

Can you such tender words despise ? 
Will you not hearken and heed " straightway ?'' 

" Darling, I say unto thee, arise ! " 



CHRISTUS CONSOLATOR. 

This poem was read by Mrs. Mary H. Field at the Annual Meeting of the 
Ban Jose, California, Auxiliary. It was suggested by an accident in Mrs. Condit's 
missionary experience among the Chinese women of San Francisco. 

1 Wailing, bowed the heathen mother, 

O'er her little dying child, 
Called her gods and offered incense, 

Muttered charms in accents wild ; 
Plied her wizard arts of healing, 

Fought the fiends with pagan spell, 
While her fervid incantations 

With her sobbing rose and fell. 



2 Then the gentle missionary 

Knelt beside the stricken one, 
Shared the mother's bitter weeping, 

Soothed the little sufferer's moan ; 
" Jesus loves you, little baby," 

Murmured o'er and o'er again, 
Till the woful heart beside her, 

Caught the old and sweet refrain. 

3 Seized it with a frenzied grasping, 

Thought it some new potent art ; 
Crushed her sobs to test its magic, 

On the baby at her heart. 
" Je^us loves my little baby," 

Crooned the wavering, tearful voice, 
Oh ! sweet miracle of healing ! 

Poor dark soul, rejoice ! rejoice ! 

4 Dews of sleep are softly dropping 

On the little anguished form ; 
Gleams a rift adown the darkness, 

Shines God's rainbow on the storm ! 
So the door was gently opened, 

As of old at Christ's command ; 
Grateful hearts His gospel welcome, 

Life and light come hand in hand. 

5 Still as wrought the blest evangel, 

Turning darkness into day, 
" Jesus loves my little baby ! " 

Sang the mother's lips alway ; 
These her words of raptured greeting, 

Song of praise and cry of prayer, 
" Jesus loves my little baby ! " 

All her faith and love are there. 

MARY H. FIELD. 
From the "Occident." 

DAY AND NIGHT. 

1 Wrapped in glory of noonday sun, 

Floats a world of pleasure and mirth: 
But few are the robes of sunlight spun 
For wear when the beautiful day is done 

And night creeps over the earth. 

2 Under the blackness of midnight sky, 

Hangs a world of grief and lament ; 
And " Oh ! for a garment of light ! " they cry, 
"We never dreamed that the day could die, 

Till the sunshine all was sj)ent ! " 

3 The days will come and the days will go, 

And the nights will ever steal on apace ; 
And the world will dance in the sun's warm glow, 
And weep when the evening shadows grow, 

And gone is the sunlight's grace. 

4 Oh! haste ye, worldlings, haste to spin 

Your garments of shining, immortal gold, 
Ready to wear when the shades begin, 
And the long, long night of grief shuts in, 

Till the splendors of morn unfold. 



364 



WOMAN IN S ACRED SONG. 



UNUSED SPICES. 



" Now upon the first day of the week, very early in the morning, they 
came unto the sepulchre, Bringing the spices which they had pre- 
pared." Luke xxiv. 



1 What said those women as they bore 

Their fragrant gifts away — 
The spices that they needed not 
That resurrection day ? 

2 Did Mary say within her heart, 

Our work has been in vain ? 
Or counting o'er the spices brought, 
Of so much waste complain ? 

3 Not so, for though the risen Lord - 

Their spices did not need, 
Not unrewarded was the love 
That planned the reverent deed. 

4 For though unused their fragrant stor , 

Yet well might they rejoice, 
Since they the first who saw the Lord, 
The first who heard His voice. 

5 Sweet story, hast thou not some truth 

For my impatient heart — 
Some lesson that shall stay with me 
Its comfort to impart ? 

6 Have I not gathered in the past, 

In days that are no more, 
Of spices sweet and ointment rare, 
What seemed a precious store ? 

7 A little knowledge I had gained, 

A little strength and skill — 
I thought to use them for the Lord 
If such should be His will. 

8 Alas ! my store unused has been, 

The strength I prized hath gone ; 
My weary hands have lost their skill, 
And yet my life goes on. 

9 In all the busy work of life 

I have but scanty share, 
And scanty is the service done 
For Him whose name I ear. 

10 So many hopes and plans have died 

In weariness and pain, 
My heart cries out in sore distress, 
" Was all my work in vain ? " 

11 Be still, sad heart, thy hopes and plans, 

Are known to One divine ; 
He knoweth all thou wouldst have done, 
Had greater strength been thine. 

12 My unused spices ! Dearest Lord, 

They were prepared for Thee, 
Yet if for them Thou hast no need, 
Let love my offering be. 

"Christian Observer." 



GOLDEN-ROD. 

" Surely there is a place for gold." 

1 In the tent of the Lord there was gold ; 
The lamps with their branches and flowers ; 
And the wings of the cherubim — sweet 
As doves in a garden of bowers — 
Spreading over the mercy-seat, 

The altar of incense, bright 

As stars in some tropical night, 

In the tent of the Lord were of gold. 

2 There is gold on the shadowy hills ; 
The powdery petals that cling 

In the dust of a thousand sprays, 
Fine as a cherub's beaten wing- 
In the temple's light ablaze, 
Gleam like the altar of our God 
In the bloom of the golden-rod ; 
There is gold on the shadowy hills. 

3 There is surely a place for the gold : 
In the desolate depths of mines, 

In each spray of the golden-rod 
With its fair and feathery lines, — 
In the tabernacle of God, 
The temple of every heart, 
Where an angel dwells apart, 
There is surely a place for the gold. 



MENTONE. 

"And there was given unto them a short time before they went forward." 

Upon this sunny shore 
A little space for rest. The care and sorrow, 

Sad memory's haunting pain that would not cease, 
Are left behind. It is not yet to-morrow. 

To-day there falls the dear surprise of peace ; 
The sky and sea, their broad wings round us sweeping, 
Close out the world, and hold us in their keeping. 
A little space for rest. Ah ! though soon o'er, 
How precious it is on the sunny shore. 

Upon this sunny shore 
A little space for love, while those, our dearest, 

Yet linger with us ere they take their flight 
To that far world which now doth seem the nearest, 

So deep and pure this sky's down-bending light. 
Slow, one by one, the golden hours are given 
A respite ere the earthly ties are riven, 
When left alone, how, 'mid our tears, we store 
Each breath of their last clays upon this shore. 

Upon this sunny shore 
A little space to wait : the life-bowl broken, 

The silver cord unloosed, the mortal name 
We bore upon this earth by God's voice spoken, 

While at the sound all earthly praise or blame, 
Our joys and griefs, alike with gentle sweetness 
Fade in the dawn of the next world's completeness, 
The hour is Thine, dear Lord ; we ask no more, 
But wait Thy summons on the sunny shore. 

MARGARET SEVERINE. 

" Harper's Magazine." 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. SONGS, READINGS AND RECITATIONS FOR YOUNG LADIES' SOCIETIES. 365 



MISSIONARY HYMNS. 



BY MRS. SARAH J. RHEA. 



Returned Missionary from Persia. 



It is a matter of sincere rejoicing, that our Lord's providence has led to the compilation of Missionary 
Hymns by woman. The truly excellent hymns in the possession of the church on the glorious theme of the 
world's redemption have been very few. The search for such at Missionary Annual Meetings, and on great 
occasions having for their motto " This one thing I do," has always been harassing and disappointing. ' Heber's 
" From Greenland's icy mountains," Perronet's " All hail the power of Jesus' name," and Mrs. Johnson's 
"The whole wide world for Jesus," are the best we have had in common use; and we need more of the same 
kind. We need hymns of true poetic spirit burning with the hidden fires of eloquence and devotion, that will 
lighten and warm the heart of every singer and every hearer ; that will humble man, and reveal and exalt 
and glorify Christ, the Lamb of God that taketh away the sins of the world ; that will fulfill His own words, 
and lift Him up so that all men shall be drawn unto Him. 

We never get any adequate conception of Christ as a King, except by the work of Foreign Missions, 
its aims and finished results. Its consummation is His universal coronation. The hymns should be enthusiastic 
and inspiring, sometimes gentle and soft like a still small voice with a personal call ; sometimes with a martial 
ring for the summoning of the clans, or the leading forth, conquering and to conquer, of the great army of 
God, following the Captain of our Salvation. 

They ought to be hymns so full of Apocalyptic glory that they will do to sing through all time and eter- 
nity too — and, having served their purpose on earth, bear repetition by the "redeemed from every nation " 
even in Heaven around the throne of God. Such songs, for aught we know, are current there now ; surely 
our sweet " Coronation " would fit the golden harps right well ! To write such hymns, requires a special 
inspiration, a nearness to the cross as a centre, and from that, a wide outlook to the very circumference of 
the earth. They should not only glow with love, but be heroic, their faith sublime, invincible ! expressing 
the very feelings of Abraham's heart, when he counted the innumerable stars ; of Moses' heart when he led 
the hosts of Israel through the sea ; of the hearts of Miriam, Hannah and Mary as they chanted their sweet 
songs of thankfulness ; of Joshua's heart encompassing invulnerable Jericho ; of the hearts of Deborah 
and Barak as they triumphantly led forth the hosts of Israel from the oppression of Jabin ; of David's 
heart, running toward Goliath ; Elisha's heart on Carrnel; Daniel's, among the lions ; Isaiah's when he iden- 
tified the man of sorrows and acquainted with grief with the Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting 
Father, and the Prince of Peace; Paul's heart; Christ's own heart, when He said : " All power is given unto 
Me, in Heaven and in earth, go ye, therefore, and teach all nations, and lo ! I am with you alway." I 
have a high idea of what missionary hymns should be, and I am heartily glad of this sincere effort to raise the 
standard ; and while, like the rest of the sisterhood, I would not believe in a book for practical use which is 
made up entirely of the hymns of either sex to the exclusion of the other, I yet rejoice that this move has 
been made to collect in one volume, for a reference book, the best that woman has done in this direction to 
the praise and glory of her Saviour and Risen Lord. 

" Come, Holy Spirit, aid this work, 
Come, Angels, help us sing." 



Lake Forest, Illinois, Nov., 1884. 



366 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



THE LORD IS KING. 

From the isles of the sea cometh tidings of Thee, 

From the vine-mantled hills of Cathay, 
They have heard of the Lord, they have trusted His 
word, 
A nation is born in a day ! 
Chorus. 
Then rejoice and sing, for the Lord is King, 

His name by His saints is adored ; 
Rejoice in His light, no darkness, no night, 
Rejoice and believe in His word. 

2 From the East comes the cry that the Saviour is nigh! 

Oh ! break forth, all ye lands, in His praise ! 
"With His power and might there is glory and light, 
In His hand is the fullness of days. 

3 Let Jerusalem sing, for the Lord He is King, 

And her bondage is now at an end, 
Take her harps from the trees, lift her songs on the 
breeze 
All her voices in harmony blend. 

MRS. F. A. F. WOOD WHITE. . 
In " Good Will." Chicago, 111.. 1882. 
Copyrighted by dr. t. m. iowne. 

Mrs. Elizabeth A. Matthews, daughter of Ex. Governor Palmer, 
Springfield, 111., and wife of Dr. Matthews of Carlinville, is not only 
considered cui of Illinois' best poets, hut she is an earnest Christian 
worker in both Missionary and Temperance fields of labor, and a true 
lover of home. • Brilliant in personal appearance and conversation, she 
adorns any position tn which she is called. 

CONSECRATED MONEY. 

1 Look at this little heap of coin, 

Dimmed by the rust of years — 
Marred by the ceaseless dropping 

Of a stricken mother's tears. 
Lightly you turn them over, 

With your fingers, soft and fair — 
Do you know that the hopes of a lifetime 

Lie crushed before you there ? 

2 Years, years ago, when this old gray hair 

Was soft, and sunny, and brown, 
Into my care, for a little while, 

God sent an angel down. 
Oh ! the bright visions that came to me ! 

Oh ! the sweet dreams of pride ! 
Fair, very fair, should the future be 

For the dear one at my side ! 

3 She should have riches, and love, and delight, 

Her path should be decked with flowers, 
My head should plan, and my hands should toil, 

That hers might be sunny hours. 
Each week, I would carefully hoard away 

A sum that would ever increase; 
My darling should never know lack of gold, 

Nor poverty mar her peace. 



4 All that my girlhood's years had missed 

Should be her happy lot, 
The treasures, for which I had vainly longed, 

Should be hers without a thought. 
Child of my heart, thou hast left me now ! 

Yet mine is the granted prayer ; 
Thou hast the brightness and joy of heaven, 

Untroubled by want or care. 

5 What my best wisdom could not win, 

Father, to her Thou hast given : 
Beautiful robes, and raiments white, 

The untold glories of heaven. 
To me, there are left the empty arms, 

The sorrow that will not sleep, 
The weary days, and the lonely nights, 

And this little golden heap. 

6 Take it, dear Father, it is Thine ! 

Too long has it moldering lain, 
Let it bear the tidings of Love Divine, 

Let it soothe some sad heart's pain. 
It is consecrated to holy use, 

Hallowed by prayer and tears, 
Hopes of a lifetime, crushed and torn, 

Dreams of my summer-years ! 

7 It was saved for my child, and perhaps, who 

knows ? 

It may bear the message of love, 
And win some soul from the path of sin, 

She may know it, even above — 
Know that her mother loves her yet ; 

It would add to her bliss, even there. 
Then go, little, sacred, golden heap 

Of Consecrated Care ! 

MRS. E. A. MATTHEWS. 

Carlinville, 111., 1884. 



CHARGE AND ENCOURAGE THEM. 

Deut. ili, 28. 

1 Charge and encourage them ; bid them go forward ; 

Fair rides the King in the midst of His host ; 
All His true soldiers fight under a standard 
That never was lowered and cannot be lost. 

2 Charge and encourage them ; thick is the darkness, 

Boundless the sorrow they hasten to share ; 
But the light that is sown shall spring forth as the 
morning, 
And comfort shall visit the homes of despair. 

3 Charge and encourage them ; cheer the faint-hearted, 

Say to the fearful, Be strong for the fight — 
Strong with the strength that is perfect in weakness, 
Clad by the King in His armor of light. 

4 Charge and encourage them ; none shall be weary — 

None shall be downcast or faint any more, 

If only each heart will beat true to the Captain 

Whom all the great armies of heaven adore. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. SONGS, READINGS AND RECITATIONS FOR YOUNG LADIES' SOCIETIES. 



367 



5 Charge and encourage them ; after the battle, 
After the burden and heat of the sun, 
Softly shall gather the pale stars of evening, 
And thine on the victor whose warfare is won. 
C Fair are the mansions beyond the dark river, 
Bright -are the crowns of infinite worth, 
Sweetest of all the near smile of the Master — 
Charge and encourage them — bid them go forth ! 

B. M., in " India's 



MEXICO 

1 beautiful land, whose azure skies 

Are kissed by the waves, where the sunset dies ; 
beautiful land, that beseeching stands, 

desolate land, that wringeth her hands, 

And calleth for help. 

2 " For darkness hath wrapt me around," she saith, 
" The darkness of night and shadow of death ; 

1 open my windows toward the East, 

And I watch your skies, where night hath ceased, 
And long for the light. 

3 " My altars are waiting for fires from heaven ; 
O you to whom light has been freely given, 
Bring a lighted torch from the sacred fire 
That burns on your own, ere our hearts expire, 

And set them aflame." 

4 A captive in chains, she shows us her scars, 
And stretches her hands through her prison bars, 
Implores us to take the resistless sword, 

Whose sheath is this jewelled and beautiful Word, 
And break them away. 

5 Her sons and her daughters famish for bread 
That over our table is richly spread ; 

Can we close our hearts to that thrilling cry ? 
Shall we give them bread, ere they faint and die 
For the Bread of Life ? 

6 Ay, dying of thirst, at your very doors, 
For the water of Life, that is freely yours; 
A fountain that springs and is never dry ; 

Shall they die of thirst, ere they drink ? Shall they die, 
And water so near? 

7 An exile, beholding the lights of home, 
She sits in the dark and calls us to come 
And show her the Shelter from wind and rain ; 
She calleth to us, — shall she call in vain, 

brothers, in vain ? 



THE KING'S DAUGHTER. 

1 She wears no jewel upon hand or brow ; 

No badge by which she may be known of men ; 
But tho' she walk in plain attire now, 

She is the daughter of a King, and when 
Her Father calls her at His throne to wait, 
She will be clothed as doth befit her state. 



2 Her Father sent her in His land to dwell, 

Giving to her a work that must be done ; 
And, since the King loves all His people well, 

Therefore she, too, cares for them, every one ; 
And when she stoops to lift from want and sin, 
The brighter shines her royalty therein. 

3 She walks erect thro' dangers manifold, 

While many sink and fail on either hand ; 
She heeds not summer's heat nor winter's cold, 

For both are" subject to the King's command. 
She need not be afraid of anything, 
Because she is the daughter of the King! 

4 Even when the angel comes that men call Death, 

And name with terror — it appalls not her; 
She turns to look on him with quickened breath, 

Thinking, " It is the royal messenger ! " 
Her heart rejoiceth that her Father calls 
Her back, to live within the palace walls. 

5 For tho' the land she lives m is most fair, 

Set round with streams — a picture in its frame - 
Yet in her heart deep, secret longings are 

For that mysterious country whence she came. 
Not perfect quite seems any earthly thing, 
Because — she is the daughter of the Kins; ! 



AT THE KING'S GATE. 

1 Morning by morning to his gates I came, 
Taking my portion from his liberal store, 
Glad of my crumbs, and asking for no more. 
Scarcely my lips their stammering thanks could 

frame ; 
For what was I that I should think to claim 
Such audience from the King, whose good ran o'er 
To fill each empty soul that sought his door, 
And with the blessing spake no word of blame? 
But if, some morn, his angel guards had cried : 
" The King hath nothing for thy needs to-day, 
Since from thy desert life no flowers unfold, 
And all thy fields lie barren, far and wide," 
I should have said, and humbly gone my way : 
" He is the King, to give or to withhold." 
Swift from the shining presence entered One 
With spotless robes, of pearl and lilies wrought. 
I know hot if He spake, or if the thought 
Grew in His smile, as blossoms in the sun : 
" Why should'st thou come, O child, as beggars come 
Who take the gift, but count the love for nought ? 
This is thy Father's house. For thee He sought, 
Waiting thy coming till the day was done. 
He careth for thee. Ask for large supplies, 
Put on the robe and ring, and cast away 
Thy garments stained with tears, with sin defiled ; 
And if His wisdom all thy prayer denies, 
Secure in love, look up and trusting say : 
' He is the King, yet am I still His child.' " 

EMILY HUNTINGTON MILLER. 

St. Paul, Minn. 1880. 



368 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



THE POWER OF HIS PRESENCE. 



1 Sitting, silently grouped in the gloaming, 

With the light waning soft and faint, 
One began, after Orient fashion, 

Reciting a legend quaint, 
Of Joseph and Mary, wending 

Anxious their homeward way, 
After the flight into Egypt ; — 

How, just at the noon of day, 
They paused at a temple portal, 

And entered wearily there 
To rest ; though it were but brief respite 

From the toil, and the highway's glare. 
And the babe on Mary's bosom, 

Aroused from his rosy sleep, 
Looked on pagan priests at worship. 

Oh ! did not the holy child weep ? 
Gold, silver, and porphyry idols ! 

Temple built of rare, costly stone 
Behold ! What a wonder ! Each image 

To the floor falleth instantly prone. 
Falleth — before that Presence 

Whom the hosts of heaven adore, 
Though the Lord divine, an infant, 

Humanity's person wore ! 

2 In a moment of deep despondence, 

When all our labor seemed vain, 
This legend, which, half forgotten, 

Like a withered rose had lain, 
Came from mem'ry's realm, with fragrance, 

To tell of those same distant lands 
Where yet, amid pagan horrors, 

The temple of Baal stands. 
And the holy hands, that carry 

The message of life to them 
In the gracious, golden story 

Of the Babe of Bethlehem. 
Not a human legend merely, 

But the blessing of Him who saith, 
" Sow ye beside all waters." 

These sown in earnest faith, 
And sure as His word is eternal, 

And He the dear Saviour of all, 
So surely His presence is mighty, 

And before Him the idols shall fall. 

MKS. B. ROSCOE EDGETT. 



"THE CHURCH AT CORINTH." 

1 On either side, washed by a flood, 
Proud, lofty, grand, old Corinth stood, 
Where sinks the royal sun to rest, 
' Mid gold and purple of the west. 
Ionia's swelling waters bore, 



From western lands to Lechium's shore, 
The freighted wealth of spicy isles, 
Forever warm with summer's smiles, 
And thence across the land conveyed, 
Till in old Corinth's lap 'twas laid. 
Where roseate tints of blushing morn 
The JEgean's broad expanse adorn, 
And with the wings of sunlight climb 
To hights immeasurably sublime, 
Behold, from here to Cenchrea's port, 
Commercial princes, proud, resort, 
With glittering wealth of eastern lands, 
Or southern gold from Afric's sands ; 
Here India's precious stones were found, 
Transported o'er Arabian ground, 
And thence conveyed to Corinth's mart, 
Voluptuous Luxury's throbbing heart. 

2 ' Mid busy scenes of thrift and trade 
The polished base of art was laid, 
And Science reared her glittering shaft 
Where wisdom's subtle cup was quaffed. 
Philosophers, profoundly deep 

As mighty death's mysterious sleep, 
That grasped the interests of the soul 
And sought for Reason's full control, 
Lo ! these here found a welcome place, 
And gave to Corinth added grace ; 
While columned structures, grand and high, 
Whose summits seemed to seek the sky, 
Uprose like things of power and name, 
To give proud Corinth prouder fame. 

3 And yet, 'mid grandeur, wealth and pride 
Unequalled by the world beside, 
Behold a people sunk so low 

They deify the guilt they know, 

And worship, with disgusting zest, 

Corruption's form in jewels dressed. 

Lo ! here, where altars smoked their praise 

To tempted crime 'mid Reason's blaze — 

Sere came the Apostle, great and good, 

Declaring truths inspired of God. 

In weariness, yet in power, he came — 

In fear, yet bold in Jesus' name ; 

Learned in the wisdom Corinth taught, 

Yet counting worldly wisdom naught, 

Resolved to nothing know beside 

The Christ of God, the Crucified. 

Enticing words of worldly speech 

The great Apostle scorned to preach ; 

But, grasping things divinely high, 

His words were borrowed from the sky. 

Gamaliel's pupil, skilled in art, 

Yet studying most the human heart — 

Versed in the literature of Greece, 

His chosen theme the Prince of Peace. 

Behold the word, divinely given, 

Clothed each an idea born in Heaven. 



FOREIGN' MISSIONS. SONGS READINGS AND RECITATIONS FOR YOUNG LADIES' SOCIETIES. 369 



4 Corinthia's children, wondering, hear 
The demonstrating power and word, 
Till, touched by Heaven's inspiring flame, 
They felt the power of Jesus' name ; 
And, like a spark that brightly glows, 
Enkindling fire where'er he goes, 
So spread the gospel's glorious light, , 
Dispelling all of gloom and night ; 
And in the midst of lofty pride, 
Where gilded vice was deified, 
Uprose a temple towering high, 
Whose summit pierced the unending sky, 
And entering close beside the throne, 
" In Heaven was laid the topmost stone ; " 
The deep foundation, Christ the Lord, 
The unnumbered stones wrought thro' His word. 
Blood-bought and priceless — lo ! it stood 
The temple of the living God. 
And he, the founder great, who came 
Disdaining excellent speech and name — 
Behold ! through him who preached the word 
Was built this temple to the Lord ; 
And e'en to-day, 'mid ruins grand, 
In Grecia's ancient pagan land, 
There lives the church, above decay, 
The church that cannot pass away. 



SOMETHING TO DO FOR THE KING. 

1 For him whom the king delighteth 

To honor, what shall be done ? 
They bring the gorgeous apparel ; 

For the king's own steed they run. 
The king's own crown, with rejoicing, 

They put upon him to wear, 
And no less than princely heralds, 

While all the multitudes stare, 
Proclaim through the market-places 

Before this favorite one, 
" For him whom the king delighteth 

To honor, this shall be done ! " 

2 But he whom his liege delighteth 

To honor, loves so the king 
I think with haste he would enter 

The throne-room : " Oh ! not this thing, 
But if so my lord hath purposed 

To pleasure me," he would say, 
" This is my humble petition 

And this the request I pray : 
Let there be given thy servant 

The dower of special skill 
And something to do for the king ! 

The world can fulfill his will. 

3 Yet I crave from his royal grace 

A ministry all my own, 
The secret of something he wants 

Entrusted to me alone, 
Or a hint of service he needs 



Beside me that's known to none, 
For the one whom the king delighteth 

To honor, let this be done ! 
Show me how best I can please him, 

What I can render or bring ; 
This my entreaty before him, 

Something to do for the king." 

ELLA M. BAKER 

Stafford Springs, Conn. 1882 

"OH, TAKE ME NEARER TO HI MY* 

" The mother of the family lost her reason some time ago. It is sad 
to see her ; but most wonderfully she remembers what she learned in 
Lodiana about the Lord Jesus, aud is so longing for Him. She said tr 
me, 'Please show me the Lord Jesus ; He will cure my heart : siilg of 
Him.' I did so, aud she listened thoughtfully, aud then said, ' Oh, take 
me nearer to Sim — the very nearest you can. I am so ill.' "— Letter 
from Miss. C. Thiede, India. "Woman's Work." November, 1881. 

1 Take me nearer to your Jesus ! 

Scarce I know of whom I speak, 
But my life is very weary, 

And my heart is very weak ; 
And you say that He can help me, 

That the Christ of woman born 
Will not spurn my feeble pleading, 

He my sorrow will not scorn. 

2 Take me nearer if you love Him ! 

To His throne, you know the w<*f,' 
Let your stronger faith support me, 

Teach my lips the words to say. 
Help, Oh! help me find His presence, 

For my feet in darkness grope ; 
I may die and never find Him, 

Christ my last, my only hope ! 

3 Take me nearer to the Healer! 

For my soul is sick witli sin, 
And I need the strong Life-Giver 

Who can make me new within. 
And I need the tender Shepherd 

Who will lift me to His breast, 
And content my longing spirit 

With His love and home and rest. 

4 Take me nearer, ever nearer ' 

For I faint beneath the weight 
Of the burdened life I carry, 

And I dread to meet the fate 
Which must come, or soon or later, 

With its swift or stealthy tread, 
To enshroud my soul in darkness 

With the cold and silent dead. 

5 Take me nearer to your Jesus ! 

And the blessing yours shall be 
Of a soul that near to perish 

From the captor is set free ; 
And another star in glory 

So shall "shine to Jesus' praise, 
And another heart shall love Him 

Through the bright eternal days. 

G. T. H. 188ft. 

In " Woman's Work for 1 



370 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



NOT MINE. 

1 It is not mine to run 

With eager feet, 
Along life's crowded ways, 
My Lord to meet. 

2 It is not mine to pour 

The oil and wine, 
Or bring the purple robe 
And linen fine. 

3 It is not mine to break 

At His dear feet 
The alabaster-box 
Of ointment sweet. 

4 It is not mine to bear 

His heavy cross, 

Or suffer, for His sake, 

All pain and loss. 

5 It is not mine to walk 

Through valleys dim, 
Or climb far mountain-! 
Alone with Him! 
<> He hath no need of me 
In grand affairs, 
Where fields are lost, or crowna 
Won unawares. 

7 Yet Master, if I may 

Make one pale flower 
Bloom brighter, for Thy sake, 
Through one short hour ; 

8 If I, in harvest-fields 

Where strong ones reap, 
May bind one golden sheaf 
For Love to keep ; 

9 May speak one quiet word 

When all is still, 
Helping some fainting heart 

To bear Thy will ; 
10 Or sing one high clear song, 

On which may soar 
Some glad soul heavenward, 

I ask no more ! 

JULIA C. R. DORR. 1884. 

In "Independent." 

PERSIA. 

1 Land of oriental splendor, 

Worshipping the sun and flame, 
Trusting blindly to the Koran, 
Learn to love the Saviour's name. 

2 Reject pantheistic teachings ! 

From Mahomet turn away ! 
What results arise from sun-praise ? 

Learn to love the Heavenly rays 
2 That alone can give souls cleansing, 

That alone can give souls light ; 
Learn of Jesus and His worship, 

And the only path of right. 



3 Ancient most of all the empires 

Of which history doth tell ; 
Cyrus' home, and Artaxerxes', 

Whom their followers served so well 

4 Land that held the captive Jewess — 

Esther, loved and lovely Queen ; 
Home of King Ahashuerus ; 

Clime of wond'rous fair Bahrein ; 

5 We are moved to speak thy praises j 

We would recognize the aid 
Thy brave daughters e'er have 
To our missionaries paid. 

6 Persia's daughters toil for Persia, 

With the heart's best, warmest low 
Pointing souls in darkness wand'ring, 
To the sunlit home above. 

7 May she set the bright example, 

Till all countries follow suit, — 
China's daughters toil for China ; 
Then the work will bear much fruit, 

8 When the dark-eyed heathen maiden 

Of the Asiatic sea, 
And when Afric's sons and daughters 

Give their days to teach of Thee. 
9. Persia ! land of unique beauty ! 

Lovelier textures ne'er were seen 
Than are woven by thy skilled ones, 

Out of wool and silken sheen. 
10 Persia, we have sent assistance, 

And we send assistance still ; 
For God always doubly helps those 

Who but help themselves with will. 

EVA MUNSON SMITH. 

(Mrs. G. C. S.) 1878. 

From "The Field is the World." 

A Play for Missionary Entertainments. 

ECHOES FROM MOUNT OLIVET. 

(Read before the W. F. M. S. of the New Albany Presbytery, April, 1880.) 

1 In hallowed tints and outlines, 

Affection's hand will set 
Beloved scenes and vanished 

Upon Life's canvas yet. 
In all, where'er she pencils, 

" This was the last, the last," 
Fall the shadows of the picture 

O'er the landscape of the Past. 

2 The last, last word, the message 

Which dying friends let fall, 
Most tenderly we treasure, 

Most sacredly of all ; 
And where their farewell footprints, 

O'er garden, vale, or grot, 
Have pressed earth's springing ; 

Hallowed we hold the spot. 
And how the voiceful breezes 

Which murmur of the past, 
In minor chords will quiver 

O'er days which were the last ! 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. SONGS, HEADINGS AND RECITATIONS FOR YOUNG LADIES' SOCIETIES. 371 



3 Oh ! 'mid the echoed chorus 

Of dim and by-gone years, 
Above life's weary discord, 

How often Fancy hears 
The sound of long-lost voices, 

Through Memory's open door 
Breathing the plaintive music 

Of parting words once more ! 

4 A loving band were taking 

The olden path — to them, 
'Mid the familiar landscape 

Out from Jerusalem. 
Something akin to sorrow, 

That golden eventide, 
Seemed floating 'mid the shadows 

Adown each mountain side. 

5 Methinks Judea's sunlight 

Touched with a pensive glow 
The summit of Mount Olives 

And Bethany below ; 
And Kedron's half-heard ripple, 

And softly sighing breeze, 
Of coming loss, seemed breathing 

To palm and olive trees. 

6 The little band are gathered 

Upon Mount Olives' brow : 
A strange, a holy silence 

Has fallen o'er them now. 
'Round One, a nameless glory, 

Ineffable and sweet, 
Has rolled its dazzling halo 

From crowned head to feet. 

7 In majesty supernal, 

Yet in the wondrous _ 
Of its pathetic yearning, 

Beams the tender, loving face. 
A waiting cloud, descending 

To waft Him out of sight, 
Has caught the borrowed splendor 

Of His irradiate light. 

8 O happy cloud ! appointed 

To bear the Holy One ! 
The chariot made glorious 

For God's Eternal Son ! 
Pluck stars from light celestial, 

That ne'er fell o'er a curse, 
To crown the thorn-marred forehead, 

O waiting universe ! 

9 Swing wide, ye heavenly portals ! 

Ye shining gates, unfold ! 
Admit the cloudy chariot 

Of amethyst and gold ! 
In it, the King of Glory, 

The Conqueror of sin, 
Of death, the mighty Victor, 

Triumphant, shall come in ! 
10 The pierced hands are lifted ; 

The opening heav'ns bend near 



To list the parting blessing, 
The farewell words to hear. 

The sacred lips are breathing 
The last, the parting word ; 

Through all the waiting silence 
The wondrous Voice is heard ; — 

11 " Go teach my holy gospel 

Wherever man is found ; 
In my name preach remission, 

To earth's remotest bound. 
Beginning at Jerusalem, 

My witnesses are ye ; 
Publish my free salvation 

Beyond the utmost sea. 

12 Lo ! I am with you alway ! 

Even till time is o'er ! " 
And then the cloud infolded 

The form they saw no more. 
O parting words of Jesus ! 

Last message from above ! 
More wondrous and more precious 

Than other words we love. 

13 O words of all most hallow'd, 

Ne'er, ne'er from memory go ! 
In sweet, persuasive cadence 

Our inmost souls o'errlow. 
Throbbing, in full-toned measures, 

A vibrant, voiceful tide, 
Out-gushing into duty, 

Through all our life-work glide- 

14 These last words bid us enter 

The darkest heathen land, 
Across the widest ocean, 

O'er every foreign strand. 
For us, in rich profusion, 

Has Grace her table spread ? 
Afar, while millions perish, 

Shall we alone be fed ? 

15 Or, shall our care be only 

The starving ones to bring 
From our own lanes and hedges 

To the banquet of our King ? 
Though ne'er from home or country 

We may be called to go, 
Yet, out through many a channel 

Obedience may flow. 

16 His law we may be keeping 

Beneath our own roof-tree, 
While we aid the gospel heralds 

Afar, o'er land or sea. 
Aye, the true Mission Spirit 

Knows neither clime nor shore ; 
While seeking 'mid the highways 

The heathen at its door, 
It wafts afar the pinions 

Of costly sacrifice, 
Upborne on prayer's rich odors, 

Beyond its native skies. 



372 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



17 " Beginning at Jerusalem ; " 

But oh ! not ending there. 
Far-reaching as His message, 

Its flight of faith and prayer. 
" The whole wide world for Jesus !" 

This is the deep refrain, 
The music and the chorus 

Of its wide- wafted strain. 

18 " The whole wide world for Jesus ! " 

"While waiting, ripe and fair 
Home fields are white for harvest 

And few the laborers there; 
In broad and billowy beauty 

Beneath a foreign sky, 
In beck'ning undulations, 

Untrodden harvests lie. 

19 Oh ! what glad heart responsive 

Some whitening field will save ? 
Oh ! who will join the reapers 

Across the waiting wave ? 
The world is ripe for harvest, 

At home, and o'er the main, 
Oh ! can we bear to forfeit 

Our sheaves of golden grain ? 

20 Shall life be spent on trifles, 

While He waits the day-light through,- 
Waits for our hands to bring Him 

The sheaves that are his due ? 
Life's harvest day is waning, 

The hour is waxing late ; 
The twilight dews are falling 

And death is at the gate. 

21 Benighted souls are crying 

Out in the trackless night ; 
Of us, they're blindly asking 

The Way, the Truth, the Light. 
The whole wide world for Jesus ! 

From islands far and dim, 
They stretch forth hands beseeching, 

The kingdoms wait for Him. 

22 How beauteous on the mountains 

Are the far-wand'ring feet 
Of those who bring glad tidings — 

Who gospel news repeat. 
Bend soft, ye skies, above them ; 

' Mid dews of peace distill, 
Around about their dwellings, 

The heavenly manna still. 

23 Let wings of prayer cross oceans, 

And gifts from open hands 
Descend in benedictions 

O'er those in heathen lands. ! 
Theirs — His supreme, last 

Who His last words obey ; 
^heirs is the full assurance, 

" I'm with you, lo ! alway. 



24 Where purple islands cluster 

In the broad Pacific's flow, 
Or Africa's red simoom 

And burning deserts glow, 
Where Siam's foliage blossoms, 

Or Syria's palm trees rise, 
Or Persia's starving people 

Weep 'neath her azure skies ; 
Where Ceylon blooms in fragrance, 

Or Japan's sea-winds blow, 
Or China waves her sceptre, 

Or India's rivers flow ; — 

25 W7iere"er may go His heralds, 

O'er continent or sea, 
There, too, shall go His Presence .; 

There He Himself shall be. 
"Alway ! " till, down the ages, 

With one foot on the sea, 
His Messenger shall trumpet 

That " Time no more shall be ! " 

26 To those who sit in darkness, 

Without one struggling ray 
From out the full-orbed glory 

Of this our gospel day, 
O speed, ye blessed tidings ! 

O'er every billow roll ; 
Light up with His salvation 

The world, from pole to pole. 
And haste, oh ! haste, glad morning ! 

With healing beams, arise ! 
And reign, O King of Glory, 

On earth as in the skies ! 



FOR LOYE'S SAKE. 

1 You have read of the Moslem palace— 

The marvellous fane that stands 
On the banks of the distant Jumna, 
The wonder of all the lands. 

2 You have read of its marble splendors, 

Its carvings of rare device, 
Its domes and its towers that glisten 
Like visions of Paradise. 

3 You have listened, as one has told you 

Of its pinnacles snowy-fair, — 

So pure that they seemed suspended 

Like clouds in the crystal air; 

4 Of the flow of its fountains falling 

As softly as mourners' tears; 

Of the lily and rose kept blooming 

For over two hundred years ; 

5 Of the friezes of frost-like beauty, 

The jewels that crust the wall, 
The carvings that crown the arch-way, 
The innermost shrine of all ; 



FOREIGN MISSIONS SONGS, READINGS AND RECITATIONS FOR YOUNG LADIES' SOCIETIES. 373 



6 Where lies in her sculptured coffin, 

(Whose chiselings mortal man 
Hath never excelled,) the dearest 
Of the loves of the Shah Jehan. 

7 They read you the shining legends 

Whose letters are set in gems, 
On the walls of the sacred chambers 
That sparkle like diadems. 

8 And they tell you these letters, gleaming 

Wherever the eye may look, 

Are words of the Moslem Prophet, 

Are texts from his holy book. 

9 And still as you heard, you questioned 

Right wonderingly, as you must, 
" Why rear such a palace, only 
To shelter a woman's dust? 

10 Why rear it ? — the Shah had promised 

His beautiful Nourmahal. 
To do it, becaused he loved her, 
He loved her — and that was all ! 

11 So minnaret, wall and column, 

And tower and dome above, 
All tell of a sacred promise, 
All utter one accent ■■ — Love. 

12 You know of another temple 

A grander than Hindoo shrine, 
The splendor of whose perfections 
Is mystical, strange, divine. 

13 You have read of its deep foundations, 

Which neither the frost nor. flood 
Nor forces of earth can weaken, 
Cemented in tears and blood. 

14 That, chosen with skill transcendent, 

By the wisdom that fills the throne, 
Was quarried, and hewn, and polished, 
Its wonderful corner-stone. 

15 So vast is its scale proportioned, 

So lofty its turrets rise, 
That the pile in its finished glory 
Will reach to the very skies. 

16 The lapse of the silent Kedron, 

The roses of Sharon fair, 
Gethsernane's sacred olives 
And cedars, are round it there. 

17 And graved on its walls and pillars, 

And cut in its crystal stone, 
Are the words of our Prophet, sweeter 
Than Islam hath ever known ; 

18 Texts culled from the holy Gospel, 

That comfort, refresh, sustain, 
And shine with a rarer lustre 

Than the gems of the Hindoo fane. 

19 The plan of the temple, only 

Its architect understands ; 
And yet He accepts (Oh, wonder ! ) 
The helping of human hands ! 



20 And so, for the work's progression, 

He is willing that great and small 
Should bring Him their bits of carving, 
So needed, to fill the wall. 

21 Not one does the Master-Builder 

Disdainfully cast away : 
Why, even He takes the chipping*, 
We women have brought to-day! 

22 Oh ! not' the dead — to the living, 

We rear on the earth He trod, 
This fane to His lasting glory — 
This Church to the Christ of God ! 

23 Why labor and strive ? we have promised 

(And dare not the vow recall ?) 
To do it, because we love Him, 
We love Him, and that is all. 

24 For over the Church's portal, 

Each pillar and arch above, 
The Master has set one signet, 

And graven one watchword — Love. 

MARGARET J. PRESTON. 

Lexington, Va. January, 1882. 



A PEN FOR THE MASTER'S USE. 

1 ' Tis a pen for the Master's using, 

With a value not its own, 
Though its gold is bright, its ivory white 

And its point of precious stone. 
Of itself as we look upon it, 

It writes out thoughts of love, 
While it lies in place in its velvet case, 

With a name that is dear above. 

2 For the name of Mary Campbell 

On the lining of the case, 
That has edges worn and leather torn, 

With brimming eyes we trace. 
The touch of her vanished fingers 

Wore the brazen hook away. 
Do you wonder then that the golden pen 

Is a sacred thing to-day ? 

3 Below the name is " Christmas," 

With " eighteen seventy-five," 
And an ink-stain, made when she sometime laid 

Her unwiped pen aside. 
Though when and where, we question, 

Came the hurried call, 
The pen says not, and the inky blot 

Holds the history of it all. 

4 The Master always uses 

The nearest pen of all 
When he sends requests to his wedding guests 

To come to His banquet hall. 
This pen that was ever ready 

Sent a brother the message sweet, 
Of a robe to wear, a feast to share, 

And a Master dear to greet. 






374 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



5 The little one answered gladly, 

He came to the banquet spread, 
He leaned at the feast on the Master's breast, 

He heard every word He said, 
And the dear Lord loved him fondly, 

And bid him ever stay 
In an upper room of the palace home, 

And the boy is there to-day. 

6 This pen in girlish fingers 

Sent through loving hearts a thrill 
When it wrote, " My all is at His call, 

Just when and where He will. 
What if that where should call me 

To cross the ocean wave ! 
If the Lord should lead, could you bid me speed, 

His falling grain to save ? " 

7 The answer came back quickly, 

From a pen that was near of kin : 
" ' Tis your Father's prayer that you leave your 
' where ' 

With the Lord and follow Him ; " 
And the mother heart, all loyal, 

Replied with throbs of pain, 
" Our gift once laid, with a covenant made, 

We will not take again." 

8 So the pen wrote of a journey 

Over mountain and ocean told. 
And the fresh young heart showed in every part 

A gladness it could not hold. 
And the joy grew ever stronger 

As the distance grew in length, 
' Twixt herself alone and her very own, 

For " the joy of the Lord is strength." 

9 The pen then wrote of the harvest 

That stretched to the distance dim. 
' Twas the reaper's pain that the Master's grain 

Ungathered lay for Him. 
The call she gave fell feebly 

On ears that did not heed ; 
But the echo grew when the call was through 

" The harvest yet hath need." 

10 It reached the ears of maidens 

Who sat at ease that day : 
They rose from the door, looked tha wbite fields 
o'er, 

" The reaper has fallen," they say ; 
" We must save the Master's harvest, 

For a storm is coming on." 
Their sickles they clasp with a hearty grasp, 

To the scorching fields are gone. 

11 And other good reapers are going 

When their sickles are whetted keen, 
And we know right well where our reaper fell, 

Will the Master's best be seen. 
And only when nothing but stubble 

Is left where the harvest grew, 
Will this pen be done with the work begun, 

This life with this living be through. 



12 " What I have written, is written," 

Said one who on Calvary stood; 
And little we tho't of the meaning well- wrought 

In those words both of evil and good. 
For that which is written may circle 

With gladness for many a year, 
And a pen, in a hand with beauty outlined, 

May pierce His dear heart like a spear. 

13 We are only safe when clinging 

To the cross at lowest part, 
And the words we write with its base in sight 

Cannot hurt His wounded heart. 
The pens that are anointed 

With His sweet, sacred touch, 
Are the pens alone that He calls His own, 

That He loves and uses much. 

14 There is many a fair young writer, 

Holding her pen alone, 
Needing so much the Master's touch 

To make her words His own. 
His hand, that is true and steady, 

On her He would gladly lay ; 
Then, the words of her pen may be writ again, 

With joy on the Judgment Day. 

ALICE W, MILLIQAN. 1882. 



"AS I HAVE LOVED YOU." 

" It was the communion day in our church, and the service proceeded 
as usual. My thoughts were all of my own vmworthiness and Christ's 
lore to me, until Mr. E. asked the question nobody ever notices, ' Has 
anyone been omitted in the distribution of the bread?' Anditseemedto 
me I could see millions on millions of women rising silently in India, 
Africa, Siam, Persia, in all the countries where they need the Lord, but 
know Him not, to testify that they have been ' omitted in the distribu- 
tion of bread and cup,' And they cau take it from no hands hut ours, 
and we do not pass it on. Can Jesus make heaven so sweet aud calm 
that we can forgive ourselves this great neglect of the millions living 
now for whom the body was broken and the blood shed just as much as 
for us?"— Extract from letter of H. R. E. 

1 The feast was spread, the solemn words were spoken. 

Humbly my soul approached to meet her Lord, 
To plead His sacrificial body broken — 
His blood for me outpoured. 

2 Confessing all my manifold transgression, 

To weep and cast myself before His throne, 
Praying His Spirit to take full possession, 
And seal me all His own. 

3 On Him I laid each burden I was bearing : 

The anxious mind, of strength so oft bereft, 
The future dim, the children of my caring — 
All on His heart I left. 

4 " How could I live, my Lord," I cried, " without 

Thee, 
How for a single day this pathway trace, 
And feel no loving arm thrown round about me, 
No all-sustaining grace ? 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. SONGS, HEADINGS AND RECITATIONS FOR YOUNG LADIES' SOCIETIES. 375 



Oh ! show me how to thank Thee, praise Thee, love 
Thee, 

For Thy rich gifts bestowed on worthless me ; 
For the bright hope that spans the sky above me, 

The promised home with Thee !" 

As if indeed He spoke the answer, fitted 
Into my prayer, the pastor's voice came up: 

" Let any rise, if they have been omitted 
When passed the bread and cup." 

Instant before my inward, open vision 

Millions of faces crowded up to view ; 
Sad eyes that said : " For us is no provision ; 

Give us your Saviour, too !" 
Sorrowful women's faces, hungry, yearning, 

Dull with despair, or dark with sin and dread ; 
Worn with long weeping for the unreturning ; 

Hopeless, uncomforted. 

" Give us," they cry, " your cup of consolation, 

Which ne'er to our outreaching hands is passed ; 
We long for this desire of every nation, 

And, Oh ! we die so fast ! 
" Does He not love us too, this loving Master ? 

And only from your hand can we receive 
The bounty of His grace. Oh ! send it faster, ■ 

That we may take and live ! 

" Master," I said, as from a dream awaking, 
" Is this the service Thou dost show to me ? 

Dost Thou to me entrust the bread for breaking 
To these who cry for Thee ? 

" Dear Heart of Love, canst Thou forgive the 
blindness 

That let Thy child sit selfish and at ease, 
By the full table of Thy loving kindness, 

And take no thought for these ? 

" As Thou hast loved me, let me love ; returning 
To these dark souls the grace Thou givest me : 

And, Oh ! to me impart Thy deathless yearning 
To draw the lost to Thee ! 

" Nor let me cease to spread Thy glad salvation 
Till Thou shalt call me to partake above, 

Where the redeemed of every tribe and nation 
Sit at Thy feast of Love !" 

a, y. h. 1881. 



NO IDOL IN THE HEART. 

Brightly the sun's last glowing beams 

Crimsoned his native sea, 
As slowly on the Indian shore 

A Parsee bent the knee. 
Devotion in his upturned face 

Seemed strangely blent with fear ; 
He knelt, till 'neath the fading wave 

His god should disappear. 



2 Then tremulous he rose and walked 

That pilgrim-trodden strand, 
And, bowing, with his finger traced 

His thought upon the sand; 
" God " — ' twas the burden of his thought, 
" My God, and must we part ? 
Shall thy bright beams no more receive 

The homage of my heart ? 

3 "Has all my worship been in vain? 

My soul believes it true — 
Blest teachers of the living God, 

I henceforth go with you. 
Thou sun — so long the God before 

Whose glory I have bowed, 
Farewell ! when thou again shalt rise 

No doubts my soul shall cloud. 

4 " The God who made thee calls me now ! 

With thee as God I part ; 
No idol henceforth in my hand — 
No idol in my heart ! " 



5 Along the shore of memory's sea, 

Where high the dark waves rolled, 
A stricken mother bowed in grief 

That would not be controlled. 
"He was my own, my only one, 

My life with his was blent ; 
I could not for a moment think 

He was a treasure lent. 

6 "When from his cheek the crimson hue 

Grew pale as fades the leaf ;■ 
When from his eye the light withdrew, 

My soul owned no relief. 
My God," I cried, " and wilt thou not 

My life's best treasure spare ? " 
There was no answering voice of love, 
And all was deep despair. 

7 My God," again I cried, " and can 

A worshipper like me, 
Who can permit an angel child 

To blot out joy in Thee ; 
Can such a worshipper still claim 

In Thy pure bliss a part ? 
Henceforth no idol in my hand, 

No idol in my heart ! " 

8 God is enough, the mourner sings, 

When trust succeeds to doubt ; 
God is enough, the Parsee finds, 

Though suns be blotted out. 
Oh ! solemn as the prayer may be, 

'Tis of my life a part ; 
No idol in my hand henceforth, 

No idol in my heart. 

JULIA P. BALLARD. 
Wife of Prof. A. Ballard, D. ». 
Lafayette College, Easton, Perm. 



370 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



OVER AGAINST THE TREASURY. 

1 Over against the Treasury this day 

The Master silent sits, while unaware 
Of that Celestial Presence, still and fair, 
The people pass or pause, upon their way. 

2 And some go laden with His treasures sweet, . 

And dressed in costly robes of His device ; 
Yet, bearing hearts of stone and souls of ice, 
They bring no token to the Master's feet. 

3 And some pass, gayly singing, to and fro, 

And cast a careless gift before His face 
Amongst the treasures of His holy place, 
But kneel to crave no blessing ere they go. 

4 And some are travel-worn, their eyes are dim, 

They touch His shining vesture as they pass, 
But see not even darkly through a glass 
How sweet might be their trembling gifts to Him. 

5 And still the hours roll on ; serene and fair 

The Master keeps His watch, but who can tell 
The thoughts that in His tender spirit swell, 
As one by one we pass Him unaware ? 

6 For this is He who on one awful day 

Cast down for us a price so vast and dread 
That He was left for our sakes bare and dead 
Having given Himself our mighty debt to pay. 

7 Oh ! shall unworthy gifts once more be thrown 

Into His Treasury, by whose death we live ? 
Or shall we now embrace His cross, and give 
Ourselves, and all we have, to Him alone ? 

B. M., in " India's Women." 



3 Fear ! — what had he to do with fear, 

Who ventured forth abroad, 
Unpiloted, through pathless space, 

By angels only trod ? 
Who wandered with unfailing flight 

Creation's vastness o'er, 
And brought to light an infinite, 

So inconceived before. 

4 When gazing on those worlds which first 

He was allowed to scan, 
How puny would appear the aims 

And littleness of man ! 
And proud his inward consciousness, 

That he had dared to be 
A sharer in the mysteries 

Of God's immensity. 

5 When back to earth he turned again, 

Such brilliant visions past, 
How most contemptible would seem 

The trammels round him cast. 
And yet his lofty character 

Submitted to the stain ; 
And lulling Ignorance entwined 
Her weak, Delilah chain. 

6 Strange that the ray which beamed for him 

With such intense delight, 
Should for a single moment lose 

Its glory in his sight ; 
Strange that the eye whose strength could pierce 

From world to world afar, 
Should suffer fear to cloud the blaze 

Of Truth's diviner star ! 



M \J',i vi:et junkin. 1847. 



A PLEA FOR AFRICA. 



GALILEO BEFORE THE INQUISITION. 

1 Why wrapped he not a martyr's robe 

Around his lofty form? 
Why bore he not with dauntless brow 

The bursting of the storm ? 
Why cringed the mind that proudly soared 

Where others gazed dismayed 
With servile will before the power 

Whose grasp was on him laid ? 

2 They tell us it was fear that bowed 

His mighty spirit, when 
He stooped beneath the rusty links 

Of superstition's chain. 
The dungeon cell was dark, — and light 

Was pleasant to his eye, 
And, holy though the truth, for it 

He did not dare to die. 



1 With doors unbarred our Afric stands 

Ready for entrance now. 
The long-locked mysteries of her heart, 

Her woe-encircled brow, 
The heathen spells about her hung, 
Plead in each wild unlettered tongue 
To God's advancing gospel host, 
" Back from the coast ! back from the coast !' 

2 Beyond the mangrove's deadly line, 

Where lurks the fever sprite ; 
Beyond, where forests dense entwine 

In ever-dismal night, 
The inland fertile plains invite 
Brave messengers of Truth and Light, 
And Freedom's own unfettered host, 
" Back from the coast ! back from the coast-' 

3 Where Lua-la-ba threads its way 

Through lake and mountain bold, 
Beside Zambesi's torrent spray, 

One has God's message told. 
Yet, what delays the full, bright morn 
To be o'er Afric's uplands borne, 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. SONGS, READINGS AND RECITATIONS FOR YOUNG LADIES' SOCIETIES. $?J 



Where Congo and Ogove's tide 
Through mountain barriers wander wide, 
While countless thousands dark and lost 
Fill vast unknowns " back from the coast ?' : 

O friends ! O Christian souls at rest ! 

Look from your watch-towers' height ; 
O hearts, the noblest and the best ! 

See ! morning breaks the night. 
Up, onward with the Atlantic wave, 
God-given your power to lift, to save ! 



NASSAU. 

For the "Woman's Foreign Missionary Day," 

at the Seaside Sabbath-School Assembly, 

Asbury Park, IT. J., August 9, 1881. 



5 Diverse though our paths in life may be, 

Each is sent some mission to fulfill ; 
Fellow-workers in the world are we, 

While we seek to do our Master's will ; 
But our doom is labor, while the day 
Points us to our task, with blessed ray, 
For the night cometh ! 

6 Fellow-workers are we : hour by hour, 

Human tools are shaping Heaven's great schemes, 
Till we see no limit to man's power 

And reality outstrips old dreams. 
Toil and struggle, therefore, work and weep, 
In God's acre ye shall calmly sleep, 
When the night cometh ! 



tw. Mrars. 



Mrs. Embury, daughter of Dr. Manly , a popular physician of his times, 
was born in New Yoik. Her husband was a gentleman of wealth, educa- 
tion, and high intellectual attainments. During Mrs, Embury's early 
days she wrote under the name of Ianthe ; and in 1828, these articles were 
collected into a volume called Guldo and other Poems. Her last prose 
works were Female Education, Constance Latum r, the blind airl, and 
Glimpses of Home Life. After marriage her home was in Brooklyn, and 
it was frequently remarked that her well-kept "Model home" was a refu- 
tation of the charge frequently made that women of genius cannot be 
women of domestic work. Women of the best literary ability have not 
been the ones to neglect the plain duties of home life. 



THE NIGHT COMETH. 

1 Ye, who in the field of human life 

Quickening seeds of wisdom fain would sow, 
Pause not for the angry tempest's strife, 

Shrink not from the moontide's fervid glow ; 
Labor on, while yet the light of day 
Shed abroad its pure and blessed ray, 
For the night cometh ! 

2 Ye who at man's mightiest engine stand, 

Moulding noble thoughts into opinion, 
Oh ! stay not for weariness your hand, 

Till ye fix the bounds of truth's dominion ; 
Labor on, while yet the light of day 
Shed upon your toil its blessed ray, 
For the night cometh ! 

3 Ye, to whom a prophet voice is given, 

Stirring men as by a trumpet's call, 
Utter forth the oracles of Heaven ; 

Earth gives back the echoes as they fall: 
Rouse the world's great heart, while yet the day 
Breaks life's slumber with its blessed ray, 
For the night cometh ! 

4 Ye who in home's narrow circle dwell, 

When Love's flame lights up the household hearth, 
Weave the silken bond, and frame the spell, 

Binding heart to heart throughout the earth; 
Pleasant toil is yours ; the light of day 
On naught holier sheds its blessed ray, 
Yet the night cometh ! 



SIMEON AND THE CHILD JESUS 



1 In Jerusalem Saint Simeon 

Sat upon the housetop, still, 
In the evening, when the sunset 

Glittered over Zion's hill, 
Where the golden temple lifting 

Its fair towers and arches high, 
Caught the crimson rays reflected 

As they blazed athwart the sky, 

Dazzling to the gazer's eye. 

2 Here for ages God had given 

Promise of a coming One, 
Who should be unto His people, 

Leader, Light, unsetting Sun ; 
And dispelling all the shadows, 

And the mysteries of their time, 
Lead them into clearer pathways, 

Into heights of joy sublime, 

Where the pure and holy climb. 

3 Many mighty kings and prophets 

Long had waited for this Light ; 
After years of anxious watching 

They had died without the sight. 
Many and many a Jewish mother, 

As she clasped her eldest born, 
Thought perchance, the early dawning 

Of the long-expected morn, 

Broke at last o'er earth forlorn. 

4 Patient yet, Saint Simeon waited, 

For once, at the evening hour ; 
He had seen a glorious vision 

Shining like a golden tower ; 
From its height an angel darted 

On a wing of silver light ; 
Bringing to his ear this message : 
" Thou shalt never see death's blight, 

Till the Star shall greet thy sight* 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



5 So the faithful patriarch waited, 

Though his locks were white as snow ; 

Wondering how the Lord was coming : 
Whether in a golden glow 

Of earth's pomp, and power, and splendor, 
Or if He were gentle, meek ; 

Calling all the contrite-hearted 
Unto Him, their rest to seek : 
Hoping He were gentle, meek. 



1 1 On her breast a babe is nestling ; 

In her hands a gift she bears, 
While her heart seems overflowing 

With her earnest, grateful pra3 r ers. 
Soft, her deep brown eyes seem peering 

Through the depths of future years 
With prophetic gaze ; adoring 

God unseen ; while grateful tears 

Mingle with the smiles she wears- 



6 Thus he mused, the aged Simeon, 

Till the sunset glories dim, 
Faded, and from out the temple 

Floated sweet the evening hymn ; 
Pealing soft, the sacred music 

Swept along the evening air, 
With it, as it rose to heaven, 

Blended was the patriarch's prayer 

Which he breathed so fervent there. 

7 When the silent stars of midnight 

O'er the slumbering city shone, 
Still upon the house-top lingering, 

Aged Simeon sat alone ; 
Waiting, watching, praying ; sleeping 

When at last the midnight came ; 
Sleeping, dreaming that the glory 

He had prayed for, glowed in flame, 

Hiding all their nation's shame. 

8 Suddenly a song awaked him. 

Whence the music, heavenly sweet? 
Was it sound ? or was it echo, 

Where all harmonies do meet ? 
In the East a light was shining 

Brighter than the morning star ! 
'Twas a band of angels sweeping 

Upward, toward the gates ajar. 

9 As the pearly gates swing open 

To receive them out of sight, 
Strains of harmony reecho 

Through the arches of the night. 
Simeon lists ! he lists, and wonders ; 

And his heart receives the sign. 
" Blessed Lord ! my prayer is answered ; 

And salvation now is mine, 

I would worship at Thy shrine." 

10 Days passed on. The waiting prophet 
Still more silent, thoughtful grew, 

As toward the temple turning 
Every morn in hope he drew ; 

Then at last, one fair, bright morning, 
By the Spirit led along, 

He beholds a gentle mother 

Coming with the eager throng, 
As the Levites chant their song. 



12 Then Saint Simeon clasped the infant 
In his arms, and blessed his God 
That his eyes had seen this Scion 
Fragrant bloom from Jesse's rod. 
" Light to lighten all the Gentiles, 
Israel's glory, shining too ; 
Sure salvation of the faithful 

Who have watched the long years thro; 
As the silent sages do." 



13 Then he blest the wondering mother, 
And of coming trials told, 
Which the years, so swiftly fleeing, 

To her vision would unfold. 
Then content with this rich blessing,. 
Lowly bows his hoary head : 
" Lord ! now lettest thou Thy servant 
Die in peace, as Thou hast said ! " 
Rest in peace, thou holy dead. 



THEN. 
Rev. xxi : 1-4. 



" The former things are passed away ! " 
No more shall night succeed the day ; 
In heaven shall roll no surging sea, 
From all life's storms that world is free. 
The heavenly city as a bride 
Adorned, in splendor glorified, 
Descends to fill the earth redeemed ; 
'Twas thus the holy prophet dreamed : 

" I heard a great voice out of heaven, 
Behold, what grace to us is given ! 
For God returns to dwell with men, 
And earth is Eden-like again." 
Aye ! God shall wipe all tears away, 
No gloom of death shall cloud the day 
No sorrow, pain, or death shall dim 
The glory we shall share with Him. 
golden city ! radiant, fair ! 
No blight of time shall enter there, 
Where all shall share a Father's love, 
And He their praises shall approve ! 

EMILY P. WILLI?. MB. J874 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. TRIBUTES TO, AND PRAYERS FOR OUR MISSIONARIES. 



37t» 



SAD, BENIGHTED SOULS ARE CRYING. 



SUITABLE FOR FAREWELL MEETINGS, OR PRAISE MEETINGS. 
MARY A. LEAVITT'S Poem, "Echoes from Mt. Olivet." 



MRS. G. W. BAXTER 



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FOREIGN MISSIONS. TRIBUTES TO, AND PRAYERS FOR OUR MISSIONARIES. 



381 



HERALDS OF ZION. 

ag them in the name of 1 
. xxiii. 19. 

1 Glad as the morning, swift as the light, 

Heralds of Zion, go forth in might ; 
Over the mountain, over the deep, 

Go where the heathen weep. 
Chorus. 
Far and wide the Sabbath music roll, 

Peace and Joy for each benighted soul ; 
Labor and triumph, God will provide. 

Tell them, tell them, tell them that Jesus died. 

2 Earnest and eager, glad hearts of youth, 

Soft hands of childhood, speed on the truth ; 
List to the children over the sea, 
Crying for help from Thee. 

3 Free as the sunshine, wide as its ray, 

Tidings of gladness, haste on your way, 
Healing the sorrow, loosing the chain, 
Teaching that Christ shall reign. 

4 Clothed with salvation, shielded with might, 

Heralds of Zion, bear on the light, 
Over the desert, waiting for Thee, 
See how the shadows flee. 

PRISCILLA J. OWENS. 

Set to music by ASA hull. From " Golden Sheaf." 

Copyright, 1870, Asa Hull. 

PRAYER FOR OUR MISSIONARIES 
CROSSING THE SEA. 



1 Star of peace, to wanderers weary, 

Bright the beams that smile on me ; 
Cheer the pilot's vision dreary, 
Far at sea, the deep blue sea. 

2 Star of hope, gleam on the billow ; 

Bless the soul that sighs for thee ; 
Bless our sister's lonely pillow, 
Far at sea, the deep blue sea. 

3 Star of faith, when winds are mocking, 

And in prayer she flies to thee, 
Save her on the billows rocking, 
Far at sea, the treacherous sea. 

JANE C. B. SIMPSON. 



3 Mountains shall sink to plains, 
And hell in vain oppose ; 
■ The cause is God's — and will prevail, 
In spite of all His foes. 



MKS. VOKE. 



PREACH THE GOSPEL. 



1 Ye messengers of Christ ! 

His sovereign voice obey ; 
Arise, and follow where He leads, 
And peace attend your way. 

2 The Master, whom yon serve, 

Will needful strength bestow; 
Depending on His promised aid, 
With sacred courage go. 



ONWARD, ONWARD, MEN OF HEAVEN- 

1 Onward, onward, men of heaven ! 

Bear the gospel banner high ; 
Rest not till its light is given — 

Star of every pagan sky ; 
Send it where the pilgrim stranger 

Faints beneath the torrid ray ; 
Bid the hardy forest ranger 

Hail it ere he fades away. 

2 Where the Arctic ocean thunders, 

Where the tropics fiercely glow, 
Broadly spread its page of wonders, 

Brightly bid its jadiance flow ; 
India marks its luster stealing ; 

Shiv'ring Greenland loves its rays ; 
Afric, 'mid her deserts kneeling, 

Lifts the untaught strain of praise. 

3 Rude in speech, or wild in feature, 

Dark in spirit, though they be, 
Show that light to every creature — 

Prince or vassal, bond or free : 
Lo ! they haste to every nation ; 

Host on host the ranks supply ; 
Onward ! Christ is your salvation, 

And your death is victory ! 



SIQOTTKNEY. 



THE MISSIONARIES' DEPARTURE. 

1 The crown of thorns He wore, 

Whose kingdom yet shall smile 
From ocean's farthest shore, 

And every heathen isle ; 
And we would count all else as loss 
To spread the glory of His cross. 

2 Where bright with gold their lands, 

And diamonds star the mine, 
The thorn of darkness stands 

And souls in bondage pine ; 
We go to sound the jubilee 
To all who will in Christ be free. 

3 They die, where rose and palm, 

And cassia nourish fair, 
For want of Gilead's balm, 

And a Physician there. 
Their grounds o'er run with sin and woe, 
We go with light and life to sow. 



382 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



"While in that distant field 

To serve our heavenly King, 
Of faith we bear the shield, 

And of salvation sing, 
His banner o'er us will be love, 
Our Comforter, the Holy Dove, 
No victim's blood must flow 

Our paths of peace to stain, 
As forth we march to show 

The Lamb for sinners slain. 
His veins have pour'd the sacred 
Whose power the soul from death redeems. 
Now, o'er the rolling seas 

A Saviour's name to bear, 
Our sails are to the breeze, 

To God our parting prayer. 
We leave our native shores, and know 
The Christian hath no home below! 
Friends, kindred, all, adieu! 

Though through our earthly days, 
So vapor-like and few, 

We're hence as parted rays, 
On high may we surround the Sun 
Of Righteousness, in Him made one ! 



GOOD BYE OFFERING TO MISSIONARIES. 

Few women have done more for the cause of Foreign Missions, than 
has the author of the following "Good bye offering." 

To hear such testimony of a person, is to know that such a one is also 
thoroughly devoted to the home, and Home Missions. That clear vision 
enabling one to see over into those dark and distant places of earth, is 
not gran ted until the heart has first been touched by, and has responded 
to, the home needs. 

Mrs. Carrie L. Post is known far and wide as a constant and conse- 
crated worker, though a quiet :and unobtrusive one, in whatever her 
heart and hand findeth to do. 

Thirteen years ago, when Miss Jennie Chapin went as a missionary to 
China, Mrs. Post— "Aunt Carrie," asshe is familiarly and lovingly called 
by all the young people— organized the "Jenny Chapin Helpers," a society 
which has done most effective work under her superintendency. andhas 
been the means of stimulating other like organizations into more active 
service for the Master. 

Her elegant home is always open for the workers in any good cause, 
and time and money are freely given, yet in such a manner that her left 
hand knoweth not what the right doeth. 

FOR A READING OR RECITATION. 

May " Peace," be on the waters 

And safety on the land, 
When the consecrated daughters 

Of our missionary band, 

Swiftly speeding on their way, 
Haste to tell the glad " old story," 

Of a Saviour — Christ — our God ; 
Doing all things for His glory, 

Ready for His smile, or rod. 
No vain tears for home receding, 

Or for faces fair and kind ; 
Haste thee where sad voices pleading 

Ask for " Bread," they cannot find. 



Blessed mission ! brightest honor 

Christian woman e'er could crave, 
"Will of God," hath laid upon her 

This co-work with Christ — to save. 
He who slept upon His pillow, 

Though His soul was wide awake, 
Still controls old ocean's billows ; 

Trust Him — trust Him, for His sake. 



CARRIE L. POST. 
Springfield, 111. 



THE MISSIONARY. 

1 Behold him, Heaven-sent to nations rude, — 
With prayerful soul, in some sweet solitude. 
Ah ! why, with softening heart, yet soul serene, 
Gazes he thus upon the varied scene ? 

Has witching mem'ry, with mysterious power, 
By song of joyous bird, or sight of flower, 
Brought other scenes and other claims to view, 
Where sever'd hearts exchanged a last adieu ? 

2 Though pleasing to his soul the dream of home, 
And the sweet memories that with it come, 
Now higher cares engross, — to pour the light 
Of heaven on lands long veil'd in error's night. 
Nor vainly. Lo ! where pagan altars rose, 
The Christian temple in the sunlight glows, 
And those who bow'd to gods of wood and stone, 
Bend in Thy courts, God ! to Thee alone. 

SP.LINA SHERMAN. 



pss faun 1. f atimer. 

Miss Laura M. Latimer was, for so-ae time, a missionary to Mexico, 
under the auspicesof the Philadelphia Board of the Presbyterian Church. 
She was a faithful worker, and her brilliant talents as a writer did her 
good service while in the field, which she left one year ago. much to the 
regret of many interested in the spiritual condition of Mexico. 1885. 

CROWN HIM LORD OF ALL. 

In 1835, when Dr. Webb and other missionaries sailed, the last words 
they heard from their native land were "Crown Him Lord of all.' 

1 They hushed their breath, that noble band, 

To catch the last farewell ; 
The dear home shore receding fast 

With every ocean swell. 
Above the city's noise and din 

A song rose on the air — 
A song of triumph and of joy 

From loved ones gathered there. 

2 All hail the power of Jesus' name ! 

And, clear as bugle call, 
The words came floating on the air, 

Oh ! crown Him Lord of all ! 
They caught the spirit of the hymn, 

Danger and death looked small 
To those brave ones, who gave their lives 

To crown Him Lord of all. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. TRIBUTES TO, AND PRAYERS FOR OUR MISSIONARIES. 



383 



3 A battle-hymn, that song sped on, 

The world for Christ, the call, 
For every island of the sea 

Shall crown Him Lord of all. 
On Himalaya's sunny slope, 

By Delhi's kingly wall, 
They lay their lives down at His feet, 

And crown Him Lord of all. 

4 The Southern Cross begins to bend, 

The morning dawns at last, 
Idol and shrine and mosque and tower 

At Jesus' feet are cast. 
Triumphant Zion, lift thy head, 

Let every burden fall, 
Come, cast your trophies at His feet, 

And crown Him Lord of all ! 

LAURA. M. LATIMER, 
Phelps, N. Y. 

YE ARE MY WITNESSES. 

RECITATION. 

O ye to whom the " word of life " hath brought 
The feet of gladness and the voice of joy, 
Speed ye upon the highways of the earth, 
And through the by-ways bear the good, great news. 
Fear not to spread the message of the King, 
1 For ye are not your own," ye are the Christ's, 
And Christ is God's, and God is all the world's, 
Aye, all creation's ; for He serveth all 
And is the Master by the need of Him, 
E en as the Teacher said, Servant of all 
Is greatest in the Kingdom of our God ; 
A kingdom not of this world short. and small, 
But lying in the unseen land of souls, 
That living land, by living waters fed. 
Then go ye to the hungry hearts of men, 
And hold ye forth the " Bread of life," and cry 
To all who pass, that they may taste and see 
That it hath nurture for them and is sweet ; 
And learn that he who eateth hungereth not 
For that he evermore may eat again ; 
That they shall buy no more what is not meat, 
Shall no more toil and plan, and strive and war 
For gains of gold, power, luxury, and art 
That perish with the using, and are gone, 
While there is that which groweth with the use 
And can be, for the using, ever had. 
Speak, for this lasting food our Lord hath lain 
As burden on the blessed heart and hand, 
Give, and it shall be given ye again, 
Withhold, it turns to ashes in the clasp ; 
Then stand ye in the Master's name and serve 
Wherever souls are born, and lives are lived, 
Proclaim that there is balm in Gilead 
For every heart, fresh balm from buds of joy, 
Stand where the snows of winter white the earth ; 
Stand where the heat of summer parch the land ; 
Sing on the mountains ; in the valleys tell ; 
Talk by the river ; answer, on the plains, 
To him who asketh ye of your good hope, 



Labor and wait ! The summer of the Lord 
Runneth the whole round year. The " tree of life : 
Hath not one month, alone, to drop its fruit. 
And is it hard ? aye, and it is not hard. 
The yoke is easy when it fits the neck ; 
The burden light upon the willing back. 
And ye would sit close at the hand of Him, 
And share His power? If ye are able, come! 
But can ye drink the cup and be baptized 
With that baptism to which He bowed His head ? 
Then are ye kings and priests unto our God, 
And ye do reign with Him the ages long. 

_ AURILLA FUBER. 

Cottage Grove, Minn. 1881. 






Irs. Stairs II f Jnrstar. 



"Mrs. Laura M. Thurston was a daughter of Earl P. Hawley of Norfolk, 
where she was born in December, 1812. 

In September, 1839, she was married to Franklin Thurston, at that time 
a merchant of New Albany, where she continued to reside until the 
time of her death, which occured on the 21st of July, 1842. 

She contributed a number of poetical articles to to the periodicals, 
under the signature of "Viola," soma of which obtained an extensiT» 
circulation. 



PARTING HYMN. 

1 Brethren we are parting now, 

Here perchance to meet no more, 
Well may sorrow cloud each brow, 

That another dream is o'er. 
Life is fraught with changeful dreams, 

Ne'er to-morrow as to-day ; 
Scarce we catch their transient gleams, 

Ere they melt and fade away. 

2 But upon the brow of night, 

See the morning star arise, 
With unchanging holy light, 

Gilding all the Eastern skies. 
Bethlehem's Star ! of yore it blazed, 

Gleaming on Judea's brow, 
While the wondering Maji gazed ; 

Brethren, let it guide us now. 

3 Guide us over land and sea, 

Where the tribes in darkness mourn ; 
Where no Gospel jubilee 

Bids the ransomed ones return ; 
Or, beneath our own blue skies, 

Where our green savannahs spread, 
Let me bid that Star arise 

And its beams of healing shed. 

4 Shall we shrink from pain and strife 

While our Captain leads the way ? 
Shall we, for the love of life, 

Cast a Saviour's life away ? 
Rather gird His armor on, 

Fight the battles of the Lord, 
Till the victory be won, 

And we gain our long reward. 



384 



W03I AN /iV SACRED SONG 



Oh ! may many a radiant gem, 

Souls redeemed by us from woe, 
Sparkle in the diadem 

That our Leader shall bestow, 
Change and trial here maj' come; 

But no grief may haunt the breast ; 
When we reach our heavenly home, 

Find our everlasting rest. 
Broken is our household band, 

Hushed awhile our evening hymns ; 
But there is a better land 

Where no tears the eye shall dim ; 
There is heard no farewell tone, 

On that bright and peaceful shore ; 
There no parting grief is known, 

For they meet to part no more. 



LAURA M. THURSTON. 



%\t lata family 



The only member of the original Judson family, so far as we know, who 
yet survives, is Miss Abigail Judson, a sister of Dr. Judson. She resides 
at Plymouth, Mass., and has there lived many years, in a home fronting 
the sea. She is now quite aged, but retains a clear mind and interest in 
the church of God. 

In Hamilton, N. Y., yet lives Miss Catharine Chubbuck, sister of 
"Fanny Forrester." The latter, as is well known, became the wife of Dr. 
Judson, and after his death, sbe returned to Hamilton, her early home, 
where she died, and where her body lies buried. 

Dr. George D. Boardman is the son of Mrs. Boardman, who became 
the second Mrs. Judson. His eloquent ministry in Philadelphia has just 
finished its fifteenth year. 

Adoniram Judson, M. D., the eldest son of Dr. Judson and of Mrs. S. 
B. Judson, is an accomplished and rising physician in New York. 

Miss Abigail B. 3 udson is a sister of the last-named son, and is an 
accomplished teacher. At present she is principal of one department of 
the institution at College Hill, near Cincinnati. 

Mr. Henry Judson is the only one who has resolved to wrestle with 
"the stubborn glebe." He has a farm in fertile Illinois. He also is a son 
of Sarah B. Judson. 

Rev. Edward Judson is a young pastor whose work has been so won- 
derful blessed in Orange, N. J., and in New York City. He is the 
youngest son of Dr. Judson and of Sarah B. Judson. Blessed is she 
among women who left such sons. 

The only child of Dr. Judson and of Emily C. Judson, who survives, is 
Emily Frances Judson, who in 1870 became the wife of Rev. Thomas A, 
T. Hanna. She is a noble Christian woman. It was of herthat her gifted 
mother wrote the beautiful poem entitled "My Bird." 

Editor "Advance." 
1884. 

JUDSON'S GRAVE. 

1 He had borne the rod, 

He had taught of God, 
Through him was a nation bless'd, 

Though the ocean now 
Rolls o'er his brow, 

Yet sweet is his tranquil rest. 

2 ' Neath the drifting wave, 

Is the " Teacher's " grave, 
Where none may e'er repair 

With a loving heart, 
To bestow in part, 

Affection's offerings there. 



3 Yet with all that sleep, 
In the mighty deep, 
At the great Archangel's tread, 

He will early rise 
To the joyous skies, 

When the sea gives up its dead. 

MRS, L. H. WASHINGTON. 1851. 
From "Echoes of Song." 

WE PART ON THIS GREEN ISLET. 

To the Editor of the. Mother's Journal, New York. 

My dear Sister : I send you the accompanying lines by my late 
beloved wife, written on board ship, near the Isle of France, when she 
was so decidedly convalescent that it appeared to be my duty to return 
to Mauimain, and leave her to prosecute the voyage alone. After we 
arrived, however, at the island, she became worse, and I was obliged to 
relinquish my first purpose. She continued to decline until we reached 
St. Helena, when she took her departure, not for the "setting sun," but 
the sun of glory that never sets, and left me to pursue a different course, 
and under very different circumstances from those anticipated in the 
lines. A. JUDSON. 

Dr. Judson was sent in 1812 by the American Board, as a missionary 
to Burmah. He died iu 1850. 

1 We part on this green islet, love, — 

Thou for the eastern main, 
I for the setting sun, love, 
Oh ! when to meet again ! 

2 My heart is sad for thee, love, 

For lone thy way will be ; 
And oft thy tears will fall, love, 
For thy children and for me. 

3 But higher shall our raptures glow 

On yon celestial plain, 
When loved and parted here below, 
Meet, ne'er to part again. 

4 Then gird thine armor on, love, 

Nor faint thou by the way, 
Till Boodh shall fall, and Burmah 
Shall own Messiah's sway. 

SARAH BOARDMAN JUDSON. 

The author of the above was the second wife of Dr. Judson. Her 
son, Rev. Dana Boardman, is the talented and successful pastor of a 
Baptist Church in Philadelphia at the present time. 

When a child, with his mother in Burmah, he used to accompany her 
when she went to teach in the harems. 



firs. <&m\u Ittkm. 



Emily Chubbuck was born at Morrisvilie, in the State of New York, in 
1817. She was at first a teacher and afterwards pursued a literary career, 
under the name of "Fanny Forester." She was employed by Dr. Adoni. 
ram Judson, a missionary, to write the memoir of his deceased wife. 
This led to their marriage in 1840. Together they went as missionaries to 
Burmah where he died. She lived only a few months after her return to 
America in 1854. 

About 1847 her poems were published in book form, entitled "Older- 
brook." She also published "Tin ■ Kathituun Slave," — a volume contain* 
ing both poetry and prose, and another volume of poems name*. *jLn 
Olio." 

MY MOTHER. 
1 My gentle mother, through life's storms 
I may not lean on thee ; 
For helpless, cowering little forms 
Cling trustingly to me. Poor babes ! 
To have no <ruide but me. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. TRIBUTES TO, AND PRAYERS FOR OUR MISSIONARIES. 



385 



2 With weary foot and broken wing, 

"With bleeding heart and sore, 
Thy dove looks backwards sorrowing, 
But seeks the ark no more, thy breast 

Seeks never, never more. 

3 Sweet mother, for the exile pray. 

That loftier faith be given ; 
Her bi'oken reeds all swept away, 
That she may rest in heaven — her soul 

Grow strong in Christ and heaven. 

4 All fearfully, all tearfully, 

Alone and sorrowing, 
My dim eyes lifted to the sky, 
Fast to the cross I cling — O Christ ! 

To Thy dear cross I cling. 

EMILY JUDS ON. 1854. 



WAITING. 



1 The fields are whitening 'neath the ripening grain — 

I long to toil amid the reapers there. 
What full ripe sheaves I'll gather ere the rain, 
To prove my gratitude for God's dear care ! 

2 Thus saying, strong and resolute I stood 

Amid the ever busy, hurrying throng ; 
Waiting to see, in somewhat anxious mood, 
The Lord and Master as he passed along. 

3 He came. Quick pressing thro' the eager throng, 

I stood beside him near the open gate : 
"Master, what shall I do ? My soul is strong." 
He turned, and softly said, "Here stand and wait.' : 

4 The hot blood to my brow and temple flew ; 

I battled fiercely with my hapless fate : 
"O Master ! have you naught for me to do ? " 
"Yes," He replied at once ; Here stand and wait," 

5 He passed along ; and thro' the weary hours 

I stood with restless hands, and aching heart. 
I would not even pluck the fragrant flowers 
Beneath my feet, while thus I stood apart. 

6 Again He passed. And, in my grief, I said, 

"I'd i'ather die than only stand and wait I " 
One look of sad rebuke, no word He said, 
But left me weeping by the open gate. 

7 The weary, weary hours come and pass ; 

I watch the reapers cut the bearded grain ; 
I see their heavy sheaves, and sigh, alas ! 
That I can only wrestle with my pain. 

8 The night draws near. I seek Him once again ; 

"O Master, see ! 'Tis growing dark and late ; 
I have no sheaves !" His sweet voice soothes my pain, 
"They serve me best who only stand and wait ! " 



9 So, patiently I strive to stand and wait 

Thro' all the glories of the changing years ; 
Wait till His hand shall lead me thro' the gate, 
And change my sighs to songs, to smiles my tears. 

REBECCA RUTER SPRINGER, 

Springfield 111., July, 1884. 

GOD'S BUILDING. 

Ye are God's Building. -I Cor., iii : 9. 

1 Of all the beautiful lessons 

With which God's book is filled, 
This one of wonderful sweetness 

Hath oft my being thrilled. 
Oh ! wonderful care of the Father, 

Oh ! wonderful love, so free, 
To know that the Maker of all things 

Careth so much for me. 

2 'Tis said that the temple, so stately, 

That crowned old Zion's hill, 
Was built without sound of hammer, 

The toilers working so still. 
Far off from the grand foundation 

Was all the noise and strain, 
Of fitting one stone to another, 

From base to turret's vane. 

3 And when all were brought together, 

The wrought stones of every size, 
The columns so strong and graceful, 

Each one in place to rise, 
They formed so grand a temple, 

As never before was seen ; 
So true in its grand proportions, 

So bright in its glittering sheen. 

4 Yet there is a grander temple, 

And God is he who plans, 
Now gathering His stones together, 

For that house not made with hands. 
Each ransomed soul will be one, 

Which evermore, day after day, 
God is fitting for this great temple, 

Which shall last for aye and aye. 

5 Our pains, temptations and perils, 

Our sufferings, sighs and our tears, 
Are God's chisels and tools and hammers, 

Before the "bright angel appears." 
Let none shrink back from the process, 

Let none of the Lord's complain, 
But wait with a sweet submission, 

'Twill not be long nor in vain. 

6 Away from the noise of the furnace, 

Away from the toil and the sin, 
He will carry each one of His children 

The beautiful gates within ; 
Where each in appointed station, 

He will fashion there one by one, 
And Christ will complete the temple, 

Himself the Corner-Stone. 

SARAH P. SHIELDS 

Lafayette, Ind. 1884 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



GOD'S DISCIPLINE TO HIS CHILDREN. 

OH! WHEN SHALL I BE FREE? 



Words and Music by MRS. CLARA H. SCOTT. 

It 



1. Oh! when shall my wea-ry soul find rest in Thee? Oh! when from this sin - ful world at 

2. Oh! when all my la - bor here for Thee is complete, My soul cleans' d in Thy re-deem-ing 







=^=3=3 



*jr 



last be free ? 

blood, I am meet, 



My Sav - iour, I cry un - to Thee; 
Thee, Sa,v-iour, Re -deem-er, to greet; 



I'm wea -ry of 
Then, freed from all 




^: —2- — ^ 

sigh - ing, Of sor-row and cry - ing, Oh! when shall my wea-ry soul find rest 
sigh -ing, From sor-row and cry -ing, Oh! then shall my wea-ry soul find rest 




§m 



qv:=t 



si 



— i-^B- 



Thee? 
Thee; 



Oh! when, 

Oh! then, 

P^Chorus. 



Oh! when, 
Oh! then, 

P 



Oh! when 
Oh! then 



*F=t 



shall I 
shall I 

P 



be free ? 
be free. 



r 5f^ 



my Saviour dear, 
my Saviour dear, 



m 



:«=^: 






-m- -9- -m- 

my Savi ur dear, 
my Saviour dear, 



--W=?r- 



ifcdE: 



From "The Standard,' 



a?z$jl=$l 



m 



rr.y Saviour dear, When 
my Saviour dear, Then 

n ^ J>_ 2 . P 



shall 
shall 



3C&- 



-tf- -*>- -c- 

1 be free ? 
I be free. 



g£g 



H. R. Palmer. Pub. by Oliver Ditsou & Co., Bjston, 1872. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. COMFORT IN BEREA VEMENT. 



AND THE LIGHT SHINETH IN DARKNESS. 

1 The way seems dark ; O Saviour ! reach Thy hand 

And help a wand'rer through this vale of tears ; 
I cannot see the path ; alone I could not stand ; 

Lead me and with Thy love calm all my fears. 
I am a trembling lamb, upon Thy bosom bear, 

And lead me by the waters calm and still ; 
A weak and bruised reed, in pity hear, 

And let Thy love this aching bosom fill. 

2 Oft by the way I've pluck' d fresh flowers 

And drank their sweets until my heart grew bright ; 
But while I revelled in my gayest hours, 

Behold, a shadow came, and all was night. 
I've grasped at hope — the phantom seemed so true, 

Its glory dazzled my too-happy frame, 
And life's horizon beam'd with heaven's own blue ; 

But, in the midst of joy, lo ! sorrow came. 

3 I've vested on a love so holy, pure and true, 

That heaven's own brightness shone upon my heart 
But yet I knew the time too soon must come, 

When from that lov'd one I'd be called to part. 
Oh ! draw me, Saviour, with Thy love so near, 

That earth-born shadows may not pierce my sky ; 
Oh ! let Thy love be sweeter — far more deai-, 

And let me to Thy bosom ever fly. 

4 The way seems dark ; O Saviour ! with me stay, 

To guide me thro' this dim and shadowed vale, 
Temptations lurk around, and fears beset my way, 

"While o'er this life blows a tempestuous gale. 
Be Thou with me — the waters look so deep, 

And all my heart holds dear so soon may pass away ; 
Oh ! guide me o'er the mountains rough and steep, 

And through the desert ever with me stay. 

5 Thy arm upholds me ! now, I see the light 

Quick breaking through the dusty clouds of even, 
Bright shining stars do pierce my deepest night, 

And light me on the path before unseen. 
The way seems bright ! dear Saviour, with me stay, 

And fold me closer to Thy loving heart ; 
I feel Thy arms about me — darkness turns to-day — 

Oh ! from Thee never, never let me part. 

6 When death's stern, icy grasp shall take from me 

The dear ones I so fondly cherish here, 
May one and all be gather'd home with Thee, 

Where heavenly joys shall make us all more dear. 
For well I know in that celestial home, 

Where all is glorious — all is bright and fair, 
If in those hallow'd precincts we shall roam, 

Our loved ones true will gladly greet us there. 

7 When parted from us here they'll happy wait, 

And walk the golden streets of our eternal home, 
Ope wide for us the shining, pearly gate, 

And sing sweet strains to cheer us as we come. 
The way seems bright ! I feel Thy loving hand — 

I'll gladly follow where Thou leadest me, 
When in the waves of Jordan I am called to stand, 

I'll clasp it then, and trust my all to Thee. 



IN THE SHADOW. 

An invalid missionary seeking a strip of shade by his house in which to walk, 
said in reply to a sympathizing word, "Yes, we have to walk in the shade in 
these days, but it is the shadow of the Eock." 

1 " Yes, I walk in the shadow ; (he said) 

For the glare of this tropical shine, 
Too burningly, blightingly, beats on a head 

That is throbbing as wildly as mine. 

And, sometimes, I cannot but sigh, 

As I dream of the strengthening breeze 
That would medicine all of this aching, were I 

At the home that is over the seas. 

2 "Yet I walk in the shadow, (he said) 

Of a fear that is clouding me more, — 
A dim apprehension,— a gathering dread, 

That deepens as never before. 

' Tis not for myself that I care, 

For the life it is nature to crave ; 
But I think of the heart that would break if it bear 

The shadow that falls from a grave. 

3 " Though I walk in the shadow, (he said) 

There are times when it's sweeter than all 
Mere brightness that ever could halo my head, 

Or gladness that round me could fall. 

It cannot deceive me nor mock 

With freshness it fails to supply ; 
' Tis better than sunshine, — this shade of the Rock 

That is stronger and higher than I ! 

4 " So I walk in the shadow, (he said) 

With a soul that is patient and still ; 
My Father knowns wherefore this gloom is o'erspread. 

And if best to withdraw.it, He will. 

Then quietly, meekly, I'll wait, 

ISTo matter how weary it is ; 
And if it should lengthen as hours grow late, 

I will know that the shadow is His ! " 

JIARG-SKET J. PRESTON. 

Lexington, Va. 
In ' 'Woman's Work for Woman." 

NOT DEAD, BUT GONE BEFORE. 

1 Our tears are falling, falling fast for our beloved 

one, 

Our more than mother ! 
And 'twixt our sobs we cry, " Earth holdeth not 
for us 

Like her another ! " 

2 She gave us wondrous words of counsel, words of 

cheer 

And tender pleading, 
For, guiding us, she followed closely still 
Her Saviour's leading." 

3 Upon her bier they laid a sheaf of yellow wheat — ■ 

A fitting token 
Of her whose lengthened life was ripe with loving 



And kind words spoken. 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



4 With bated breath we strive to say, " Thy will be 

done," 

Then fall a-weeping. 
Alas ! our faith is weak. We scarce can hear Him 
say, 

" She is but sleeping ; " 

5 "Not dead, but gone before." Oh! cease our sobs 

and tears ! 

Oh ! cease our sighing ! 
Did ye not see the palm branch by the sheaf of 
wheat 

On her bier lying ? 

6 Help us, dear Lord, to see beyond the darkened 

vail, 

With faith's clear vision, 
The ransomed hosts, the Lamb of God, the crystal 
sea, i 

The fields elysian. 

7 So will our tears for her be changed to songs of 

j°y ; 

And we be given 
To follow Thee, e'en as she did, till death, and 
then, 

Through death, to heaven ! 

MRS. R. M. WYLIE. 
Baltimore, Md., 1883. 



SOWING AND REAPING. 

1 Sow with a generous hand, 

Pause not for toil or pain ; 
Weary not through the heat of summer, 

Weary not through the cold spring rain ; 
But wait till the autumn comes 

For the sheaves of golden grain. 

2 Sow, while the seeds are lying 

In the warm earth's bosom deep, 
And your warm tears fall upon it, — 

They will stir in their quiet sleep ; 
And the green blades rise the quicker, 

Perchance, for the tears you weep. 

3 Then sow, for the hours are fleeting, 

And the seed must fall to-day ; 
And care not what hands shall reap it, 

Or if you shall have passed away 
Before the waving cornfields 

Shall gladden the sunny day. 

4 Sow; and look onward, upward, 

Where the starry light appears ; 
Where, in spite of the coward's doubting, 

Or your own heart's doubts and fears, 
You shall reap in joy the harvest 

You have sown to-day, in tears. 

ADELAIDE A. PROCTEI 



LABOR AND TRUST: 

1 Wearily I sit and weave 

The tangled web of life ; 
The pattern which my hands have wrought 
To put a bit of color fraught 

With daily, hourly strife. 

2 Longingly I seek to trace 

The inwove threads I span ; 
To know how this and that unite, 
For bringing forth the figures brigh 

That form the perfect plan. 

3 Rapidly the shuttle flies 

When heart and hope are mine ; 
When on the loom the sunlight pours, 
The flecks of gold like summer flowers 

In wondrous beauty shine. 

4 Gloomily the fingers move, 

Dark and tinted is the work, 
When 'mid the threads an evil knot, 
Envy and malice, — love forgot, 

Doth unexpected lurk. ^ 

5 Patiently with bowed head, 

I weave in sorrow's day, 
Scarce can I tell what threads I hold, 
I only know that grief untold 

Hides all but sodden gray. 

6 Trustfully I sit and weave ; 

I know 'tis mine to do 
That which He gives into my hands, 
Complete in Him who wisely planned 

Shall be the pattern true. 



LYDIA NEWCOMBB- 



GOD'S DISCIPLINE. 

1 I asked a draught — a cooling draught 

For fever dried life's current up, 
But ere my burning lips had quaffed, 

A hidden hand dashed down the cup. 
I asked a crumb, a little crumb, 

The Master stei-nly answered, " No ! " 
And as I begged, a scorner came, 

Receiving what I longed for so. 

2 Then in a desert place apart 

I laid me down, so faint and sore, 
But, ah ! such glory filled my heart 

I thirsted not, nor hungered more ; 
And I had bread enough to eat, 

And Oh ! its sweetness none can tell, 
And living waters cool and sweet 

Flowed to me from Salvation's well. 

JENNY ELAND BEAUCHAMP. 
Gainaville, Texas. 1882. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. COMFORT IN BEREA VEMENT. 



389 



COME NEAR. 

Come near to me. I need Thy glorious presence 
Through the dense darkness of this troubled hour, 

Shine on my soul, and fill it with the essence 
Of Thy pervading and uplifting power. 
Come near, come near to me. 

2 Come nearer yet. I have no strength to reach Thee ; 

My soul is like a bird with broken wings. 
Lean down from Thy fair heights of peace and teach 
me 
The balm Thy touch to mortal beings brings. 
Lean down, O God, lean down. 

3 Come near. And yet, if those eternal places 

Hold greater tasks to occupy Thy hands, 
Send Thy blest angels whose celestial faces 
Smile sometimes on us from the spirit lands. 
Send one, send one to me. 

4 I must have help. I am so weak and broken 

I cannot help myself — I know not how. 
That moral force of which so much is spoken, 
Will not sustain and fortify me now — 
I must, I must have help. 

5 Some outside aid, some strength from spirit sources 

We all must have, in hours like this, or die. 
To oue, to all, of those mysterious forces 

Which men call God, I lift my voice and cry, 
Come near, come near to me. 

ELLA WHEELER. 
Windsor, Wis. 1883. 

WAIT. CHILDREN, WAIT. 

1 Wait, children, wait ! 

Linger a little by the outer gate. — 

I will not keep you long ; 
My steps are weary, but my heart is strong, 
Day after day and hour by hour I climb 

The darkening heights of time, — 

Wait, little children, wait ! 

2 My thoughts on wings arise, 

And, soaring, follow to the upper skies 
Your vanished faces. In the grave I sought 

Awhile, but found you not. 
Here while I watched, nor pierced the darkness 

through, 
A heavenly whisper said, The Lord is risen ! 
He who first broke the bars of death's dread 



prison, 
Has never shut them down on such 



you. 



3 A vision and a dream — 
Can that which is not, seem 
So real, so full of pleasure and of peace ? 

From earthly life as far 

As yonder twilight star, 
Ye are as near to my immortal sight, 
As to my eyes the all-surrounding light. 

Love, stronger than the grave, 
Holds fast on faith to comfort and to save. 

MRS. F. L. MACE. 

' Bangor, Maine, Sept. 7, 1854. 



WHEN ADVERSE WINDS. 

Tune — "Autumn." 
Deut, xxxiii : 25. 

1 When adverse winds and waves arise 
And in my heart despondence sighs ; 
When life her throng of cares reveals, 
And weakness o'er my spirit steals, 
Grateful I hear the kind decree, 

That " as my day, my strength shall be." 

2 One trial more must yet be past, 

One pang — the keenest and the last ; 
" And when, with brow convulsed and pale, 
My feeble, quivering heart strings fail, 
Redeemer ! grant my soul to see 
That " as her day, her strength shall be. ; ' 

MRS. SIGOTJRNEY. 

THERE'LL BE JOY BY AND BY. 

1 Though the night be dark and dreary, 
Though the way be long and weary, 
Morn shall bring thee light and cheer : 
Child, look up, the dawn is near 

Chorus. There'll be joy by and by, 
There'll be joy by and by, 
In the dawning of the morning, 
There'll be joy by and by. 

2 Though thine eyes are sad with weeping. 
Through the night thy vigils keeping, 
God shall wipe their tears away, 

Turn thy darkness into day. 

3 Though thy spirit faints with fasting 
Through the hours so slowly wasting, 
Morn shall bring a glorious feast, 
Thou shall sit an honored guest. 

MRS. E. C. ELLSWORTH, 
Copyright, 1876, and set tn music by REV. R. LOWET. 
Used by per. Biglow & Main. From " Fountain of Song." 

A SIN-SICK SOUL. 

1 I sat in the school of sorrow, 

The Master was teaching there, 
But my eyes were dim with weeping, 
And my heart oppressed with care. 

2 Instead of looking upward 

And seeing His face shine, 
So full of tender compassion 
For weary hearts like mine, 

3 I only thought of the burden, 

The cross that before me lay, 
The clouds that were thick above me, 
Darkening the light of day. 

4 So I could not learn my lesson, 

And say, "Thy will be done ;" 

And the Master came not near me, 

As the leaden hours went on. 



390 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



5 At last, in despair, I lifted 

My streaming eyes above, 

And I saw the Master watching 

With a look of pitying Jove. 

6 To the cross before me he pointed, 

And I thought I heard him say, 
"Thou, child, thou must take thy burden, 
And learn thy task to-day." 

7 Not now may I tell the reason, 

'Tis enough for thee to know, 

That I, the Master, am teaching, 

And appoint thee all thy woe. 

8 Then kneeling, the cross I lifted, 

For one glimpse of that face divine 
Had given me strength to bear it, 
And say Thy will, not mine. 

9 And so I learned my lesson, 

And through the weary year, 
His helping hand sustained me, 

And wiped away my tears. 
10 And ever the glorious sunlight 

From my heavenly home streamed down, 
Where the sorrows all are ended, 

And the cross exchanged for a crown. 



"Elizabeth Bundle is the daughter of John Bundle, Esq.,' late M. 
P, (or Tavistock, Devonshire, where she was born. She was married to 
Mr. Andrew Paton Charles. She is the author of the "Chronicles of the 
SchonbergCotta "Family," "The Draytons anl Davenants," and other 
tales. She has also published a book entitled, "The Voice of Christian 
Life in Song." 

AT THE FOOT OF THE CROSS: 

1 Never farther than Thy cross, 

Never higher than Thy feet ; 
Here earth's precious things seem dross, 
Here earth's bitter things grow sweet. 

2 Gazing thus, our sin we see, 

Learn Thy love while gazing thus : 
Sin which laid the cross on Thee, 
Love which bore the cross for us. 

3 Here we learn to serve and give, 

And, rejoicing, self deny ; 
Here we gather love to live, 
Here we gather faith to die. 

4 Symbols of our liberty » 

And our service here unite; 
Captives, by Thy cross set free, 
Soldiers of Thy cross, we fight. 

5 Pressing onwards as we can, 

Still to this our hearts must tend ; 
Where our earliest hopes began, 
Then our last aspirings end. 



6 Till, amid the hosts of light, 

We, in Thee redeemed, complete, 
Through Thy cross made pure and white, 
Cast our crowns before Thy feet. 



MRS. CHARLES. 



ONWARD, 

"Let patience have her perfect work," James i : 4. 

1 Oh ! lose not courage, weary heart ! 

Forth to the work anew ! 
Through tears and toil the Master trod ; 

So must His servants true. 
'Tis those who sow the seed, and weep, 

Whom He has said shall doubtless reap. 

2 Oh ! lose not patience, weary heart ! 

Tangled life's web may seem ; 
But thread by thread the Master's hand 

Unravels what we deem 
Inextricable : then we see 

How skilled a guide that Hand must be. 

3 And so in faith we day by day 

Take both the toil and pain, 
Knowing the work and warfare each 

Shall end in heavenly gain, 
And those who have through patience won, 

Shall hear the Master's word, "Well done !" 

GEOKGIANA M. 



WHEN I SHALL BE SATISFIED. 

1 Though now I see no purpose in my life, 
Nor understand the mystery of its plan, 
Nor know how far beyond the present hour 

Extends its span, 
If when the span is measured, it appears 
That God through my poor life was glorified, 
Though now I see nothing but mystery; 

I shall be satisfied. 

2 Though now I bear pain's heavy, galling cross, 
And sorrow wounds my heart to bitter tears, 
And all the gold of joy is mixed with dross, 

If it appears 
When all is ended, that my heavy cross 
Was but my crown, bent thus, its worth to hide, 
And every trial was a well-set gem, 

I shall be satisfied. 

3 Though toil has brought me small material gain, 
And every year is marked with heavy loss, 
And though my graves of disappointed hopes 

Are green with moss, 
If, when the Master comes to view my work, 
And lay it in His balance to be tried, 
I find that others were enriched thereby, 

I shall be satisfied. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. COMFORT IN BEREA VEMENT. 



4 Though now my heart gives more than it 
And much that others value is denied 
To me, from day to day, if Death reveals 

What life doth hide, 
And proves beyond all doubting that each wish, 
Each want of mind and heart here unsupplied, 
Purchased some pleasure for another life, 
I shall be satisfied. 

ANGLE FULLER. 1882. 

NOT HERE. AND YET NOT LOST. 

1 Not here, and yet not lost, 

A narrow space they've crossed, 
Just where they are and how, 
"We may not answer now ; 
But well we know God's care 
And love rule everywhere. 

2 For us, the way they went, 
How their new life is spent, 
Matters not much. That way 
We shall be called some day ; 
And if 'tis soon or late, 

We can afford to wait. 

3 'Tis ours, with heart sereDe, 
In days that intervene, 

To do the task that's set, 
Nor the least part forget, 
Through good and ill report ; 
For Oh ! the time is short ! 

MRS. M. F. BUTTS. 

Westerly, R. I. 1884. 
HERE AND THERE. 

1 We sit beside the lower feast to-day, — 

She at the higher, 
Our voices falter as we bend to pray ; 

In the great choir 
Of happy saints she sings, and does not tire. 

2 We break the bread of patience, and the wine 

Of tears we share. 
She tastes the vintage of that glorious vine, 

Whose branches fair, 
Set for healing of all nations are. 

3 I wonder is she sorry for our pain, 

Or if, grown wise, 
She wondering, smiles, and counts them idle, vain, 

These heavy sighs, 
These longings for her face and happy eyes. 

4 Smile on then, darling, as God's will is best. 

We loose our hold, 
Content to leave thee to the deeper rest, 

The safer fold, 
To joy's immortal youth while we grow old ; 

5 Content the cold and wintry day to bear, 

The icy wave, 
And know thee in immortal summer there, 

Beyond the grave, 
Content to give thee to the love that gave. 

SUSAN COOLIDOE. 1883. 



HOW DOTH DEATH SPEAK OF OUR 
BELOVED? 

" The rain that falls upon the height 
Too gently to be called delight, 
In the dark valley reappears 
As a wild cataract of tears; 
And love in life shall strive to see 
Sometimes what love in death would be. 

Angel in the House. 



1 How doth Death speaK of our beloved, 

When it hath laid them low ; 

When it has set its hallowing touch 

On speechless lip and brow ? 

2 It clothes their every gift and grace • 
With radiance from the holiest "place, 
With light as from an angel's face ; 

3 Eecalling with resistless force 
And tracing to their hidden source, 
Deeds scarcely noticed in their course. 

4 This little loving, fond device, 
That daily act of sacrifice, 

Of which too late we learn the price ! 

5 Opening our weeping eyes to trace 
Simple unnoticed kindnesses, 
Forgotten notes of tenderness, 

6 Which evermore to us must be 
Sacred as hymns in infancy 
Learned, listening at a mother's knee. 

7 Thus cloth Death speak of our beloved. 

When it has laid them low ; 
Then let Love antedate the work of Death, 
And do this now. 

8 How doth Death speak of our beloved, 

When it has laid them low ; 
When it has set its hallowing touch 
On speechless lip and brow. 

9 It sweeps their faults with heavy hand, 
As sweeps the sea the trampled sand, 
Till scarce the faintest print is scanned; 

10 It shows how such a vexing deed 
Was but generous nature's weed, 
Or some choice virtue run to seed; 

11 How that small fretting fretfulness 
Was but love's over-anxiousness, 
Which had not been, had love been less. 

12 This failing, at which we repined, 
But the dim shade of day declined, 
Which should have made us doubly kind. 

13 Thus doth Death speak of our beloved, 

When it has laid them low ; 
Then let Love antedate the work of Death, 
And do this now ! 

14 How doth Death speak of our beloved, 

When it has laid them low ; 
When it has set its hallowing touch 
On speechless lip and brow ? 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. COMFORT IN BEREA VEMENT. 



15 It takes each failing on our part, 

And brands it in upon the heart, 
With caustic power and cruel art. 

16 The small neglect that may have 
A giant stature will have gained 
When it can never be explained ! 

17 The little service which had proved 
How tenderly we watched and loved, 
And those mute lips to glad smiles moved. 

18 The little gift from out our store, 

Which might have cheered some cheerless hour 
When they with earth's poor needs were poor, 
But never will be needed more ! 

19 It shows our faults like fires at night ; 
It sweeps their failings out of sight ; 
It clothes their good in heavenly light. 

20 Christ our life ! foredate the work of Death, 

And do this now ! 
Thou who art love, thus hallow our beloved ! 
Not Death, but Thou. 

MRS. CHARLES. 



WATCHING FOR THE MORNING. 



1 The voice of my best beloved was still, 

The lips of my dearest cold ; 
On my path the frost of death lay chill, 

My world was withered and old, — 
The world so fair only yesterday, 

Grown empty, shrivelled and old. 

2 Afar in the east — the pale, grey east — 

Lay the first faint hope of dawn, 
I watched, as they watch whose hearts bleed slow, 

For the coming of the morn,— 
Through the night of earthly loss and pain, 

For the Resurrection Morn. 

3 "Oh ! hasten the day, dear Christ !" I cried, 

"For my heart lies in its grave. 
Courage and beauty and strength are low 

With the love I'd die to save !" 
Softly a voice like an echo came : 

"I have loved and died to save." 

4 The world is aweary of grief and sin, 

Each silvei chord breaks away, 
And the mourners' feet fill every street ; 

O Lord, hasten Thou the day ! 
Low the Master's tender voice replied : 

" My child, hasten thou the day. 

5 My dead lie buried in many lands ; 

Precious souls my blood hath won 
In sorrow, in wrong and in error sleep, 

From their graves roll thou the stone, 
Flash on their night the Easter light, 

My child, roll away the stone ! " 



6 I watch for the morn, " My soul doth wait, 
But I work with smile and tear ; 

By every peak that catches the glow 
I know that the day draws near. 

With each new heart that greets the light, 
I know the glad day draws near. 



THE ANGEL BOATMAN. 

1 One by one we cross the river, 

One by one we're passing o'er ; 
One by one the crowns are given, 

On the bright and happy shore. 
Youth and childhood oft are passing 

O'er the dark and rolling tide, 
And the blessed, holy Spirit 

Is the dying Christian's guide, 
And the loving, gentle Spirit 

Bears them o'er the rolling tide. . 

2 One by one we come to Jesus, 

As we heed His gentle voice ; 
One by one His vineyard enter, 

There to labor and rejoice. 
One by one sweet flowers we gather, 

In the glorious work of love, — 
Garlands for the blessed Saviour, 

Gather for the realms above, 
And the loving, gentle Spirit 

Bears them to our home of love. 

3 One by one the heavy-laden 

Sink beneath the noontide sun ; 
And the aged pilgrim welcomes 

Evening shadows as they come. 
One by one with sins forgiven, 

May we stand upon the shore, 
Waiting till the blessed Spirit 

Takes our hand and guides us o'er, 
And the loving, gentle Spirit 

Lends us to the shininji shore. 

Set to music by T. E. pere 

FAITH. 

C. M. 

1 There is a faith that e'er ascends 
To Him who dwells on high, 
Who is the tender Friend of friends, 
And hears our feeblest cry. 
' 2. There is a faith that crowns all time, 
That lives when all else dies ; 
It soars above the hills sublime 
That skirt heaven's paradise. 

3 It catches glimpses from afar 

Of walls that jasper be, 
Of golden gates that stood ajar 
For all my Lord and me. 

4 To this dear faith Oh ! let me cling 

When earth's dark sorrows rise, 
Nor ever doubt its power to bring 
My solace from the skies. 

MRS. M. O. PAGE. 
Austin, 111. May, 1884. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. COMFORT IN BEREAVEMENT. 

WHAT CHEER? 

"And turneth the shadow of death into morning." — Amos v : 8. 



393 



CLARA JANE CHILD. 




I " I 

light? What cheer? what cheer? The night hath been both long and drear, And hope hath giv-en way to 

view, G°°<1 cheer, good cheer : The night is pass - ing fast a - way, And bright - er grows the cloud's dull 

re - com-peuse that waits For those who en - ter du - ty"s 
■ tops of 



What cheer? what cheer? 
cheer, good cheer. 

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EMMA PITT. 



FATHER, HEAR OUR PRAYER. 



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1. Thou whose ten - der heart 

2. Thou didst our frame as - sume, 

3. Bind up the break - ing heart, 

4. Help,Sav - iour! or we die, 



Is touched with hu 

That we might come 

With Thy sweet, ten ■ 

Our fee - ble hearts 



man woes, To us Thy gra - cious 
to Thee, And thro' our jour - ney 
der love; To us Thy gen - tie- 
up -hold; On Thy great mer - cy 




Copyrighted, 1883, in " Gos^l Light.' 



394 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



THE CHRISTIAN'S DEAR HOME. 

1 Speed away ! speed away ! happy soul of the blest, 
From tliy prison-house fly, like a bird to her nest ; 
Angel spirits are bending in love from the sky. 

To welcome thee home to the mansions on high ! 
To the land where no night is, no tears, no decay ! 
Speed away, speed away, happy soul of the blest, 
Speed away, speed away, to the land of thy rest. 

2 Speed away ! speed away ! Oh ! why linger below, 
When thy measure of glory no mortal can know? 
And the visions of beauty that beam on thy sight, 
All come from the Christian's dear home of delight. 
Thy darkness is turned into infinite day ! 

Speed away, speed away, happy soul of the blest, 
Speed away, speed away, to the land of thy rest. 

3 Speed away ! speed away ! happy soul of the blest, 
To the land where the weary-worn pilgrim may rest, 
To the city celestial, that beautiful shore, 

Where the presence of death we shall fear nevermore. 
Up ! heavenward ! let nothing thy journey delay ! 
Speed away, speed away, happy soul of the blest, 
Speed away, speed away, to the land of thy rest. 

MRS. M. A. KIDDER. 

Copyright, 1862, in "Golden Shower." 
Used by per. Biglow & Main. 

Lucy J. Ward (Mrs. H. P. Beach) was formerly a resident of Lake 
Forest, 111., but now is a missionary stationed at Tungchow, China, with her 
husband, Bev. H. P. Beach. She sailed for her Dew field of labor Sept. 27, 
1883. She has written many choice articles for the "Interior," and other 
religious weeklies, among them, "Coronal" and "A Song Fragment" 
which appear in this volume. 

FOR GOD TOOK HER. 



1 Dear girlish head ! laid down to sleep 

With life's sweet service scarce begun. 
Dear eager heart ! to quiet hushed 

With all its purposes left undone. 
Dear willing hands and tireless feet, 

And loving soul that gave its best ! 
All, in youth's hopefulness and glow, 

The Lord has taken home to rest. 

2 Taken, while blinding tears our eyes 

So fill, we scarce can see His hand ; 
Taken in such a way that faith 

Waits in the dark to understand. 
In such a way that but the thought 

Of Jesus' death can comfort bring; 
And taken when the world so needs 

Such gifts of lives in offering. 

3 What can we say ! O Christ, we know 

Thou knowest why, and how, and when ! 
We know Thy love is strong to bring 

Thy cherished purposes to men. 
Perhaps this fair young life, cut down 

In fields where she had thought to glean, 
May bring, for harvest time, the fruit 

Which years of work could not have seen, 



4 For Oh ! we know that even this 

Was not a sacrifice too great, 
When for the message of Thy love 

The darkened, burdened world doth wait. 
And so we pray that her sweet life 

And early death may touch with fire 
New souls, who shall forever make 

The work she loved, their hearts' desire. 

LUCY L. WARIX 

OUR FRIEND. 

1 " To know her was to love her," she was fair 
As the fair flowers she loved so well to tend, 
And from her life there floated a perfume 
Sweet as the odor of the choicest rose, 

Or lilies of the valley that e'er shed 

Their choice perfume upon the ambient air. 

2 To know her was to know that she was true, 
As ever is the needle to the. pole, 

Or north star to the night, or song of bird 
To the returning Spring, or brooding dove 
Is to its mate, yea, in a high degree 
True as " Our Father " bids us to be true. 

3 To know her was to wish to emulate ; 
Her life was beautiful by deeds of love ; 

Kind words where'er her pathway chanced to lay, 
Were echoed forth like sweet, harmonious notes, 
And waked glad melodies in many hearts 
That had grown sick with discord, pain and strife. 

4 To know her was to grieve that one so good 
Should leave the world so soon, for it has need 
Of such pure souls to make it something like 
The Eden that it was ere sin indulged 

Had wrought the transformation we behold 
Around us, and would alter if we could. 

ANGIE FULLER. 188& 

AT EVENTIDE IT SHALL BE LIGHT. 

1 Forth to Thy work from morn till night, 

Through fog and din Thy path would be ; 
Whilst I at home upon the height 

Would work and rest and wait for Thee. 

2 But now along the way of life, 

Through dust and din my path must be,. 
Whilst Thou, above all mists and strife, 
Waitest at Home, on high, for me. 

3 I will not call them " weary ways ; " 

No murmur ever left Thy lips ! 
I will not sigh o'er ' ; dreary days," 

Though darkened by Thy light's eclipse. 

4 A Presence wraps me everywhere, 

The Presence in which Thou art blest • 
The Face, the Sun of Worlds, is there, 
Yet bright to us the glistening west. 

5 The work is good, the way is right; 

But yet, I think, an hour shall be 
At evening on the home-like height 
Which will be morn to Thee and me. 

MRS. CBAKLE&. 



FOREIGN MISSIVES. COMFORT IJS BEREAVEMENT. 

MINISTERING SPIRITS. 



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Words and Music by ANNA HOLYOKE HOWARD. 1883, 1884. 



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its! be ev - er round our way! Draw us with cords in - 

the race! it will not be for long; The hosts of heaven are 




part - ed ones, bright in e - ter - nal day; We hear them not, we see them not but they 

watch us, from that bright heav'nly shore; Ye watch a - round us night and day and 

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watching thee ; Then in the Lord be strong; Throw off the weight that bin - ders, Burst the 




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But now all tears are wiped a - way, Ye' 11 nev - er suf - fer more. 
And look -ing un - to Je - sus, thou the vie -to- ry shall win. 

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THE WAY OF THE CROSS. 



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Words and Music by ANNA HOLYOKE HOWARD. 1884. 

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2. Seethe ten -der fore-head Wounded by the thorn; Thou hast borne the scourging, Buf-fet-ing, and scorn; 

3. Let us bear in si - lence Sorrow, loss or pain; If we suf - fer with Thee, We may al - so reign; 



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Oh ! what love was Thine, Lord, Oh! what patience sweet.Let me bow in si- lence At my Saviour's feet. 
Grant me, Lord, Thy patience, Gentleness and peace, Till released for-ev - er, All my sorrows cease. A-men. 



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HOME MISSIONS. SOCIAL PARLOR MEETINGS AND DORCAS SOCIETIES. 



397 



HOME MISSIONS. 



Corncerning Home and Foreign Missions, it has been truly said, " The work is one," " There is no far 
or near, with God." Missionary work is simply spreading the gospel. Some feel called upon to do the work 
nearest at hand ; while others must needs cross the ocean to toil in other countries. The Devotional and 
Temperance departments of this volume might be properly classed under the head of Home Missions. A 
few hymns which are especially appropriate for our home Missionary Societies, with recitations and readings 
for Parlor Entertainments, are here presented. 



CALL THEM IN. 



Ss, 7s, D. 
Luke xiv : 5 



" Call them in ! " — the poor, the wretched, 

Sin-stained wanderers from the fold : 
Peace and pardon freely offer : 

Can you weigh their worth with gold ? 
" Call them in ! " — the weak, the weary, 

Laden with the doom of sin ; 
Bid them come and rest in Jesus ; 

He is waiting, " call them in ! " 
" Call them in ! " — the Jew, the Gentile, 

Bid the strangers to the feast ; 
" Call them in ! " — the rich, the noble, 

From the highest to the least. 



Forth the Father runs to meet them, 
He hath all their sorrows seen ; 

Robe and ring, and royal sandals 

Wait the lost ones ; " call them in ! " 

" Call them in ! " — the broken-hearted, 

Cowering 'neath the brand of shame ; 
Speak love's message, low and tender, — 

" ' Twas for sinners Jesus came." 
See ! the shadows lengthen round us, 

Soon the day-dawn will begin ; 
Can you leave them lost and lonely ? 

Christ is coming : " call them in ! " 



TRIED AND PROVED. 



MRS. M. O. PAGE. 



MRS. C. H. SCOTT. By per. 



A clergyman once visiting a poor woman, found her Bible marked here and there with the letters T arid P. Wondering what the letters stood for he in- 
quired of her their meaning. 'Oh," said she, ''these are the promises in my precious Bible. There are many of them, you see, I have tried, so marked them 
T; and many I have proved and know to be true, so I marked them P. "— Labor of Love. 






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398 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



TO THE WORK. 

12s. with Chorus. 

1 To the work ! to the work ! We are servants of God ; 
Let us follow the path that our Master has trod ; 
With the balm of His counsel our strength to renew, 
Let us do with our might what our hands And to do. 

Chorus — Toiling on, toiling on, 
Toiling on, toiling on, 
Let us hope (and trust), let us watch (and pray) 
And labor till the Master comes. 

2 To the work ! to the work ! Let the hungry be fed ; 
To the fountain of life let the weary be led ; 
In the cross and its banner our glory shall be, 
While we herald the tidings, "Salvation is free ! " 

3 To the work ! to the work ! There is labor for all ; 
For the kingdom of darkness and error shall fall, 
And the name of Jehovah exalted shall be 
In the loud-swelling chorus, "Salvation is free!" 

4 To the work ! to the work, in the strength of the Lord ! 
And a robe and a crown shall our labor reward, 
When the home of the faithful our dwelling shall be, 
And we shout with the ransomed, "Salvation is free !" 

TAXNY CROSBY. 1871. 

Copyright, 1871, by Biglow &Main. 
Used by per. 

I LOVE TO TELL THE STORY. 



1 I love to tell the story 

Of unseen things above, 
Of Jesus and His glory, 
Of Jesus and His love. 
I love to tell the story, 

Because I know 'tis true ; 
It satisfies my longings, 
As nothing else can do. 
Chorus — I love to tell the story — 

'Twill be my theme in glory, 
To tell the old, old story 
Of Jesus and His love. 

2 I love to tell the story ; 

More wonderful it seems 
Than all the golden fancies 

Of all our golden dreams. 
I love to tell the story ; 

It did so much for me — 
And that is just the reason 

I tell it now to thee. 

3 I love to tell the story ; 

'Tis pleasant to repeat 
What seems, each time I tell it, 

More wonderfully sweet. 
I love to tell the story ; 

For some have never heard 
The message of salvation 

From God's own holy word. 



4 I love to tell the story ; 

For those who know it best 
Seem hungering and thirsting 

To hear it, like the rest. 
And when, in scenes of glory, 

I sing the new, new song, 
'Twill be the old, old story ■ 

That I have loved so long. 

CATHARINE HANKEY, 186T, 

*THE SLAVE MOTHER. 

1 Sisters with the heart of Martha, 
Going forth the Lord to meet, 

With the love of blessed Mary 

Pouring oil upon His feet, 
Have you heard it? do you know*it? 

Lo ! our Lord is in the street ! 

2 Loving sisters, ye are many ; 
How your hearts would throb to know 

That along our pleasant city, 

Just released from slavery's woe, 

Hungry, thirsting, faint, and needy, 
Christ with weary feet doth go. 

Oh ! we should not dare to say it 
But Himself hath told us so ! 

3 Oh ! to give our roof for shelter ! 

Oh ! to share with Him our bread! 
Like the blest Judean woman 

Bathe His feet, anoint His head ! 
But lie counteth every kindness 

(We remember He hath said) 
To the least of these, His children, 

As 'twere done to Him instead. 

4 One of these, His precious members, 

Pau'seth at your door to-day, 
With the brave heart of a mother 

Bearing up the shattered clay, 
Black and poor, despised and lowly, 

For your pity come to pray ; 
Humbly sueing in her sorrow, 

Sure you will not say her Nay. 
Thus disguised it is the Master 

That you lightly send away. 

5 Done to Thee, wilt Thou esteem it? 

O our Saviour, done to Thee ! 
When life's burdens grow too heavy 

This shall our rejoicing be, 
Thou hast said it, we believe it, 

"Ye have done it unto Me." 

UKANIA L. BAILEY. 

One day Charlotte Piles, the "slave mother," came to the door of Mrs. Bailey with 
a paper bearing signatures of people who had given her money towards buying her 
sun from slavery. Without reading the paper, Mrs. E. was about sending her away, 
when the saintly smile which the woman turned back to give her when leaving, 
touched her heart. Noticing that, slit- walked as if footsore, she invited her in. 

Charlotte Pile* remained ilieie some time, making it her headquarters while can- 
vassing the city. She had a lovely christian spirit, had suffered much, and bore upon 
her hack the cruel scars of the lash. Mrs. Bailey wrote the poem upon the back of 
the subscription paper, and it was the means of bringing a considerable amount 
of money towards assisting Mrs. Piles in her enterprise. 



HOME MISSIONS. SOCIAL PARLOR MEETINGS, AND DORCAS SOCIETIES. 



"YOUR MISSION." 



The words of this beautiful song were written by Mrs. Ellen H. Gates. 

The music will be found on page 90, "Musical Leaves," as sung by 
Philip Phillips at the great Anniversaries of the TJ. S. Christian Com- 
mission in New York, Philadelphia, Washington, Cincinnati, Chicago, 
St. Louis, and many other places. 

When our lamented President Lincoln heard Mr. Phillips sing itat the 
Hall of Representatives in Washington, Feb. 29, 1865, he was overcome 
with emotion, and sent up the following written request to Hon, Wm. H. 
Seward, Chairman, for its repetition : 

"Near the close let us have 'Your Mission' repeated by Mr Phillips. 

Don't say I called for it." A, LINCOLN, 



1 If you cannot on the ocean 

Sail among the swiftest fleet, 
Rocking- on the highest billows, 

Laughing at the storms you meet, 
You can stand among the sailors, 

Anchored yet within the bay ; 
You can lend a hand to help them, 

As they launch their boat away. 

2 If you are too weak to journey 

Up the mountain, steep and high, 
You can stand within the valley, 

While the multitudes go by ; 
You can chant in happy measure, 

As they slowly pass along ; 
Though they may forget the singer, 

They will not forget the song. 

3 If you have not gold and silver 

Ever ready to command ; 
If you can not toward the needy 

Reach an ever-open hand ; 
You can visit the afflicted, 

O'er the erring you can weep ; 
You can be a true disciple 

Sitting at the Saviour's feet. 

4 If you cannot in the harvest 

Garner up the richest sheaves, 
Many a grain both ripe and golden 

Will the careless reapers leave ; 
Go and glean among the briers, 

Growing rank against the wall, 
For it may be that their shadow 

Hides the heaviest wheat of all. 

5 If you cannot in the conflict 

Prove yourself a soldier true — 
If, where fire and smoke are thickest, 

There's no work for you to do ; 
When the battle-field is silent, 

You can go with careful tread, 
You can bear away the wounded, 

You can cover up the dead. 



6 Do not, then, stand idly waiting 

For some greater work to do ; 
Fortune is a lazy goddess — 

She will never come to you. 
Go and toil in any vineyard, 

Do not fear to do or dare ; 
If you want a field of labor, 

You can find it anywhere. 

ELLEN H. GATES. 1860. 

IMMANUEL'S PRAISE. 

1 Proclaim the lofty praise 

Of Him who once was slain, 
But now is risen through endless days 

To live and reign ; 
He lives and reigns on high, 

Who bought us with His blood, — 
Enthroned above the farthest sky, 

Our Saviour God. 

2 All honor, power, and praise, 

To Jesus' name belong ; 
With hosts seraphic glad we raise 

The sacred song : 
Worthy the Lamb, they cry, 

That on the cross was slain ; 
But now, ascended up on high, 

He lives to reign. 

3 He lives to bless and save 

The souls redeem'd by grace, 
And rescue from the dreary grave 

The fallen race ; 
And soon we hope, above, 

A louder strain to sing, — 
With all our jwwers to praise and love 

Our Saviour King. 

MRS. JUDSOJT. 

PRAYER FOR THE CONVERSION 
OF FRIENDS. 

1 Father, I feel that I am thine ; 
Have sweet assurance Christ is mine ; 
Yet I have an unanswered prayer, 
That fills my longing soul with care. 

2 I have enough of worldly good, 
My friends attend me as they should ; 
My cup with blessings runneth o'er, 
And yet I crave one blessing more. 

3 For kindred and relation's sake, 
My heart and soul are all awake ; 
I pray, O Lord, that I may be 

A help in leading them to Thee. 

4 Give me the wisdom and the grace 
To fill a humble Christian's place ; 
And grant the dear ones in my home 
May to a waiting Saviour come. 

5 I have the faith it will be so, 
Indeed, it seems I almost know. 
Dear Father, grant the boon I crave 
Through Him who died the lost to save. 

LUCY B. GREGG. 188*. 



I 



400 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 






OFT IN SORROW. 



1 Oft in sorrow, oft in woe, 
Onward, Christian, onward go ; 
Fight the fight, maintain the strife, 
Strengthened with the bread of life. 

2 Onward, Christian, onward go ; 
Join the war, and face the foe. 
Will you flee in danger's hour? 
Know you not your Captain's power? 

3 Let your drooping heart be glad ; 
March, in heavenly armor clad ; 
Fight, nor think the battle long ; 
Soon shall victory tune your song. 

4 Let not sorrow dim your eye ; 
Soon shall every tear be dry ; 
Let not fears your course impede ; 
Great your strength, if great your need. 



MISS F. V. MA1TLAND. 



SWEET IS THE WORK. 

Tune — " Leigkton." 
Psalm 92. S. M. 

1 Sweet is the work, O Lord, 

Thy glorious name to sing ; 
To praise and pray — to hear Thy word, 
And grateful offerings bring. 

2 Sweet at the dawning light, 

Thy boundless love to tell ; 
And, when approach the shades of night, 
Still on the theme to dwell. 

3 Sweet on- this day of rest, 

To join in heart and voice, 
With those who love and serve Thee best, 
And in Thy name rejoice. 

4 To songs of praise and joy 

Be every Sabbath given, 
That such may be our best employ 
Eternally in heaven. 

HARRIET AUBUR. 

GOD KNOWETH BEST. 

A SONG FOR THE WORKERS. 

1 In the morning sow thy seed ; 
In the evening there is need 
For all thy work, till set of sun 
Proclaims the wear}'' day is done ; 
Then when you sigh to be at rest, 
Remember this, God knoweth best. 
Chorus. Travel on, travel on, 

Let the way be short or long, 
While we sing a cheerful song 
Travel on. 



2 What thy hand finds still to do, 
Oh ! do thou quickly, for, 'tis true, 

That though man be both strong and brave, 
There is no knowledge in the grave 
Where he is hastening to his rest, 
When God, his Maker, deems it best. 

3 All the clouds seem full of rain, 
Human hearts are wrung with pain, 
Both small and great, they suffer still ; 
E'en blessed saints who do His will : 
These from their labors, pray for rest, 
Remembering still, God knoweth best. 

CAROLINE E. MERRICK. 

New Orleans, La. May, 188a 

CHRISTIAN JOYS. 

S. M. Tune— "Boylston," 

1 I love to kneel in prayer, 

And tell to God my love 
For all the tender mercies which 
He sends me from above. 

2 He careth e'er for me ; 

He ordereth all my ways ; 
Protects and guards from every ill, 
And fills my mouth with praise. 

3 Still lead me on, dear Lord, 

Unto that perfect rest ; 
Working and sowing seed for Thee, 
Until I join the blest. 

MRS. E. MAXSON. 

Detroit, Mich. 188a 

THE LOVE OF GOD- 

1 My God, Thy boundless love I praise j 
How bright on high Thy glories blaze, 

How sweetly bloom below ! 
It streams from Thine eternal throne j 
Through heaven its joys forever run, 

And o'er the earth they flow. 

2 ' Tis love that paints the purple morn, 
And bids the clouds, in air upborne, 

Their genial drops distil ; 
In every vernal beam it glows, 
And breathes in every gale that blows, 

And glides in every rill. 

3 But in the gospel it appears 
In sweeter, fairer characters ; 

And charms the ravished breast ; 
There love immortal leaves the sky, 
To wipe the drooping mourner's eye, 

And give the weary rest. 

4 Then let the love that makes me blest, 
With cheerful praise inspire my breast, 

And ardent gratitude ; 
And all my thoughts and passions tend 
To Thee, iny Father and my Friend, 

My soul's eternal good. 



HOME MISSIONS. SOCIAL PARLOR MEETINGS, AND DORCAS SOCIETIES. 



401 



GOD'S PRESENCE. 



L. M. Tune— "Beethoven.' 



1 O hallowed hour, divinely sweet, 
O hallowed love, divinely meet, 

When hungry souls grow rich and broad, 
Learning of heaven, of Christ, and God. 

2 O hallowed work — divine — complete; 
O hallowed joy divine, we greet, 

When souls are with God's grace equipped 
Like arrows strong in glory dipped. 

3 O hallowed faith that brightens earth! 
O "Hallowed grace that gives new birth ! 
We now adore Thy gracious power, 
And bless Thee for this sacred hour. . 

MRS. L. D. W. FERRIS. 1883. 

PRACTICAL DEVOTION. 

•Beloved, if God so loved us, we ought also to love one another." 
Tune—" Horton." 

1 Father of our feeble race ! 

Wise, beneficent and kind ! 
Spread o'er nature's ample face, 
Flows Thy goodness unconfined. 

2 Musing in the silent grove, 

Or the busy walks of men, 
Still we trace Thy wondrous love, 
Claiming large returns again. 

3 Lord ! what offering shall we bring 

At Thy altar when we bow ? 
Hearts, — the pure, unsullied spring 
Whence the kind affections flow ! 

4 Soft Compassion's feeling soul, 

By the melting eye expressed ! 
Sympathy, at whose control 

Sorrow leaves the wounded breast ! 

5 Willing hands to lead the blind, 

Bind the wounded, feed the poor ! 
Love, embracing all our kind ! 
Charity, with liberal store ! 

6 Teach us, Thou Heavenly King ! 

Thus to show our grateful mind ; 
Thus th' accepted offering bring. — 
Love to Thee and all mankind ! 



GO WORK IN MY VINEYARD. 

1 Faint not, nor grow weary, but bravely press on, 

There's a work in God's vineyard for you ; 
His field is awaiting the hand of the reaper, 
God has work for His people to do. 

2 Oh ! can ye sit idle, with hands calmly folded 

When His field with its harvest is white? 

The morning is past, the noontide is waning, 

Foreshadowed the approach of the night. 



3 There's work to be done, 'tis a work for the Master ; 

' Tis a mission of labor and love ; 
There are lost ones to seek, there are souls to be won 
For the heavenly mansions above. 

4 Afar from their Saviour — afar off they wander 

In the desert of darkness and sin ; 
Lo ! plain is thy duty ; thy Saviour commands thee, 
Go seek them and gather them in. 

5 There are weak ones to strengthen — faint-hearted 

The weary to aid on their way ; [to cheer ; 

There are erring, despairing ones, needing Thy help 
Throughout all the long, toilsome day. 

6 Then go work for thy King, His blessing is sure, 

The reward at the end of the race ; 
Work while the clay lingers ; the night soon will 
The shadows are lengthening apace. [come ; 

7 If the Saviour ye love — if His blessing ye crave, 

Remember, His cross you must bear ; 
Work while the day lasts, — be faithful and true ; 
Soon a glorified crown you shall wear. 

D F.LI A MAY. 18S2. 

From " Sabhath Reading." 

HAIL TO THE SON OF DAVID! 

Tune— "Webb." 

"Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord."— Matt, xxi : 9. 

7s & 6s, D. 

1 'Twas spring-time in Judea ; 

And o'er Mount Olivet 
There came, 'mid songs of gladness, 

A throng of hurrying feet ; 
And children's voices echoed 

The glad, triumphant strain, 
"Hail to the son of David, 

O'er Israel come to reign ! " 

2 The echo still is ringing 

The peopled earth around, 
The name of Jesus bringing, 

Blest name of sweetest sound ; 
As when they waved the palm-tree, 

So now young voices sing, 
"Hosanna in the highest, 

To Christ, our Saviour, King ! " 

3 The answ'ring hills and valleys 

The shout of joy prolong; 
O'er mountain top and prairie 

Rolls on the joyous song ; 
E'en distant isles rejoicing, 

Away their idols fling, 
And hail with hearts and voices, 

Jesus, our Saviour, King. 

4 We, too, would join His triumph, 

We, too, would raise the song ; 
Would swell the mighty chorus 

Of the adoring throng ; 
For since He died to save us, 

Our hearts to Him shall cling, 
And crown Him now and ever, 

Jesus, our Saviour, King. 



402 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



LIVING WATERS. 

1 "Ho, every one that thirsteth ! " 

Hark to the prophet's cry ! 
"Come ye to living waters ; 
Haste to the fount and buy ! " 

2 "And he that hath no money, 

The flowing river see : 
Yea, wine and milk are waiting ; 
And God hath made them free 1 " 

3 Again comes down the message, 

Above life's tumult heard ; 
And blessed is the people 

Who trust the Saviour's word. 

4 " Ho, every one that thirsteth ! 

In me thy longings slake ; 
Salvation's cup is offered, 

Stretch forth thy hand and take." 

5 "For whosoever drinketh 

The water I shall give, 
A fount of joy upspringing, 
Within his soul shall live." 

6 Thus spake He of the Spirit, 

Who like a brook shall flow, 
A wellspring, pure, eternal, 
In hearts that trust and know. 

7 Nor hunger, thirst, nor sorrow, 

Have power to stir their breast, 
Who through the Saviour's promise 
Thus "enter into rest." 

MRS. EMMA F. DOWNING. 

Bridgeton, W, J, 1885. 
MY PLACE. 

1 I do not ask, dear Lord, there be 
A place made small enough for me, 

2 But I be made by Thee to fill, 
The place appointed by Thy will. 

3 Naught can I give, I come to claim 
The promises that bear Thy name. 

4 My poverty I leave to feel 

The richer that Thy words reveal. 

5 The weakness I have learned at length, 
Exchange I for Thy power and strength. 

6 My pride, so foolish had I known 

That which Thou asked was but Thine own, 

7 Is crumbled in the dust to be 
Sweet blossoms of humility. 

8 My will, forgive the struggle past, 
My will dear Lord, is Thine, at last. 

9 Emptied and broken here I lie 
Too near for Thee to pass me by, 

10 But fill me with Thy Spirit so, 
Through me, the stream of life will flow. 

11 If where the lofty cedars grow 

On mountains crowned with endless snow, 



12 Or in the meadow-land below, 
Where lilies of the valley grow, 

13 Through this poor vessel mean and small, 
Let blessings on Thy children fall. 

14 Thus I, who dare not lift mine eyes 
To places shining near the skies, 

15 And am afraid my skill to trust 
In lifting blossoms from the dust. 

16 I who did even dare refuse 

To follow Thee in rough ways, choose 

17 Wherever Thou canst use me best, 
That is my place, my joy, my rest. 

MISS MYfiA A. GOODWIN. 1885. 



DO THE DUTY LYING NEAREST. 

Tune—" Saviour, like a Shepherd lead us." 
Key of E |>. 

1 Seek not for some far-off mission, 

Undone work is close at hand ; 

Wait not for some glorious vision, 

Almost coming with command. 

2 Opportunities will greet thee, 

Only watch with greatest care ; 
Something brave to do, it may be, 
Or perhaps something to bear. 

3 All the needed help He'll give thee, 

Though He work or trials send; 
Only trust and love Him always, 
Serving faithful to the end. 
Chorus. Do the duty lying nearest, 

Even though it humble be ; 
There may come some priceless blessing, 
Lasting as eternity. 



WORK AND PRAY. 

1 Up ! friends of Jesus, the harvest now is white ; 
Work will soon be over, fast fall the shades of 

night ; 
Strong in His strength let us bind the golden 

sheaves ; 
Could we meet the Master with naught but 

leaves ? 

2 Up ! friends of Jesus, for time will soon be o'er, 
Harvest days are passing, to come again no more j 
Wake from repose ! hear the Master calling still ; 
Eise to earnest effort with right good-will. 

3 Shout ! friends of Jesus, for when our work is 

done, 
Joyful we will gather to greet the harvest home | 
Then let us hasten the golden sheaves to bind, 
Rest and life eternal we all shall find. 



HOME MISSIONS. SOCIAL PARLOR MEETINGS, AMD DORCAS SOCIETIES. 



403 



ANGELS BROKE THE SEAL. 

1 Angels clothed in shining raiment, 

Broke the seal and pierced the tomb, 
While their faces like the lightning, 

All the shuddering depths illume. 
Roman soldiers fly affrighted, 

As the tidings they reveal, 
"Christ is risen," say the Angels 

Sent of God to break the seal. 

2 Lo ! we thank Him for their mission, 

As we toward His temples throng, 
Bringing forth Spring's fairest blossoms, 

Lifting high our noblest song. 
Loving, loving, tender Saviour, 

While thy sacrifice we feel, 
From these heartsin guilt that languish, 

Bid thine Angels break the seal. 

3 Roll away the stone forever, 

From all hearts that lie in gloom, 
Bid the blessed light of heaven, 

Angel-like, their depths illume. 
So shall we, redeemed and risen, 

In our Father's presence kneel, 
Blessing Him whose white-robed Angels 

Broke for us the earthly seal. 

CAROLINE DANA HOWE. 1884, 



INVOCATION. 

1 Within Thy hand, Creator ! Lord ! 

Our earthly seasons lie; 
Winter and Summer follow each, 
And at Thy bidding fly 

2 Kindled by Thee, the glorious sun 

Diffuses warmth and light ; 
Obedient to Thy spoken word 
The darkness takes its flight ; 

3 The clouds disperse, the heavens are free 

From elemental strife ; 
With lengthening days the early spring 
Awakes to beauteous life. 

4 Lord ! make our souls a type of this ; 

Indifference melt away ; 
Shed from Thine own Eternal Light, 
The beams that make our day. 

5 If frosts of doubt prevent our growth, 

If stormy passion sways, 
Oh ! penetrate our inmost hearts 
With Thy life-giving rays. 

6 Illumine every dark recess, 

Break up the frozen ground, 
So may in all in varied lives 
The Spirit's fruit abound. 



THE POTTER AND THE CLAY. 

1 As clay in the hands of the potter, 

Am I in Thy hands, O my God ; 
If on life's highway I falter, 

And faint 'neath Thy chastening rod ; 

2 If temptations thro' weakness and blindness, 

Cast shadows along on my way, 
May Thy Spirit within, in its wisdom, 
Prevent me from going astray. 

3 May Thy presence, O Father, go with me, 

Molding the vessel aright, 
Till meet for the heavenly kingdom, 
In the beautiful mansions of lijrht. 



Written when seventy-six years of age, 
married life. (See vase 533.) 



MRS. THOMAS R. DAVIS. 

Athens, Pa. 
the fifty-eighth year- of her 



GOD'S WATCHFUL CARE. 

1 Vainly, through night's weary hours, 

Keep we watch, lest foes alarm ; 
Vain our bulwarks, and our towers, 
But for God's protecting arm. 

2 Vain were all our toil and labor, 

Did not God that labor bless ; 
Vain, without His grace and favor, 
Every talent we possess. 

3 Vainer still the hope of heaven, 

That on human strength relies ; 
But to him shall help be given, 
Who in humble faith applies. 

4 Seek we, then, the Lord's Anointed, 

He will grant us peace and rest : 
Ne'er was suppliant disappointed, 

Who through Christ his prayer addressed. 



ACTIVE EFFORT. 

Laborers of Christ, arise, 

And gird you for the toil ! 
The dew of promise from the skies 

Already cheers the soil. 
Go where the sick recline, 

Where mourning hearts deplore ; 
And where the sons of sorrow pine, 

Dispense your hallowed store. 
Be faith, which looks above, 

With prayer, your constant guest ; 
And wrap the Saviour's changeless love 

A mantle round your breast. 
So shall you share the wealth 

That earth may ne'er despoil, 
And the blest gospel's saving health 

Repay your arduous toil. 

MRS, SIOOURNET. 



404 



WOMAN IN S ACRED SONG. 



HOME MISSIONS. 

Our country's voice is pleading, 

Ye men of God, arise ! 
His providence is leading, 

The land before you lies ; 
Day-gleams are o'er it brightening, 

And promise clothes the soil ; 
Wide fields, for harvest whitening, 

Invite the reaper's toil. 

Go, where the waves are breaking 

Ou California's shore, 
Christ's precious gospel taking, 

More rich than golden ore ; 
On Alleghany's mountains, 

Through all the western vale, 
Beside Missouri's fountains, 

Rehearse the wondrous tale. 

The love of Christ unfolding, 

Speed on from east to west, 
Till all, His cross beholding, 

In Him are fully blest. 
Great Author of salvation, 

Haste, haste the glorious day, 
When we, a ransomed nation, 

Thy sceptre shall obey. 



FEAR NOT, LITTLE FLOCK. 

1 Fear not, O little flock, the foe 
Who madly seeks your overthrow ; 

Dread not his rage and power ; 
What though your courage sometimes faints, 
His seeming triumph o'er God's .saints 

Lasts but a little hour. 

2 Be of good cheer ; your cause belongs 
To Him who can avenge your wrongs ; 

Leave it to Him, our Lord ! 
Though hidden yet from mortal eyes, 
He sees the Gideon that shall rise 

To save us, and His word. 

3 As true as God's own word is true, 
Not earth nor hell with all their crew 

Against us shall prevail ; 
A jest and by-word are they grown ; 
God is with us, we are His own, 

Our victory cannot fail ! 

4 Amen, Lord Jesus, grant our prayer ! 
Great Captain, now Thine arm make bare, 

Fight for us once again ! 
So -shall Thy saints and martyrs raise 
A mighty chorus to Thy praise, 

World without end : Amen ! 

CATHERINE WINKWORTH. 



I NEED THEE. 



1 I need Thee every hour, 

Most gracious Lord ; 
No tender voice like Thine 
Can peace afford. 

Refrain. — T need Thee, O, I need Thee ; 
Every hour I need Thee ; 
O, bless me now, my Saviour ! 
I come to Thee. 

2 I need Thee every hour ; 

Stay Thou near by ; 
Temptations lose their power 
When thou art nigh. 

3 I need Thee every hour, 

In joy or pain ; 
Come quickly and abide, 
Or life is vain. 

4 I need Thee every hour ; 

Teach me Thy will ; 

And Thy rich promises 

In me fulfil. — Ref. 

5 I need Thee every hour, 

Most Holy One ; 
Oh, make me Thine indeed, 
Thou blessed Son. 

ANNIE SHERWOOD HAWKS. 

Born 1835. 
Coji'Tight, 1872. and set to music by rev. r. lowhy. 
Use! from "Pure Gold," by per. Biglow & Main. 



WHO SHALL ROLL THE STONE AWAY? 

1 Up through the voiceless centuries of the past, 
Begirt with doubts, with bitter tears o'ercast, 
We hear the weeping Mary's questioning, pray 
Oh ! who shall roll the heavy stone away ? 

2 That cold great stone ! how oft it lies 
Between the widow's tears, the orphan's cries ; 
No echo from the silent " Land of the Leal," 
Unlocks for us the impenetrable seal. 

3 Alone we stand ! there comes no sound ! 
Darkness and grief, and silence most profound ; 
No shadowy hands reach out to us in pain ; 
We call our loved ones, but we call in vain. 

4 Oh ! not in vain : for us the Master died ! 
Oh ! not in vain : on Calvary crucified ! 
A sinful world in doubt and darkness lay 
Till angels came, and rolled the stone away. 

5 We see by faith an aureole flame arise 
Up to the golden gates of Paradise ; 

And borne on wings of light, from that white throne 
Our risen Saviour comes, to call His own. 

MRS. JENNIE F. SNELL. 1885. 
Seven Oaks. Milan, Pa. 



HOME MISSIONS. SOCIAL PARLOR MEETINGS, AND DORCAS SOCIETIES. 



405 



BE WITH MY MOUTH. 

C. M. Tune— " Dundee." 

1 Be with my mouth — I would not speak 

Without Thy guidance, Lord ; 
This stammering tongue is all too weak, 
Do Thou direct each word. 

2 Be with my mouth — My songs of praise 

Melodious can be, 
Only as Thou the notes upraise 
To heavenly harmony. 

3 Be with my mouth — My prayers must fail 

Without Thy promised aid ; 
Prompted by Thee they must prevail, 
The answer ne'er delayed. 

4 Be with my mouth — Let every breath 

Be spent in serving Thee 
Until life closes, then in death 
Oh ! be Thou still with me. 

CECIL IiREEME, 1383. 

WHO IS READY? 

•' (Jo work m my vineyard."— Matt, xxi : 28, 
Tune—" Martyn." 

1 Waiting is the golden harvest, 

Waiting is the golden grain, 
While the Master calls for reapers 
From the hill-side and the plain ! 
Eefrain. Who is willing ? who is ready ? 
Who will go and work to-day ? 
See the golden harvest waiting ; 
Who will bear the sheaves away? 

2 Truly is the harvest plenteous, 

But the laborers are few. 
Pray ye that the Lord of harvest 
Send forth workmen tried and true. 

3 Will the Master hold us guiltless, 

If the work be left undone ? 
If for lack of labor perish 

Precious souls we might have won ? 

4 Haste, Oh ! hasten, willing workers, 

Swiftly speed the hours away ; 
Hearken to the Master's warning, 
"Work ye while 'tis called to-day." 

ANNIE CUMMING8. 

Set to music by w. -warren bentley. 



FOLLOW THOU ME. 

Tune— " Not half has ever been told." 

1 Have ye looked for sheep in the desert, 

For those who have missed their way ? 
Have ye been in the wild waste places, 

Where the lost and the wandering stray ? 
Have ye trodden the lonely highway ? 

The foul and darksome street? 
It may be ye'd see in the gloaming 

The print of my wounded feet. 



2 Have ye folded home to your 

The trembling, neglected lamb, 
And taught to the little lost one 
• The sound of the Shepherd's name ? 
Have ye searched for the poor and needy 

With no clothing, no home, no bread ? 
The Son of Man was among them, 

He had nowhere to lay his head. 

3 Have ye carried the living water 

To the parched and thirsty soul ? 
Have ye said to the sick and wounded 

" Christ Jesus makes thee whole " ? 
Have ye told my fainting children 

Of the strength of the Father's hand ? 
Have ye guided the tottering footsteps 

To the shores of the " golden land ? " 

4 Have ye stood by the sad and weary, 

To smooth the pillow of death ? 
To comfort the sorrow-stricken, 

And strengthen the feeble faith ? 
And have ye felt, when the glory 

Has streamed through the open door, 
And flitted across the shadows, 

That I had been there before ? 

5 Have ye wept with the broken-hearted 

In their agony of woe ? 
Ye might hear Me whispering beside you, 

'Tis a pathway I often go ! 
My disciples, My brethren, My friends, 

Can ye dare to follow Me ? 
Then wherever the Master dwelleth 

There shall the servant be ! 

KATE R. ODEN 



PRAY FOR REAPERS. 

Tune— "Harwell." 

1 Saints of God ! the dawn is bright'ning, 

Tokens of our coming Lord, 
O'er the earth the field is whit'ning, 

Louder rings the Master's word, 
"Pray for reapers, pray for reapers," 

In the harvest of the Lord. 

2 Feebly now they toil in sadness, 

Weeping o'er the waste around, 
Slowly gath'ring grains of gladness, 
, While their earnest cries resound, 
"Pray that reapers, pray that reapers," 

In God's harvest may abound. 

3 Now, O Lord, fulfill Thy pleasure, 

Breathe upon Thy chosen band, 
And with pentecostal measure, 

Send the reapers o'er the land ; 
Faithful reapers, faithful reapers, 

Gath'ring sheaves for God's right hand. 

By "A Lady of Virginia,* 
Set to music by rf.v. t. nkal. 



406 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



OUR MISSION FIELD AT HOME. 

"Beginning at Jerusalem."— Luke xxiv: 47. 

1 How many in our favored land 

God's holy day profane — 
Neglect the Saviour's gracious call, 

And take His name in vain ! 
Then while we pray for heathen climes 

Far o'er the crystal foam, 
Oh ! let us ever bear in mind 

Our mission field at home. 

2 "Go feed my lambs," our Saviour said, 

"And bring them to my fold," 
For us the same command is given, 

As then to him of old ; 
"While others toil for dying souls, 

Far o'er the ocean's foam, 
Be ours to serve this noble cause, 

Our mission field at home. 

3 How many a poor neglected child 

With pleading eyes we meet ! 
A gentle word might hither guide 

Its little wandering feet — 
A precious lamb that God may bless, 

Beneath this hallowed dome ; 
Then let us ever bear in mind 

Our mission field at home. 



Copyright, 1866. In " New Golden Shov 



FANNY CROSBY. 
by per, Biglow & Main. 



TOIL ON. 

1 Thrust in the sickle, reap for God, 

Behold the ripening grain ; 
A glorious harvest soon will prove 
Our labor not in vain. 
Chorus — Toil on, toil on, 

Let not our vigor wane ; 
How sweet to know the faithful here 
Shall labor not in vain. 

2 The gleaners soon will gather in 

"With joy their precious grain ; 
The weakest Christian soul will find 
His labor not in vain. 

3 The welcome song of harvest home, 

"We'll sing o'er hill and plain, 
And angel choirs take up the theme, 
We labored not in vain. 

4 But sweeter far than harps of gold, 

When He who once was slain, 
Shall say to all His toiling ones, 

Ye labored not in vain. fanny crosby. 

Set to music by silas j. vail. 
Copyright, 1874, in "Songs of Grace and Glory.' 
TJsed by per. Biglow & Main. 

WE'LL WORK TILL JESUS COME. 

"Thy work shall be rewarded."— Jer. xxxi : 16. 

1 O land of rest, for thee I sigh, 
When will the moment come, 
When I shall lay my armor by, 
And dwell in peace at home ? 



Chorus — We'll work till Jesus comes, 

And we'll be gathered home. 

2 No tranquil joys on earth I know, 

No peaceful sheltering dome, 

This world's a wilderness of woe, 

This world is not my home. 

3 To Jesus Christ I fled to rest; 

He bade me cease to roam, 
And lean for succor on His breast, 
Till He conduct me home. 

4 I sought at once my Saviour's side, 

No more my steps shall roam, 
With Him I'll brave death's chilling tide, 
And reach my heavenly home. 



MRS. ELIZABETH MILLS. 



HOME MISSION HYMN. 

Tune— "America." 

1 Far from our Father's home, 
A little band we come 

To worship Thee ; 
The same love we adore, 
Here on the prairie floor, 
That led the pilgrims o'er 

The stormy sea. 

2 Be Thou our Friend and Guide, 
Whatever may betide, 

In this new land ; 
Help us Thy will to see ; 
Thy servants, Lord, are free ; 
And may we ever be 

Led by Thy hand. 

3 The earth is all Thine own ; 
The harvests o'er it strewn 

Are Thy bequest; 
The gold within the mine, 
The fruits upon the vine ; 
Oh ! when our laws are Thine, 

Then all is blest. 

4 With earnest hearts we pray, 
Here in Thy house to-day, 

At this sweet hour ; 
Our land to consecrate, 
To make each added state, 
In truth and virtue great — 

Strong in thy power. 

5 Our strength is not our own ; 
"We bow before Thy throne, 

In childlike trust ; 
Oh ! bless this virgin soul, 
Bless all the hands that toil, 
And let no evil foil 

The true and just. 




CHILDREN OF THE MISSION BANDS. 



HOME MISSIONS. SOCIAL PARLOR MEETINGS, AND DORCAS SOCIETIES. 



417 



Chorus.- 






FAITHFULLY ENDURE. 

Old Tune — " Onward, Christian Soldier." 

In the world, O Christian, 
Let thy life be pure ; 

Earthly fame or riches, 
Seek not to secure ; 

Still, in faith and patience, 
To the end endure. 

— In the world, O Christian, 
Turn thy heart to God, 
Walk the path of safety, 
Path that Jesus trod. 

Riches bring temptation, 
Pleasure bringeth pain ; 

If God's care content thee, 
Great shall be thy gain ; 

If in heaven thy treasure, 
Earth's desires shall wane. 

With the world, O Christian, 
Loiter not, nor stay ; 

Called to life eternal, 
Onward speed thy way, 

Till the Master summons 
Thee from earth away. 



But we will surely conquer, 
The foe will soon be slain, 

The land we'll take with honor 
And Christ our King will reign. 

Behold ! the thronging nations 

Pour in on every side, 
They come from Orient regions, 

And countries far and wide — 
From China's flowery kingdom, 

From Erin's blooming isle, 
They hear the voice of freedom, 

And flee from bondage vile. 

Tell them of truer freedom, 

Release from Satan's chain, 
Proclaim the royal ransom, 

Jesus for sinners slain ; 
His name is on our banner, 

Above the cross it shines, 
Behold it ! every sinner, 

It glows in living lines ! 



V. MCNAIR. 



ANNIE K. MOULTON. 1883. 



HOME MISSION HYMN. 



Tune — "/ love to tell the story-' 



1 Wave, wave the Gospel banner, 

With cross and crimson line, 
Unfurl to every sinner 

This signal so divine ; 
Wave it on Rocky Mountain, 

On old Pacific's shore, 
By flowing stream and fountain, 

And lowly cabin door. 

Chorus. — Wave, wave the Gospel banner, 
With cross and crimson line, 
Till every unsaved sinner 
Shall joyful hail the sign. 

2 Take it, ye sons and daughters, 

That from our firesides go, 
Plant it besides your altars, 

Fear not the sight of foe ; 
In Utah and Wyoming, 

Far to the setting sun, 
Keep still our ensign waving 

Till victory is won. 

3 The foe is strong and wily ; 

Scoffer and skeptic vie 

To pour their scorn unholy, 

Our standard to defy ; 



"WE'RE GOING HOME TO-MORROW. 

(As originally written.) 

1 We'll bear our burden as we may, 

Nor wish it were some other ; 
We'll trust and look to God alway, 

And strive to aid a brother. 
For starless though it be, how short 

This voyage of our sorrow ; 
The storms but drive us into port, — 

We're going home to-morrow. 

CHORUS. — We're going home, no more to roam, 
No more to sin and sorrow ; 
No more to wear the brow of care — 
We're going home to-morrow. 

2 Dear Heaven, fill with mercies still 

The cup our lips are pressing ; 
We do not know if weal or woe, 

Would be the greater blessing; 
For very near, when all is drear, 

Is He whose strength we borrow ; 
Adown life's west, how bright the rest, 

We're going home to-morrow. 

3 For weary feet, there waits a street 

Of wondrous pave and golden ; 
For hearts that ache, the angels wake 

The story, sweet and olden ; 
For those who sleep, and those who weep 

Above the portals narrow, 
The mansions rise above the skies, — 

We're going home to-morrow. 

SOPHIA T. GKISWOLD. (PAULINA.) 

(See page 322.) Chicago, 1876. 



408 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

JESUS' JEWELS. 



MRS. M. A. KIDDER. 



MRS. JOS. F. KNAPP. by per. 




ges, Have you ta - ken by the hand 
sor - row, You may save a soul from care: 



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JTUREIGxv MISSiolVS. SONGS AND RECITATIONS FOR MISSIONARY BANDS. 



409 



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OH! SEE THEM NOW MARCHING. 



Words and Melody by PHCEBE SPTJRLOCK 



Harmonized by E. K. MOORE. 




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2. A-way o'er the prai - ries wide roll- ing we see, With the wav-ingof grass,like the bos-om of the sea, 

3. A-way through the val - leys, and o - ver the hills, Thro' the woodlands they come,and by low gush-ing rills, 

4. Like stars of the morn- ing that her-ald the light, Ere the sun com-eth forth in the strength of his might, 




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From the wide cit - y full. 'midst the gath - er- ingthrong, With chiming ofbells they come inarching a - long. 
With their songs and their banners they march on their way,Proclaiming the com- ing mil-len - ni - al day. 



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410 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



WORK, FOR THE NIGHT IS COMING. 

(This well-known hymn has been attributed to Rev. Sidney Dyer, who 
wrote one of the same name, but quite different from the following, as he 
himself tells one of our most prominent music houses. 

This one, so well known, made its appearance in the year 1860 over the 
signature of Annie L. Walker of Canada ; and since it is found in her 
volume of hymns and poems, and is not in Rev. Mr. Dyer's Collection, it 
is thought quite safe to assign it a place in "Woman in Sacred Song." 
Doubtless future editions of books now giving Mr. Dyer the credit, will 
make the correction. At least, an eminent music doctor thus prophesies.) 



1 Work, for the night is coming, 

Work through the morning hours ; 
Work, while the dew is sparkling ; 

Work, 'mid springing flowers ; 
Work, when the day grows brighter, 

Work, in the glowing sun ; 
Work, for the night is coming, 

When man's work is done. 

2 Work, for the night is coming, 

Work through the sunny noon ; 
Fill brightest hours with labor ; 

Rest comes sure and soon. 
Give each flying minute 

Something to keep in store ; 
Work, for the night is coming, 

When man works no more. 

3 Work, for the night is coming, 

Under the sunset skies ; 
While their bright tints are glowing, 

Work, for daylight flies. 
Work, till the last beam fadeth, 

Fadeth to shine no more ; 
Work, while the night is dark'ning, 

When man's work is o'er. 

ANNIE L. WALKER. 1860. 



3 When my soul, over death's currents drifting, 

Shall float from the moorings of time ; 
And the breezes of heaven come lifting 

The curtains from visions sublime ; 
Let me bring Thee a circlet unbroken, 

No gem from its place scattered down ; 
As I lay at Thy feet the dear token, 

The gems that I sought for Thy crown. 

PRISCILLA J. OWENS. 
Set to music by w. J. wink worth. 
From " Holy Voices," 

WAITING FOR JESUS. 

" Waiting for the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ."— I Cor. i : 7. 

1 Waiting for Jesus, and working while I wait ; 

His laborers they are few ; 
So I will work with an earnest, loving heart, 
And hands that are kind and true. 
Chorus. — Waiting for Jesus, and working while I wait ; 
Surely my heart is blest ; 
Waiting for Jesus, and working while I wait ; 
And then going home to rest. 

2 Waiting for Jesus, and working while I wait ; 

Sowing on hill and plain ; 
Reaping with care all the fruit of earnest toil, 
A harvest of golden grain. 

3 Waiting for Jesus, and working while I wait; 

What though the hours seem long ; 
Greater the harvest I then may garner in, 
And sweeter the harvest- song-. 



GEMS FOR HIS CROWN. 

" On His head were many crowns."— Rev. xix : 12. 
Tune—" Waiting and watching for me." 

1 To my youth came a voice that was breathing, 

"My child, give thy heart unto Me; " 
Then I turned from earth's wild flowers wreathing, 

And answered my Saviour to Thee. 
Truly blest is Thy service o'erflowing 

With love that is freely sent down ; 
Blessed work on the Lord's errands going 

To gather new gems for His crown. 

2 Yes, the hero may strive for earth's glory, 

A place upon fame's gilded scroll ; 
But I want to inscribe the sweet story 

Of Jesus on each youthful soul. 
We shall keep that one treasure to shine, Lord, 

When stars from their stations drop down ; 
For we work for the souls that are Thine, Lord, 

We seek purest gems for Thy crown. 



MISS M. 

Set to music by UEO. c. HUGO. 
By per. Prom " The Crowning Triumph." F. A. North & Co. 



HELPING BY PRAYER. 

" Helping together by prayer for us.' — H Cor. i : 11. 
Tune—" I am so glad that our Father in Heaven." 

1 There are pain-prisoned souls who would work for 

the Lord, 
And spirits bowed down with life's burdens and 
care; 
There are wee little hands that small help can afford, 
But none are too weak to be helping by prayer. 
Chorus. — None are too young to be helping by prayer ; 
None are too weak to be helping by prayer ; 
Each child of God in this duty may share, 
For Jesus will hearken to all. 

2 Lo ! the harvest is white, and the world field is 

broad ; 
The weak with the strong others' burdens would 

bear ; 
Then how dear to the hearts of the children of God 
To know that they all may be helping by prayer. 

3 There are generous hearts that are not rich in gold, 

Who only a mite from their pittance can spare, 
Yet are giving a mint ne'er on earth to be told, 
For none are too poor to be helping by prayer. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. SONGS AND RECITATIONS FOR MISSIONARY BANDS. 



411 



Oh ! the Lord's work doth wait, and the helpers are 
few, 
But more than the worldly in blindness declare ; 
For they count not His loved ones so faithful and 
true, 
Who never forget to be helping by prayer. 

MISS'M. E. SERVOSS. 
Set to music by E. s. lorenz. 
From "Holy Voices." United Brethren Pub. House, Dayton, O. 

BUSY GLEANERS. 

Dedicated to the " Busy Gleaners " Mission bands. 
Tune— "Martyr or Refuge" 

1 We're a band of busy gleaners, 

Toiling on life's harvest plain ; 
And we follow fast the reapers, 

Gathering up the scattered grain. 
From the corners oft neglected, 

From the wayside trampled o'er, 
Golden seed is often gathered, 

To increase the precious store. 

2 Do not slight our earnest labor, 

Though no sickle bright we wield; 
Drop some handfuls kind on purpose, 

As we follow through the field. 
We're a band of busy gleaners, 

Starting work at early dawn ; 
We will follow on rejoicing 

In the joyous light of morn. 



Set to music by E. s. lorenz. In 



owens. 1883. 
' Holy Voices." 



THE 



MASTER HATH NEED OF 
THE REAPERS: 

"The harvest truly is plenteous, but the laborers are few. — " Matt, i 

1 The Master hath need of the reapers, 

And, idler, He calleth for thee ; 
Come out of the mansions of pleasure, 

From the palace of revelry flee. 
Soon the shadows of eve will be falling, 

With the mists and the dews and the rain ; 
Oh ! what are the world and its follies, 

To the mold and the rust of the grain ? 

2 The Master hath need of the reapers, 

And, worker, He calleth for thee ; 
Oh ! what are thy dreams of ambition, 

To the joys that hereafter shall be ? 
There are tokens of storms that are coming, 

And summer is fast on the wane ; 
Then, alas ! for the hopes of the harvest, 

And alas ! for the beautiful grain. 
8 The Master hath need of the reapers, 

And He calleth for you and for me ; 
Oh ! haste while the winds of the morning 

Are blowing so freshly and free. 
Let the sound of the scythe and the sickle 

Re-echo o'er hilltop and plain ; 
And gather the sheaves in the garner, 

For golden and ripe is the grain. 



A STARLESS CROWN. 

A crown of glory thac fadeth not away. — I Peter v. i. 

1 Oh ! shall I wear a starless crown, 

In yonder world of glory ? 
Or will some little friend be found 

To whom I've told the story — 
The wondrous story of the cross, 

The sufferings of the Saviour, 
Who died that He from worldly dross 

Might win us to His favor. 

Chorus. — O happy day ! O happy place ! 

We soon shall meet together, , 
Where Jesus stands with smiling face 
To crown us His forever. 

2 A youthful army now we stand, 

Our Captain's word is given, 
We'll onward move, His blest command 

Will guide us on to heaven. 
When ransom'd hosts shall gather round 

The Lamb on Zion's mountain, 
Oh ! there may we in ranks be found, 

Beside the living fountain. 

LYDIA BAXTER. 

Copyrighted and Set to music by T. e. Perkins. 
Used by per. Biglow & Main. " Songs of Salvation," 



THE ROSE OF SHARON. 



1 The dewy rose of -Sharon, 

How sweet it scents the air ; 
A crown of matchless glory, 

Upon the forehead fair. 
So we, in deeds of goodness, 

Until our life shall close, 
May scatter bloom and fragrance, 

Like Sharon's dewy rose. 

2 How many souls have wandered, 

Without a helping hand, 
Their light and beauty faded, 

Our bark upon the strand. 
When one small act of kindness, 

One little look of love, 
Might add another jewel, 

To Jesus' crown above. 

S Oh ! may we erring creatures, 

Though few our talents be, 
A band of young disciples, 

Our Saviour's footprints see. 
And may we humbly follow 

Till life's uncertain close, 
And leave in death a fragrance, 

Like Sharon's dewy rose. 



Set to music by ] 



WOMAN- IN SACRED SONG. 



THE EARTH. 
Hurled from the center of Infinite Cause, 
Kept in thy pathway by unerring laws, 
Spinning alway — "without haste, without rest," 
Gladly obeying a higher behest, 

Singing, swinging along 

With gladness and song. 
Ripening the grain and righting the wrong. 
O'erhead the ether bends stainless and blue, 
While the broad fields of Heaven expand to the 

view, 
Star-strewn, they glimmer with clustars so white, 
Their silvery blossoms illumine the night. 

Hieing, flying along 

With gladness and song, 
Ripening the grain and righting the wrong. 
Year after year and age after age, 
The birth of the savage, the death of the sage, . 
Mark thy great cycles through uttermost space, 
Careering with stars in a majestic grace, 

Whirling, swirling along 

With gladness and song, 
Ripening the grain and righting the wrong. 
Ever and ever thou weavest our fate, 
Flieth thy shuttle both early and late, 
Farther from darkness, from gloom and from strife, 
Nearer the fountain of Love and of Life ; 

Singing, swinging along 

With gladness and song, 
Ripening the grain and righting the wrong. 



CHRISTMAS. 

1 Here comes old Father Christmas, 

With sound of fife and drums ; 
With mistletoe about his brows, 

So merrily he comes. 
His arms are full of all good cheer, 

His face with laughter glows, 
He shines like any household fire 

Amid the cruel snows. 

2 He is the old folks' Christmas ; 

He warms their hearts like wine, 
He thaws their winter into spring, 

And makes their faces shine. 
Hurrah for Father Christmas ! 

Ring all the merry bells ! 
And bring the grandsires all around 

To hear the tale he tells. 



Here comes the Christmas Angel, 

So gentle and so calm ; 
As softly as the falling flakes, 

He comes with flute and psalm. 
All in a cloud of glory, 

As once upon the plain, 
To shepherd boys in Jewry, 

He brings good news again. 



He is the young folks' Christmas, 

He makes their eyes grow bright 
With words of hope and tender thought, 

And visions of delight. 
Hail to the Christmas Angel ! 

All peace on earth he brings ; 
He gathers all the youths and maids 

Beneath his shining wings. 



ROSE TKR.KT COOKE. 



THERE'S A WONDERFUL TREE. 

CHRISTMAS. 

1 There's a wonderful tree, a wonderful tree, 
The happy children rejoice to see ; 
Spreading its branches year by year, 

It comes from the forest to flourish here. 

Chorus. 

Oh ! this beautiful tree, with its branches wide, 

Is always, is always blooming at Christmas-tide. 

2 ' Tis not only in summer's silvery sheen 

Its boughs are broad and its leaves are green ; 

Blooming for us when wild winds blow, 

And earth is so white with her feathery snow. 

3 And a voice sweetly tells, its branches among, 
Of watchful shepherds and angels' song ; 
And of a Babe in manger low, 

The beautiful story of long ago. 

4 Oh ! then spread thy full branches, wonderful tree ! 
And bring some dainty present to me, 

Filling my heart with a burning love 

For Him who once came from His home above. 

Set to music by schilling. In ' 



LITTLE THINGS. 



Written for a " Mite-box Opening," and inscribed t 
Canton, 111. 1884. 



' The Merry Workers " ot 



INTRODUCTORY KECITATION. 

We lightly speak of " little things," 

But oft forget to count 
The separate trifles, thus to find 

Their actual amount. 

We say, " How can our little help 
Enrich the great Home field ? " 

The Lord can multiply the seed, 
And give abundant yield. 
The world is made of little things, 

A saying true as trite ; 
We find our courage in the word, 

As each one gives her mite. 
And so, to keep ourselves in heart, 

While here we bring our hoard, 
We'll call to mind some "little things' 

Wherein that power is stored. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. RECITATIONS FOR MISSIONARY BANDS. 



413 



No. 1. GRAINS OF SAND. 

The mountains high, the ocean beach, 

The broad and fertile land, 
Are debtors to the multitude 

Of tiny grains of sand. 
The winds and waters drive and cut, 

And sift out grain by grain, 
Not knowing whereunto their work 

May by and by attain. 



No. 7, 



SWEET ODORS. 



In what minute, substantial form 

Rare perfumes may be found ; 
A tiny grain or drop, alone, 

May scent the air around. 
Those ''vials full of odors sweet," 

Before the throne of gold, 
We help to fill — Oh ! wondrous thought, 

And privilege untold ! 



No. 2. GRASS BLADES. 

One little blade of grass alone — 
How trivial and forlorn ! 

But He who causes two to grow 
Where one did greet the morn, 

Is piecing out the fair green robe 
Which doth our earth adorn. 



No. 8. FRAGMENTS. 

The " crumbs swept up," the morsels saved, 

The things of trifling cost, 
Are precious fragments in His sight, 

Who said, " Let none be lost." 

No. 9. CORDS. 






No. 3. GRAINS OF WHEAT. 

The boundless prairies turn to gold, 

Beneath the summer sun ; 
The histories of harvest fields 

Show fortunes lost and won. 
The heads of wheat must slowly fill, 

And ripen grain by grain, 
Else toil of hand, and hope of bread 

Alike will be in vain. 

No. 4. — LEAVES. 

The countless leaves upon -the trees, 

A whispered lesson give, 
Reminding of the " healing leaves," 

Whereby the nations live. 
How many bitter streams of strife, 

Which death and sorrow yield, 
Might bless our land, if they could be 

Like Marah's waters healed ! 

No. 5. RAYS OF LIGHT. 

From one great source come all the rays 

That make the perfect day, 
And every small and radiant beam 

Will find its own bright way. 
Which one of all could well be 

No mortal tongue can say. 

No. 6. DEAVDROPS. 

The early dewdrops may refresh 

As well as plenteous rain ; 
The sun his image seeks in each, 

And searches not in vain. 
These morning offerings that we bring, 

May some refreshment bear, 
And though so small we trust our sun 

May see His image there. 



Of slender filaments and frail, 

A cable may be wrought, 
And none can say one fragile thread 

May count therein for naught. 
"A threefold cord," the Scripture says, 

Is difficult to break ; 
With love and prayers, and offerings meet, 
Our triple cord we make. 

No. 10. — JEWELS. 

Like tiny clustered diamond points 

Around a central gem, 
Our little deeds may shine at last 

In Jesus' diadem. 
When nations shall before Him fall, 

And gladly crown Him " Lord of all. 

CLOSING HYMN. 

To be sung by the Band. Air, " Christmas," or any suit- 
able common metre tune. 

Receive, Lord, the mites we bring ; 

We leave them in Thy hand ; 
Thy touch can change our trifling gifts, 

To values high and grand. 

Our Father's God ! our country's hope ! 

To Thee we lift our eyes ; 
All things are Thine, yet offerings small 

Thou dost not hence despise. 

Oh ! speed the day when Thou shalt be 

In all our borders known : 
When all the "strangers in our midst" 

Shall worship Thee alone. 



Note.— A pretty receptacle for the " nine," should be 
placed upon a table. The young girls should take their 
places upon the platform together, and each in turn step 
forward to empty her box— repeating her allotted part of 
the exercise, first giving its title clearly. 






414 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



NOTHING IS LOST. 



THE LITTLE ONES. 



1 No seed is lost, though long it lie, 

Deep hidden in the soil, 
Or if unnourished it may die, 

Despite the sower's toil, 
It is not lost although it ne'er 

In beauteous verdure spring, 
As grain of dust, 'twill help to rear 

Some other seed or thing. 

Chorus. — No seed shall die, nothing be lost, 
No influence lose its power, 
The seed shall change, the lost be found 
In some propitious hour. 

2 O cheering thought ! each little seed 

We late or early sow, 
Though it be destined or decreed 

Never to sprout or grow, 
To leaf nor luscious fruit nor flower, 

Nor precious, golden grain, 
Some thing will prove some future hour, 

We sowed it not in vain. 

3 blessed, joy-inspiring thought ! 

Not one material thing 
Is wholly lost — one's poverty 

To others wealth may bring, 
For compensation is a law 

Fixed by almighty power, 
And granite rocks may grow from seed 

Too weak to bear a flower. 

4 Nothing is lost, our words and deeds 

Which seem to lack in power, 
For good or ill, are fruitful seeds 

Awaiting but their hour, 
Their favoring circumstance or time 

In which to grow and "bloom, 
And help some soul to God and heaven, 

.Or speed it to its doom. 

5 For influence is a mighty wave, 

Forever rolling on, 
On through all time, though to the grave 

Mortality be gone, 
And onward it shall ever roll, 

Despite all human skill, 
Exerting upon many a soul 

Some power for good or ill. 

6 O solemn, wholly solemn thought ! 

Our influence is a power, 
Mighty, though subtle, and is fraught 

With issues every hour, . 

For good or ill, for weal or woe, 

From dawn till set of sun, 
Whate'er our state, where'er we go, 

Outward the currents run. 

ANOIE FULLER. 1883. 

In " The Venture." 



( Eight little children ; cue smaller the better.) 

First Child. ( With gilt star.) 

A little star across the night, 

I shine, I shine ! 
I am not like the others, bright, 

I shine, I shine ! 
There are so many larger, far, 
And I am but a little star ; 
Yet since God bids, I shine afar, 
That God may smile on me. 

Second Child. ( With tiny glass full of water.) 
A little drop of Summer rain, 

I fall, I fall ! 
To bless the dry and thirsty plain, 

I fall, I fall ! 
One little drop, so very small ! 
The thunders through the heavens call, 
So at God's bidding I will fall 
That God may smile on me. 

Third Child. ( With crystal ball.) 

A little drop of evening dew, 

I rise, I rise ! 
To freshen some small leaf anew, 

I rise, I rise ! 
And though so small, you scarce can see, 
And very few will notice me, 
At God's call I come willingly, 
That God may smile on me. 

Fourth Child. (With small flower.) 
A little bud upon the grass, 

1 bloom, 1 bloom ! 
They tread upon me as they pass, 

I bloom, I bloom ! 
I am not bright as roses rare, 
I am not like a lily fair, 
But at God's bidding I am here 
That God may smile on me. 

Fifth Child. ( With a small leaf.) 

A little leaf upon the tree, 

I grow, I grow ! 
Wave in the soft wind happily, 

I grow, I grow ! 
Hundreds are greener here in spring, 
And I am such a little thing ; 
But in God's sight I'm shimmering, 
And God will smile on me. 

Sixth Child. (With crown of brown feathers.) 
A little bird upon the bough, 

I sing, 1 sing ! 
So many birds are singing now, 

I sing, I sing ! 
Tee-wee ! tee-wee ! is all my song, 
And yet I sing the whole day long ; 
For I to God's full choir belong, 
And God will smile on me. 



FOREIGN MISSIONS. RECITATIONS FOR MISSIONARY BANDS. 



415 



Seventh Child. {Holding a small cross in clasped 
hands.) 

7 A little child beneath the sun, 

I pray, I pray ! 
Although a very little one, 

I pray, I pray ! 

Hundreds are far more wise and grand, 

And I so little understand, — 

Yet by my dear Lord's side I stand 

And He will smile on me. 

Eighth Child. (Holding a palm-branch or a wreath 

of flowers. She should be dressed wholly in white.) 

8 A little angel in the sky, 

I praise, I praise ! 
And swiftly at God's bidding fly, 

I praise, I praise ! 
The other angels, bright and strong, 
Are filling all the heavens with song ; 
Yet God can hear His little one, 
And God will smile on me. 



ELLEN Ml 



WHERE SHALL THE CHILDREN FIND 
JESUS? 
First Voice. — 

Who is this upon Nazareth hills, 

Gathering lilies that grow by the rills ? 
All. — Jesus of Nazareth ; from Jerusalem 

He came with his parents, was subject to them 
Seco?id V. — Who is this in the Bethany home, 

Where he at eventide loved to come ? 
All. — Jesus of Nazareth ; low at His feet 

Mary is learning her lessons sweet. 
Third "V. — Who is this, where the waters cool 

Gleam as they flow from Siloam's pool ? 
All. — Jesus of Nazareth ; tender, kind, 

Stands by Siloam and heals the blind. 
Fourth V — Who is this in the eventide, 

Walking up slowly, o'er Olive's side ? 
All. — Jesus of Nazareth goes that way, 

Thither He comes, by night, to pray. 
Fifth V. — Who is this by the blue sea's shore, 

Watching the waves when night is o'er ? 
All. — Jesus of Nazareth ; it is He, 

Waiting, his fisher-friends to see. 
Sixth V. — Who has come at the ruler's cries, 

Bidding his little daughter rise ? 
All. — Jesus of Nazareth ; and He said, 

" Maiden, arise ! " " She is not dead ! " 
Seventh V. — Who is this, when the mothers press 

Near Him, that He their babes may bless ? 
All. — Jesus of Nazareth ; kindly He 

Says, " Let the little ones come to me." 
Eighth V. — Sweetly our glimpses of Jesus fall ; 

This is the dearest one of all : 
All. — Jesus of Nazareth ! let me be 

One of the little ones blessed by Thee. 

MKS. M. E. C. SLADE. 1880. 



HEAVENLY FOUNDATIONS- 

"The Foundations of the Heavenly City and their Language." — 
Rev. xxi : 18- 21. 

First Voice. — 

City of God, Oh ! how bright and how fair 
Seem thy pure pearly gates in that heavenly air ! 
What a flood of clear light from thy jasper walls gleams, 
As each foundation-stone in its own beauty beams ! 
Methinks as each stone has a light of its own, 
So each flash to our hearts bears a magical tone ; 
And there breathes from each gem a word of good 

cheer, 
Such as flowers in their beauty bring to us here. 
I would, my dear sisters, we might by their light, 
Their language receive, and translate it aright, 
So that we, as our eyes toward those glistening walls 

turn, 
From their beauty may ever some new lesson learn, — 
Some glimmer of truth that may light up the way 
Our weary feet tread, toward those portals of day. 

Second Voice. — Jasper. 

Methinks the Jasper, first in sight, 
Beaming on all with cheery light, 
Withholding not a single ray 
To others due. Yet from the day, 
So shrouding its own heart from view, 
That not a ray can pierce it through, 
Emblems the Great Mysterious One, 
Who sits upon the jasper throne, 
And, shedding light on all around, 
Still wrapped in mystery profound, 
In ways we cannot comprehend, 
Works out His purpose to the end. 
Third Voice. — Sapphire. ' 

The second gem's cerulean hue, 
The Sapphire, with its heavenly blue, 
Seems like the heart that finds above 
Its noblest joy, its purest love, 
Hiding no secret in its breast, 
But loving heaven's own hue the best. 
Fourth Voice. — Chalcedony (Cornelian). 
The stone that next we see 
Blood-red Chalcedony, 
Reminds us that we owe 
Our life, our all below, 
To Him whose blood alone 
Could for our sin at'one ; 
Shall not its language be 
To us, Humility ? 
Fifth Voice. — Emerald. 

Oh ! yes, such let it be, — 

None but the contrite heart 
From sinful pride set free, 

Can in that blood have part. 
And now upon our sight 

Mildly the Emerald gleams, 
As Hope's refreshing light 
Upon our pathway beams. 






416 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Sixth Voice. — Sardonyx. 

And blending with its vernal light 

The fifth foundation-stone, 
With pale rose hue and zones of white, 

Breathes Love in every tone. 
'Twas Love that reared these mansions fair, 

'Tis Love that bids us come. 
And while it reigns supremely there, 
'Tis Love conducts us home. 
Seventh Voice. — Sardius (Ruby). 

Close by there flashes on the sight 
The Sardius, with its ruby light ; 
An emblem, in its regal ray, 
Of princely grace and dignity. 
Well may its burning brilliance grace 
The walls where reigns the Prince of Peace, 
And truly fitting is this gem 
To deck His royal diadem. 
Eighth Voice. — Chrysolite (Diamond). 
Clear as the crystal waters are, 
Pure as the face of heaven fair, 
The seventh foundation beams in sight, 
The Diamond, or the Chrysolite. 
Truth, like this adamantine gem, 
Ne'er feels corroding touch of time, 
But faithfully reflects each ray 
From early dawn till twilight gray. 
Ninth Voice. — Beryl. 

And now the Beryl's sea green hue 
Beside the Diamond gleams in view, 

With softened light ; 
Emblem of knowledge, deep, profound, 
Like ocean-depths no line can sound, 
Yet ever bright. 
Tenth Voice. — Topaz. 

We, ninthly, in the Topaz trace 
The symbol of that kingly grace, 

Sweet Clemency. 
Oh ! were not this inscribed above, 
Banished for aye from light and love, 
How lost were we ! 
Eleventh Voice. — Chrysoprasus. 
And yet, assured of this, 

We turn with grateful thought, 
The tenth foundation trace. 

With grace and beauty fraught. 
Its vernal coloring 

Minds of green fields and bowers, 
And of that promised spring 
That wakes immortal flowers. 
Twelfth Voice. — Jacinth. 

And there the Jacinth gleams, 

With its warm amber ray, 
Like day's departing beams, 

Emblem of victory. 
Even in the darkest hour, 

The skies all overcast, 
We'll trust our Father's power 
For victory at last. 



Thirteenth Voice. — Amethyst. 

The last foundation-stone, 
With beauty all its own, 
Reflects its violet ray, 
Like clouds at set of day. 
Type of Immortal joy, 
Of bliss without alloy ; 
Such is our heavenly rest, 
O lovely Amethyst. 

First Voice. — 

Precious thoughts, my dear sisters, ye've gathered and 

brought 
That with memories fragrant may ever be fraught ; 
And like stars on the main, to the mariner lost, 
May guide some poor soul, on life's sea tempest-tossed, 
To that haven of rest where no angry winds blow, 
But the breezes sigh soft, and the still waters flow. 
And may we, all too, read these lessons aright, 
And ever press on toward the City of Light, 
Through temptations and trials e'er grasping the hand 
Of Jesus, our Guide, our Protector, and Friend. 

ORRIE M. GAYLORD. 
Iu " Good Times." 1881. 



THE CHILDREN'S DAY. 



" He hath blessed thy children within thee." 

1 The children's day has come again, 

The day of bloom and roses ; 
With joy we lift our hearts to God, 

In whom our faith reposes ; 
Another year has passed away, 

We meet with hope confiding, 
Would cast our flowers at Jesus' feet, 

In His dear love abiding. 

2 The children's happy day returns 

With brightest music ringing, 
And all the hills, and e'en the dales 

Are full of Nature's singing ; 
Now we would join in thankful notes, 

And sing our Saviour's praises, 
Let all this glorious band awake, 

While each their tribute raises. 

3 Then greet the coming year with song, 

The opening year before us, 
Rejoice in Christ, the children's Friend, 

His banner's waving o'er us ; 
The summer days are full of joy, 

And bright the fields are smiling, 
With loving hearts each other greet, 

Thus life's fair hours beguiling. 

KATE GLEHN. 

Set to music by B. C. unseld. In "Gospel Light." 

Copyright, 1883, by EMMA Pirf. 



HOME MISSIONS. CHILDREN® DAY. PARLOR MEETINGS. 



417 



I AM BUT A LITTLE LAMB. 



FOR THE INFANT CLASS. 



Mrs. M. O. PAGE. 



Mrs. C. H. SCOTT. 



1. I am but a lit - tie lamb, Yet I know the way Leading up to heav-en above. Where the an - gels stay. 

2. If He hears a lit - tie child, And regards my plea. Will He not the old-er ones? Let them come and see. 

.ft. .ft. (t>± _^_ h*_ p. jt. 



When at night I lay me down, I'm be-neath His care; He can hear my lit - tie voice, When I say my prayer. 
Je - sus while He was on earth, Bless'd both small and great, And in heav'n with crowns, for all, Doth He lov-mg" wait. 



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SHEPHERD DEAR. 



fFANT CLASS. 



EMMA L. MOETON. 



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2. Oh! He leads us all the day, All we need He doth provide; Lit-tle feet can uev - er stray While our Shepherd 

3. When the night grows dark and chill, Tho' His face we cannot see, Yet we know He guards us still, And from ev-'ry 

4. When the night of death shall come, Jesus in His arms of love, Takes His lit-tle lambkins home,Heaven's pastures 



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418 



WOMAN IN SACMW SUNG. 



SING, CHILDREN,- SING. 

"Oh, come, let us sing unto the Lord."— Ps. xcv : ! 
Tune— "From Greenland's icy Mountains." 

1 Come, children, happy children, 

Who love the Saviour's name, 
Join in a song of praises, 

And spread abroad His fame ; 
Now raise your happy voices 

And joyful offerings bring, 
For Jesus loves the children — 

Sing, children, sing ! 

2 And when again He corneth 

To gather up His own, 
He'll not forget the children, 

The jewels of His crown ; 
Then 'sing aloud His praises, 

And songs of gladness bring, 
For Jesus loves the children — 

Sing, children, sing ! 

3 When we are safely landed 

Upon the heavenly shore, 
We'll join with all the ransomed 

To praise Him evermore ; 
We'll swell the mighty chorus, 

And joyful anthems sing, 
For Jesus loves the children — 

Sing, children, sing ! 



One voice of song we miss, one maiden face ; 
One sister hath from her accustomed place 

Gone upward and passed on, — 
Passed on to where in glad, eternal youth 
She learns again the blessed words of truth ; 
So while this rose-white wreath I hang the cro 

We say, God's will be done. 



i upon, 



MRS. M. M. WBINLA.ND. 1883 
From "Gates of Praise.' 



3 Our brother, teacher, leader, Christian friend, 
His life so full of years, had glorious end; 

His crown was nobly won. 
Through life, God's "likeness" sought he till he cried, 
Waking in heaven, " I am satisfied." 
So while this full, ripe sheaf I lay the cross upon, 

We say, God's will be done. 

4 What shall be left to grow till autumn's prime, 
Or what cut down in life's midsummer time ? 

He knows, the Allwise one. 
Then for our brother whom He called to rest 
In manhood's fulness, say, " He knoweth best," 
So while this broken branch I hang the cross upon, 

We say, God's will be done. 

5 We count not these as losses ; rather say 

We count our gains this joyous Children's Day, 

Bright with the glad June sun. 
Each loved one now in bliss eternal dwells. 
So while the cross of pain with immortelles, 
Bright symbols of immortal life, I crown, 

We say, God's will be done. 

From "Good Times." when edited by MRS. SLADB. 1881. 



MEMORIAL OFFERINGS. 



RECITATION FOR CHILDREN'S DAY. 



In many of the churches, on Children's Day, 
reference is made to those members of the school 
who have died during the year. In St. Paul's 
Methodist Church, Fall River, Mass., last year, the 
following exercise was used. A large cross was 
covered with evergreen. Five young ladies stood 
before it. Their recitations referred to a little 
child, a young lady, a young man, and an elderly 
person. The first hung upon the cross a wreath 
of rosebuds ; the second, a white-rose wreath ; the 
third, a sheaf of ripe wheat ; the fourth, a broken 
branch of green, fresh leaves ; the fifth crowned 
the cross with a wreath of immortelles. With slight 
changes this will fit the similar needs in any school. 
At the close of each stanza the choir chanted "Thy 
will be done." 

I Memorial offerings in my hand I hold ; 
Out from our flock up to the heavenly fold 

One little lamb has gone ; 
More fair than flowers that meet our earthly eyes, 
To-day he sees the flowers of Paradise. 
So while bright buds I bring for our dear little one, 

We say, God's will be done. 



[Seven little girls enter, each bringing a bouquet, and 
as the flowers are handed to the pastor, the latter arran- 
ges them in a circle on a small stand at his side, and 
when the recitations are ended, he gives a little sermon, 
taking the flowers for his text.] 

First speaker. (Bringing daisies.) 
The daisy is the children's flower, 

For with its winsome grace 
It makes earth's dreariest corner seem 

A fairy-haunted place. 
Sweet type of child-like innocence, 

It stars the meadows green, 
And brightens up the wayside dell 

With "its golden-centered sheen. 

Second Speaker. (Bringing roses.) 

The rose means love — God's love to us, 

For earth was drear and sad 
Until to prove His tender thought, 

And make His children glad, 
He sent His shining angels forth 

From their fair home above, 
To scatter roses far and wide, 

And whisper, " God is love." 



HOME MISSIONS. CHILDREN*' DA Y, PARLOR MEETINGS. 



419 



Third speaker. (Bringing violets.) 
I think God meant the violets 

To teach us to be true, • 
So trustingly they turn to Him 

Their eyes of heavenly blue ; 
And always when I chance on them 

In field or garden-plot, 
They seem to murmur in His name, 

" My child, forget-me-not." 

Fourth speaker. (Pansies.) 

The pansy with its sunny face, 

I think the dear Lord sent 
To have us learn, what e'er our let, 

Therewith to be content. 

Fifth speaker. (Honey-suckles.) 

Honey-suckles, from their fresh lips 

Breathe forth fragrance all the day ; 
Thus may we with love and kindness 

Sweeten hours of toil and play. 

Sixth. (Lilies.) 

Fair as a star the lily lifts 

Its glad face to the light, 
And whispers to each little child, 
" Dear heart, be pure and white." 

Seventh. (Clover.) 

Clover blossoms, white and red, 
Yield the busy bees their bread; 

Industry the clover teaches, 

And its little sermon preaches 
Everywhere it lifts its head. 

All recite in concert. 

Of all these blossoms fair and true, 

That bloom in sun and rain, 
We weave witb happy thoughts to-day 

A more than magic chain ; 
The violet's tender faithfulness, 

The pansy's heart content ; 
The purity of lilies white, 

With love and sweetness blent, 
Of these, with patient industry, 

Each little child may wind 
A bright and fadeless talisman 

About the heart to bind. 

MAKY B. SLEIGHT. 

Sag Harbor, N. Y. 1885. 



HIS BANNER OVER ME WAS LOVE. 

Cant, vi : 4. 

Five young girls have each a little banner, o/ 
which is printed LOVE, and upon which ar< 
wreaths of, first, roses ; second, lilies ; third, bu'v 
tercups, or dandelions ; fourth, daisies ; fifth, v* 
rious field and garden flowers. Each lifts her ban 
ner at the last line of her stanza. 



First recites. 

I am the rose of Sharon. — [Cant, ii : 1. 
I went into my garden, the roses blossomed fair ; 
I wove a garland, fragrant as the myrrh and spices, 

there ; 
I thank the Lord that made them, — I lift them up 
above, — 

"And His banner over me is love." 

Second Recites. 

I am the rose of Sharon and the lily of the val- 
ley. — [Cant, ii: 1. 
I went into the valley ; snowy lilies there I found. 
Of them a lovely garland, white and sweet and pure, I 

bound. 
I thank the Lord that made them, — I lift them up 
above, — 

" And His banner over me is love." 

Third Recites. 
We will make thee borders of gold. — [Cant, i : 2. 
I went into the meadows, and from the grassy mold 
I wove for me a garland, a crown of blossom-gold ; 
I thank the Lord that made them, — I lift them up 
above, — 

" And His banner over me is love." 

Fourth recites. 

We will make thee borders of gold with studs 
of silver. — [Cant, i : 2. 
I went upon the hillside and, beautiful and bright, 
I wove for me a garland of daisies, silver white ; 
I thank the Lord that made them, — I lift them up 
above, 

" And His banner over me is love." 

Fifth recites. 

The flowers appear on the earth. — [Cant, ii : 12. 
I went where earth was beautiful with blossoms all 

around ; 
I wove for me a garland of all the flowers I found; 
I thank the Lord that made them, — I lift them up 
above, — 

" And His banner over me is love." 

Sixth recites. 

Lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone ; 
the flowers appear on the earth ; the time of the 
singing of the birds is come. — [Cant, ii : 11, 12. 
I hear the voice of gardens, of meadow, vale and field ; 
They weave themselves a garland of all the flowers 

they yield ; 
They raise a fragrant chorus to their Maker up above, 
" For His banner over them is love." 

MRS. M. B. C. SLADE. 



WOMAK IN SACRED SONG. 



CCELO ET TERRA. 

(This can be used as a Memorial Service, chang- 
ing the plural in the "Heaven" verses to the singu- 
lar. It can be said at an Entertainment by placing 
those who recite the "Heaven" verses out of sight. 
It would be most effectively rendered b\ r having 
several dressed in mourning on a darkened half of 
the platform ; others dressed in white, on the other 
side brilliantly lighted. 

A hymn of praise sung together, in which "Earth" 
reciters should take the second, would be an appro- 
priate finish.) 



Earth. — Our steps are firm o'er rock and sand, 

We haste across the wild, 
Our eyes meet lightning, storm, and cloud, 

As fearless as some child 
Held safely in its father's arms 

Across a dangerous ford ; 
And when the darkness groweth worse 

We speak Thy name, our Lord. 

Heaven. — Our steps are light across the smooth, 

Deep green of Heaven's lea, 
Our eyes draw in the waveless light 

That fills eternity. 
So satisfied, so utterly, 

Completely satisfied, 
We cannot think, or wish, or will, 

For aught to be beside. 

Earth. — We struggle upward, resolute, 

We catch and climb and cling 
As travelers by an Alpine mere, 

Weary and shuddering ; 
Yet, undeterred, towards the Light 

We strive with aching brain, 
With failing feet and panting breath 

We fall and yet attain. 

Heaven. — The seraph's knowledge droppeth through 

His speech, as honey sweet ; 
Our thoughts are rising hour by hour 

New gifts of strength to meet. 
And still the Light ineffable 

Allures each musing soul, 
While swift from saint to answering saint 

The kindling raptures roll. 

Earth. — The snows of many winters drift 

O'er many a church-yard stone, 
Each hides some memory in the heart 

To sorrow o'er, alone. 
And yet, we cannot feel afraid 

While night succeeds the morn ; 
For God's hand holdeth us and ours, 

We do not feel forlorn. 



Heaven. — The earthly snows were white and cold, 

The dying day grew weak ; 
One last word for our weeping friends 

We strove in vain to speak. 
How strange such sorrow seems to-day 

In heaven's summer glow, 
While God's hand holdeth us and ours 

In peace above, below. 
Earth. — We serve our God with service low. 

How feeble and how poor, 
With trembling hands and blundering lips 

And oft repentance sore. 
The censer-coals are dimmed by tears, 

The incense is but sighs ; 
Yet when we fall down at His feet 

His goodness bids us rise. 
Heaven. — We serve our God with joyous praise 

Within His temple's bound ; 
Forever near His altar stand, 

And swell the anthem's sound. 
We minister, in garments white, . 

As holy priests to Him ; 
No imperfection stains our robes, 

No discord mars our hymn. 
Earth. — Some day, across the shadows drear, 

Of death, our feet shall go ; 
And we must meet, as meet we may, 

The Jordan's overflow. 
But when upon the other side 

Lost friends around us press, 
We'll say, "For sorrow, parting, death. 

Our Father's love we bless." 
Heaven. — Some day, across the sapphire hills, 

And o'er the fields of balm, 
Our loved from earth shall come and stand 

Within our groves of palm. 
And we shall say, "Beloved hail 

To peace and happiness! 
On earthly snows, on heavenly hills, 

Our Father's love we bless." 

ellen MURRAY, in "Good Times." 1882. 

QUESTION AND ANSWER. 

FOB CHILDREN'S DAY. 

INFANT CLASS. 

[Teachers should indicate proper gestures for primary; 
class as they mention feet, eyes, ears, hands, etc. For 
instance, when hands are mentioned, let a forest of little 
hands be stretched out to show willingness to help. Let 
the questions be sung by the main school, the answers 
by the primary class.] 

School. — Dear little restless feet, 

Where are you going to-day ? 

JPr. C. — Treading the path that leads to heaven, 
Errands of love to us are given, 
Errands of love ! errands of love ! 

8.— Dear little feet ! dear little feet ! 



HOME MISSIONS. CHILDREN'S DAY, PARLOR MEETINGS. 



421 



S. — Dear little helping-hands, 

What are you doing to-day ? 

Pr. C. — Carrying flowers to the sick and sad, 

Helping to make them strong and glad. 

S. — Dear little hands ! dear little hands ! 

Pr. C. — Helping-hands, helping-hands. 

S. — Dear little watchful eyes, 

What are you seeing to-day ? 

Pr. C. — Sunlight and starlight, buds and flowers, 
Given to cheer this world of ours. 

S. — Dear little eyes ! dear little eyes ' 

Pr. C. — Watching eyes, watching eyes. 

8. — Little speaking lips, 

What are you saying to-day ? 

Pr. C. — Telling how Jesus calls us home, 
" Suffer the little ones to come ! " 

8. — Dear little lips ! dear little lips ! 

Pr. C. — Yes, we will come ! yes, we will come ! 

ALICE M. GUERNSEY. 1881. 

In " Primary Teachers' Monthly.' 

THE SPARROWS. 

1 From these quaint old roofs and chimneys 

To the steps and courts below, 
A crowd of noisy sparrows 
Are flitting to and fro. 

2 Now chattering to each other 

Upon the mossy eaves ; 
Now chirping in full chorus 
Amid the dry leaves. 

3 I have wondered long and often, 

What they find to do and say ; 
How such little restless creatures 
Can keep busy all the day. 

4 I know, though never idle, 

That they neither toil nor spin, 

Nor barn nor storehouse have they, 

And the hoarded grain within. 

5 Yet I never once have wondered 

How those birds are housed and fed, 
That in thinking of the morrow 
They have neither care nor dread. 

6 For I know our Father careth 

For His creatures weak and small ; 
That His watchful eye regardeth 
The sparrow if it fall. 

7 Yet my faith grows weak and falters 

'Neath the weight of future years, 
And my heart is overburdened 
With the morrow's anxious fears. 

8 Their cost — the merest trifle — 

A farthing would repay ; 
My priceless soul is surely 

Worth far much more than they. 

9 O faithless heart and foolish ! 

Shall the children starve for bread? 
Or shall needful shelter fail them. 
While the birds are housed and fed ? 

MARIE R08SEAU. 



CHILDREN'S MISSION. 

1 Upon the wintry wold, 

Far from the city lights, 
With keen, benumbing cold 
Come down the dismal nights. 

Who wanders there, 

Sinks in despair, 

No human cheer 

Can reach his ear. 

2 "A child is lost! " the cry 

Thrills through the midnight air; 
And men from far and nigh, 
With ready hearts are there. 
Children, awake ! 
Nor slumber take 
Till they shall come 
Who bring it home. 

3 There is a legend old, 

That once a gentle saint, 
Out of the dark and cold 
A little child did take. 

She clothed and fed ; 

And in its stead, 

In beauty fair, 

The Christ stood there. 

. 4 Give to the lost ones love, 

The light of God's great home ; 
Theirs here, and theirs above, — 
So Christ to them shall come. 
Oh ! let us pray, 
God speed the day 
When Christ shall hold 
All in His fold ! 

MISS H. S. WARE- 



WHAT DO WE BRING? 



1 Such costly treasure the wise men gave 

To the baby in Palestine, 

Burnished gold, which perhaps some slave 
Unearthed from a sunless mine, 
Myrrh and frankincense, rare and fine ; 

Nothing of theirs too good or sweet 

To lay at the infant's feet. 

2 What do we bring our Lord in heaven ? 

Frankincense of holy thought ? 

Wrongs forgiven seventy times seven, 
Loving kindness rendered for naught, 
Deeds, precious as gold the Magi brought ? 

Nothing of ours is too costly or sweet 

To lay at His wounded feet. 

MARY A. PRESOOTT. 1880. 

In the " Companion." 



422 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



THE LEGEND OF THE ASPEN. 



Respectfully inscribed lo the Rev. George H. Hepworth, D.D. 

1 There runneth an ancient legend, 

How years and years ago, 
When Jesus, the Infant Saviour, 

Did dwell on earth below ; 
And how, when the cruel Herod 

The Innocents did slay, 
There came to Joseph commandment — 

" Take mother and child, and stay 
In Egypt, secure from Herod, 

Nor tarry in thy way." 
They rode from the Kingly City, 

All through the woods at night, 
And, blazing in all their splendor, 

The stars their way did light. 
And cedar, and oak, and olive, 

Did all, with one accord, 
Bend lowly his nodding branches, 

In homage to Christ the Lord, 
Excepting the stately Aspen : 

" I yield to none," said she, 
" My reverence nor my homage, 

I'm Queen of ev'ry tree." 

2 There ran a shiver of horror 

Through every twig and branch — 
A mighty trembling along the stems 

Of the Aspen's leaves so blanche ! 
" Because of thy pride, thy leaflets," 

The Holy Child did say, 
" Shall nevermore cease thy trembling, 

But quiver for aye and aye." 
So runneth the quaint old story 

Of ages long ago ; 
And teacheth it not a lesson 

To us as we onward go ? 
Who will not accord due rev'rence, 

And honor give to God, 
Shall tremble sore at His presence 

In the day of Christ the Lord. 

MAKY K. HAESELBARTH. 1881 



THE CHRIST-CHILD. 

1 The gates of glory opened wide, 

And down their shining path of light 
An angel host, with songs of joy, 

Brought wondrous news to earth one night. 

2 The Christ-child, from the realms of love, 

The promised hope of Israel, 
The Morning Star and King of kings, 
Had come on earth with men to dwell. 

3 And o'er the plains the angels sang 

At midnight, of redemption's morn ; 
The burden of their song was love, 

Its message sweet : " A child is born." 



4 What wonder that the Judah hills 

Re-echoed far that song of peace ! 
What wonder bright angelic ones 
Had sung an anthem ne'er to cease ! 

5 That echo round the world has swept, 

And thrills Judea's hills once more ; 
That song, for eighteen hundred years, 

Has cheered earth's weary hearts, and sore. 

6 To-night the Christ-child comes again ; 

No manger now shall be His bed ; 
For scarce a home but waits for Him 
Who had not where to lay His head. 

7 And bearing perfect peace and joy, 

He enters every waiting Heart, 

Abides with all who welcome Him, 

And ne'er unbidden will depart. 

MISS M. E. SERVOSS. 1883. 



CHRISTMAS GIVING. 

Beat soft, O happy heart ! 

Think of that wondrous birth ! 
The King forgets His throne 

For the needy of the earth. 
Haste to forget thyself ! 

Remember His decree, 
" Who giveth to My poor, 

He giveth unto Me." 



MRS, M. F. BUTTS, 
i the " Companion.'' 



CHRISTMAS CAROLS. 

1 On the plains of fair Judea, 

Bathed in soft and lambent light, 
Streaming from the star-lit heavens, 
Shepherds watch their flocks by night. 
Peaceful smiles the sky o'erbrooding 

Lowly fountain, lofty palm, 
Sleeping flock, and watching shepherd, 
With its quiet, holy calm. 

2 Softly, through the shimmering starlight, 

Steals a strain of silvern song; 
Lo ! the echoing hills of Judah 
Waft the glad refrain along. 
"Glory, glory in the highest ! " 

Rings through all the star-lit sky ; 
Lo ! the lovely vales re-echo, 
"Glory be to God Most High ! " 

3 Angel bands in shining raiment 

Fill the arch of heaven's blue dome, 
Sweep their lyres to strains triumphant 
Sounding from their heavenly home. 
"Glory, glory in the highest ! 

Peace on earth," they sweetly sing ; 
"Joyful news," they shout, "glad tidings, 
Shepherds, unto you we bring." 



HOME MISSIONS. SONGS AND RECITATIONS FOR CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR', 



42 3 



4 Loud, exultant, ring their chorals, 

Angel-voices swell the song, 
Down from heav'n, in gleaming brightness, 
Wings a glad, ascriptive throng. 
"Glory, glory in the highest ! 

Unto men good will," they sing ; 
"Peace on earth, our joyful tidings, 
Christ is born, your Saviour, King ! " 

5 Smile the starry skies above them, 

Smile the hills and vales below, 
Rock and rill and starlit fountain 
Smile beneath the radiant glow. 

"Christ is born in Bethlehem's city," — 

Loud the Christmas carols ring; 
"Peace on earth, we bring good tidings, 
Christ, the Lord, is born your King." 

6 Praising God, the herald angels 

Came from heav'n to earth in joy ; 
Glorious through the vanished ages, 
Still God's praise their lips employ. 
Praising God, let Christmas carols 

From earth's ransomed voices ring — 
Glory, glory in the Highest ! 
Glory be to Christ, our King ! 



LED BY THE STAR. 

1 Led by a star they came 

And knelt at His feet ; 
Bringing fine gold and myrrh, 

And incense sweet. 
No royal sign He wore, 

No robe nor ring, 
Yet in their souls they knew 

He was the King. 

2 "Watching their flocks by night, 

Marvellous strains 
Came to the shepherds, on 

Judea's plains. 
Swift from the lips of that 

Mystical throng, 
Down to their waking hearts, 

Came the glad song. 

3 And what was the song that was sung on that won- 

derful, far-off morning, 

When the voice of the heavenly hosts gave the duti- 
ful shepherds warning ? 

What was the gift that was given to the world that 
day, as far 

To the place where the young child lay, the Wise 
Men followed the star ? 

4 Glory to God on high — the infinite majesty prov- 

ing, 
Peace and good will to men, the sign of an infinite 
loving ; 



A gift from the soul of love — unmeasured by earthly 
price, 

The song of homage and truth, and beauty and sac- 
rifice. 

5 The star the Wise Men saw with hope in its gra- 

cious beaming, 
The star of a deathless love, still chimes -for a 

world's redeeming ; 
And still to the deepest depths the heart of the 

world is stirred, 
By the song that so long ago the Judean shepherds 

heard. 

6 Sweetly the self-same strain may rise from lips that 

falter ; 
Weakest of hands may bring the choicest of gifts, to 

the altar ; 
'Gainst the truest and best of giving there's never a 

bolt nor bar, 
Wise and simple alike may follow the shining star. 

7 Peace and good will to men ; O bells in the steeple, 

ring it. 
Peace on earth and good will ; O brother to brother, 

sing it ! 
Up to the mountain tops and down to the vales 

below, 
On and on, forever let the Christmas message go. 
8 Ring out, O bells ! O songs 
Uplifting, glad and sweet, 
Your music to all time belongs, 
So long as hearts shall beat 1 
Sing, heart, the perfect strain, 
) Again and yet again ; 

The immortal song of praise to God 
And love to men. 



3|rs. <&. Ittsim §aprtr Cutting. 

The author of the following was the daughter of Robert Bayard, Esq.,. 
of Glenwood, N. Y. By marriage she became Mrs. Fulton Cutting, and 
resided in New York. About 1840 she wrote quite extensively for The 
Literary World,' and The Knickerbocker, signing simply her initials, and 
her writings were often attributed to gentlemen. Bsr articles are 
marked by an earnest thoughtfulness, and a strong, healtl Jul imagination. 

A FUNERAL CHANT FOR THE 
OLD YEAR. 
1 ' Tis the death-night of the solemn ( fid Year ! 
And it calleth from its shroud 
With a hollow voice and loud, 
But serene, 
And it saith : — " What have I given 
That hath brought thee nearer heaven ? 
Dost thou weep, as one forsaken, 
For the treasures I have taken ? 
Standest thou beside my hearse 
With a blessing or a curse ? 
Is it well with thee, or worse 
That I have been ? " 



424 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



2 ' Tis the death-night of the solemn Old Year ! 

The midnight shades that fall, — 
They will serve it for a pall, 
In their gloom ; 
And the misty vapors crowding 
Are the withered corse enshrouding ; 
And the black clouds looming off in 
The far sky, have plumed the coffin, 
But the Vaults of human souls 
Where the memory unrolls 
All her tear besprinkled scrolls, 
Are its tomb ! 

3 ' Tis the death-night of the solemn Old Year ! 

The moon hath gone to weep 
With a mourning still and deep 
For her loss ; 
The stars dare not assemble 
Through the murky night to tremble ; 
The naked trees are groaning 
With an awful mystic moaning. 
Wings sweep upon the air, 
Which a solemn message bear, 
And hosts, whose banners wear 
A crowned cross ! 

4 - Tis the death-night of the solemn Old Year ! 

Who make the funeral train 
When the queen hath ceased to reign ? 
Who are here 
With the golden crowns that follow 
All invested with a halo ? 
With a splendid transitory 
Shines the midnight from their glory, 
And the paean of their song 
Rolls the aisles of space along, 
But the left hearts are less strong, 
For they were dear ! 

5 ' Tis the death-night of the solemn Old Year ! 

With a dull and heavy tread 
Tramping forward with the dead 
Who come at last ? 
Ling'ring with their faces groundward, 
Though their feet are marching onward, 
They are shrieking,— they are calling 
On the rocks in tones appalling, 

But Earth waves them from her view, 
And the God light dazzles through, 
And they shiver, as spars do 
Before the blast ! 

6 ' Tis the death-night of the solemn Old Year ! 

We are parted from our place 

In her motherly embrace, 
And are lone ! 
For the infant and the stranger 
It is sorrowful to change her ; 



She hath cheered the night of mourning 
With a promise of the dawning ; 

She hath shared in our delight 

With a gladness true and bright : 

Oh ! we need her joy to-night, 
But she is gone ! 

MRS- E. J. B. CUTTING. 1847. 



MOTTOES FOR THE NEW YEAR. 

Waiting /— Working .'— Warning,!— Waking ! 

(Lukexii: 36) (Markxlii: 34) (Ezek. iii: 17) (Cant, v: 2) —Watching! 
(Mark xiii: 37.) 

(Tune— "We are watching, we are waiting.") 

1 We are waiting for the coming of the Master we hold 

dear; 
We are longing just to greet Him and to hail His 

drawing near, 
For our loins are girt and ready, and our lamps are 

trimmed and bright ; 
We are waiting for the signal that will say He is in 

sight. 

2 But we would not have Him find us standing idle all 

the day, 
So we learn to work while waiting, doing something 

by the way ; 
And we find that working for Him is a toil so truly 

sweet, 
That we almost wish for tarrying in the coming of His 

feet. 

3 And we know that He has bidden us bring others to 

His love, 
And we long to fill the mansions that are waiting us 

above ; 
So while we work we dare not fail to vxirn each 

straying heart, 
That in our Lord and in our home they too may have 

a part. 

4 Sometimes we almost weary of our constant gaze on 

high, 
And our hearts grow dull, and hopeless of His speedy 

drawing nigh ; 
Then comes our need of waking, for each moment 

brings Him near, 
And the signal lights of Heaven daily shine more 

bright and clear. 

5 Thus we stand, with waking heart-look, till the night 

of life shall cease, 
Watching for the golden day-dawn that shall herald 

light and peace ; 
When the dim earth-mists that sadden fiee before the 

sunrise bright, 
And our hearts be fully gladdened in our Saviour's 

glorious light ! 



HOME MISSIONS. RECITATION'S AND READINGS FOR PARLOR MEETINGS' 



GIVING AND GROWING: WITHHOLDING 
AND WITHERING. 

1 Unapproached and unfathomed, yet meeting the 

needs, 
The want and the yearning Humanity pleads, 
Sweeping clown through the ages, unfailing, unspent, 
The Light of one Life through all love has blent. 
Like leaf from a tree, tiny bud from rich bowers, 
A breath of perfume from a garden of flowers, 
A whispering chord, on ^ZEolian strings, 
Prom high-swelling anthems when full chorus rings ; 
Like spray from the sea, — rolling boundless and 

blue, ' 
So, all that is beautiful, spotless and true, 
Flows out from that Ocean, unfathomed and wide, 
Where Eternal Love pours its Infinite tide. 

2 Streams from a sweet fountain must sweetness distil ; 
Lives, lovely and pure, have a mission to fill ; 

And thoughts that are helpful and holy and true, 
Have a mission as well, have a work they may do. 
In manifold clusters, o'er woodland and lea, 
Sweet blossoms of thought wait for you and for me. 
What wreaths we might fashion for young hearts to 

wear, 
Did we gather the garlands of truth everywhere ! 
Did we from our glad path cull brightness and bloom 
For those who walk only in shadow and gloom, 
What rare buds of blessing, what joy we might bear, 
To those overburdened with sorrow and care. 

i 3 Of sweets we have garnered in life's golden cup 
Shall not weary ones taste and little ones sup ? 
Why hoard up life's nectar our own cups to fill, 
If one other heart we might comfort or thrill ? 
Transfused, and made pure by a wave from above, 
Is our life's current fed from the Fountain of Love ? 
Give ! give from Love's largess, and more shall be 

poured ! 
Ah ! we keep that we give : we lose that we hoard ! 

!To give is to grow ; to withhold maketh poor ; 
To have but to hold, makes no treasure endure ; 
But our "cups of cold water," in gems crystallized, 
Are set in the crown of " reward " in the skies ! 

MARY A. LKAVITT. 

Vernon, Ind., August, 1885, 



HOME MISSION POEM. 

1 Lo ! these latter days of glory, 
Grandest in the march of time, 
When Jehovah's triumph car, 
Thund'ring through the land afar, 
Sweeps the vale and mountain hoary ; 
And the lightning's speaking-marvel 
Seems the mystery to unravel, 
Of His purposes sublime. 



Grander fate awaits our nation, 
All its giant powers expand ! 
Bursting from her century's tomb, 
Progress finds her aloe bloom ; 
And the tide of emigration, 
On its current broad and sweeping, 
Sends its millions to our keeping, 
Cast like wrecks upon the strand. 

Undeveloped mines of treasure 
Stretch their wealth from shore to shore 
Hands of commerce and of trade 
Network of highways have laid. 
Plenty gives unstinted measure ; 
Freedom's eagle waves its pinions 
O'er our vast, blood-bought dominions, 
Cursed by slavery's crime no more. 



to and fro are running ; 
Knowledge grows in our domain — 
Varied faiths their light have shed, 
Strang philosophies outspread 
All their sophis try and cunning ; 
While, on soil made doubly sacred 
By the blood of martyred kindred, 
Truth and right their victories gain. 

5 Bearers of the gospel standard, 
Have ye marked these stirring signs? 
Have ye seen in late events 
Moving cloud of providence ? 

Up ! bid Israel's host go forward ! 
Save the land from sin's disaster ; 
Take and hold it for the Master, 
Haste to rally all your lines. 

6 Haste to rally — clangers hover, 
Satan claims the country too. 
Lo ! his wakeful vanguards reap 
Bloodless triumphs while ye sleep % 
And his minions, running over 
All our wide and rich possession, 
High from every fort and bastion 
Flaunt their colors in your view. 

7 Of the marshalled strength of Zion, 
Of each arm of help or stay, 

To check her foe's aggressive deed 
Hourly sharper grows the need. 
Infidelity's bold demon 
Seeks to hurl from learning's summit 
Bible reading, joy and profit — 
Desecrates our holy day. 

8 Heathendom her feet is planting 
On Jehovah's sacred soil ; 

And her dupes to gods of stone 
In our very midst bow down. 
Of her Godhead loudly vaunting 
False, polluting ideas, 
Here have left a fatal plague spot, 
All vour rio-hteous ends to foil. 



42(5 



WOMAN IN & ACRED SONG. 



9 Sable sons are blindly groping, 
Feeling out their new-turned page ; 
And we cannot separate 
From our own their future fate. 
While, for brighter prospects hoping, 
Emigrants are nocking hither, 
.Who shall help to bless or wither 
All our glorious heritage ? 

10 Men of God, ye hold the sequel 
Of the nation's tale of strife ; 
In your mission lies the key 
To sublimest destiny. 

Only Christ's redeeming gospel 
Can lead on to grandest issue — 
Weave it in the web of tissue 
Of the nation's growing life. 

11 Preach the gospel, scatter Bibles, 
Send their tidings everywhere ; 
East or westward, where men dwell, 
News of God's salvation tell. 

Open consecrated portals, 
Let each staying Hur and Aaron 
Help to plant the rose of Sharon 
Till its fragrance fills the air. 

12 Preach the gospel till all nations 
'Neath its floating banner stand — 
Till it conquers all our foes, 
Quells our tumults, heals our woes, 
Soothes to peace the savage features, 
And, from ocean unto ocean, 

One grand anthem of devotion 
Sweeps the circuit of the land. 



A SUMMONS TO SERVICE. 

"The Master is come and calleth for thee." 
Had I heard aright ? Was the call for me ? 
Was it I who was wanted ? I listened again, 
And my heart, incredulous, filled with pain 
That was keen, and bitter, and hard to bear. 
No doubt there were others waiting there 
To answer the summons — and good, the strong, 
And those who served the Master long ! 
Yet it seemed that to me the message came, 
For coupled with it I heard my name. 

"The Master is come and calleth for thee." 

But no one ever had wanted me ! 

The dead to whom I once ministered, 

From the silent city send no word ; 

And the living, to help them, called their own, 

For none had a claim upon me alone. 

Those who were dead had a dearer still, 

And hands that were nearer to do their will, 

And I had only to stand apart 

When work that they needed was work of heart. 



3 "The Master is come and calleth for thee." 
I felt at last that the call was to me, 

And timidly answered the darkness through, 
"Lord, what wilt Thou that I shall do ? " 
And first, some lessons I had to learn 
From pain, the teacher, severe and stern. 
And then through failure I came to see 
How little wisdom there was in me, 
Until I craved of the Master's grace 
Some work to do — in the lowest place. 

4 Too short for the service are now the days, 
And joyously full of the happiest praise ! 
Hither and thither the Master sends 

His willing servants among His friends. 

And all who gladly His tasks pursue 

Find more than enough to bear and do ; 

Nor has any reason for loneliness, 

When the Master will call, and in calling bless. 

For joy and restfulness came to me 

With "The Master hath come, and calleth for thee. 



" BROIDERY- WORK." 

[A sequel to the beautiful poem by Margaret J. Preston.] 

1 And so the willing-hearted, with store of precious 

gems, 
Or gold for solemn chiming upon the ephod's hem, 
Or for the holy symbol, the priestly diadem, 

2 Responsive to the summons, glad that the Lord of 

all 
Had need of woman's service, although so weak and 

small, 
Came with their eager tribute, in answer to the call. 

3 And when the Eastern morning brake over Sinai's 

plain, 
Before they ground the wheaten flour from out the 

perfect grain, 
To offer as oblation, with the flesh of victims slain ; 

4 Before the fiery pillar became a cloud of gray, 
While yet the hush of slumber upon the valley lay, 
Before the crowding duties and questions of the 

day, 

5 With spindle and with distaff " wise-hearted women " 

spun, 
Or wrought in broidery pattern the colors one by 

one, 
And gladly brought at eventide the work which they 

had done. 

6 Some twined, with dainty fingers, the ephod's lace 

of blue ; 

Or spun the silky fibres into goat's cloth smooth 
and true ; 

Or wrought pomegranates on the robe, in triple- 
varied hue. 



HOME MISSIONS. RECITATIONS AND READINGS FOR PARLOR MEETINGS. 



t27 



7 And some, whose life of toiling had left the 

of care 

On the hands that ached with longing the blessed 
work to share, 

Sewed patiently the badger-skins, or dyed the ram- 
skins there. 

8 And some, the gay and haughty, forgot their pride 

and mirth, 
And holy thoughts and wishes within their souls had 

birth, 
As they toiled for the sacred dwelling of the Lord 

of all the earth, 

9 And others learned the lesson that e'en the trem- 

bling mite 
From a heart all warm with loving, is precious in 

His sight 
Who clothes the lilies of the field and notes the 

sparrow's flight. 

10 At last, one sultry eventide, a weary mother bore 
The folds of snowy linen for Bezaleel's store, 
And, turning, said with anxious voice, " I cannot 

broider more. 

11 " Cares of home-life press upon me, urgent claim of 

nearer things, 
I must feed my eager children, mend the broken 

sandal strings, 
And the nights are over-burdened with the calls each 

morning brings. 



i 12 



Let my husband, Judah's leader, as the tribal 

records tell, 
Bring the offering that befitteth Prince among our 

Israel. 
Mine the hearthstone and its duties, mine to do them 

true and well." 

Then outspake another mother, " my sister, have 

you not 
Leiu-ned the meed the Master giveth? have you 

then so soon forgot 
Toil for Him doth lighten labor, brightens every 

weary lot ? 



14 " Blessed is the mother's mission, cares of home are 

gifts from Him ; 
But if there the heart is centered, eyes will weary 

grow, and dim, 
And the soul-life will be bounded by the narrow, 

tented rim." 

15 Days went on. No loving mother brooded with a 

tenderer care, 
Or kept the home-hearth brighter than Judah's 

matron fair ; 
And the sick upon their beds of pain thanked God 

that she was there. 



16 But the angels knew the fairest of all the treasures 

brought, 
The vail before the mercy-seat, by loving fingers 

wrought, 
Was woven 'mid repentant tears for a doubting, 

earth-born thought. 

ALICE M. GUERNSEY, 1885. 



A CENTENNIAL ODE. 

Tune — "Lanesboro." 

1 Thick darkness settled o'er the lands, 

The heavy clouds hung low : 
Foul ignorance and doubt their bands 
Clasped with relentless, cruel hands, 

A hundred years ago. 

2 God gave the word in highest Heaven, 

That echoed far below, 
Forth went the preachers, by love driven, 
And swift the murky veil was riven, 

A hundred years ago. 

3 A million preachers raised the Cross, 

Its lines and hues to show, 
And now its waving streamers toss, 
Where all was sin. decay, and loss, 

A hundred years ago. 

4 Quaint little preachers, soft and small, 

With voices sweet and low : 
Ordained by their great Master's call 
To preach the healing Word to all, 

A hundred years ago. 

5 To every land, to every clime, 

The Heav'n-sent preachers go; 
And fruits that will endure with time 
Were planted by that call sublime, 

A hundred years ago. 

6 Fruits that on every Sabbath clay 

God's ripening sunshine show, 
With palms and flowers strew His way, 
And tell the increase of that day 

A hundred years ago. 

7 Then swell the glorious pasan forth, 

No lagging notes nor low ; 
From East to West, from North to South, 
Praise the good utterance of God's mouth, 

A hundred years ago. 

8 And echo far o'er land and sea 

The blessed mandate " Go 
And win my precious lambs for me, 
Go, do as I did then for thee, 

A hundred years ago." 

9 So shall the preachers small and great, 

God's power and goodness know, 
And for His glorious coming wait 
With him who opened first this gate 

A hundred years' ago. 

Miss M. E. wiNST.ow. March, 1880. 
Written for the Robert Raikes Centennial Sunday School Celebration. 



J 



428 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



ALASKA. 

1 Territory noble, vast, 

Reaching far o'er earth aud sea, 
Linked with our beloved land, 

Glorious land of liberty ; 
Nature triumphs on thy soil, 

Spread with gifts divinely wrought; 
Mountains circling hill and vale, 

Crowned with peaks in cloud-land caught ; 
Monuments symbolical, 

Stately domes, whose belfries chime 
Ever silently to all 

The " Gloria " with awe sublime. 

2 Christian soldier, heed the cry 

Echoing from that far-off shore ; 
Gird thine armor firmly on, 

Then go forth — delay no more. 
Wait not till it be too late, 

For the fields to-day are white ; 
Souls are pleading for the truth, 

Groping out of heathen night. 
Canst thou hear their piteous wail, 

Which would make an angel sigh — 
" No one come to teach us God, 

We are left alone to die " ? 

3 Such the tidings to us borne 

From the vineyard workers there ; 
Few in number, on they toil, 

. Winning souls by faithful prayer. 
Now they have their church, school, 

Teaching, guiding, day by day; 
Twoscore silver moons have waned 

Since the leader found her way, 
But these poor, benighted souls, 

Won at last, by Christian love, 
Feel conviction's wondrous power 

Like an arrow from above. 

4 Thus the little band press on, 

Sowing, reaping, gathering grain; 
But they need thy helping hand, 

Fresh with courage to sustain. 
Swift they come from out the wilds 

When of Jesus' name they hear, 
Pleading for a shepherd guide, 

Who their darkened path will clear. 
If within thy secret soul 

Thou canst hear the " still, small voice ' 
Bidding thee to " feed my lambs," 

Go, and heaven will bless thy choice. 

5 Panorama of the West, 

Daily as thy canvass rolls, 
Moved by that mysterious Hand 

Which created worlds controls, 
Where the artist, prophet, sage, 

Who thy future can portray ? 
Who can tell what wealth and power 

Lie concealed within thy clay ? 



This, Alaska's natal hour. 

Calls for heaven's descending dove; 
Lord, baptize it with Thy blood, 

Consecrate it from above. 



north. Feb. 



THE LIVING BREAD. 

1 Bread, bread for all was in the Saviour's hands, 

A full supply to answer every need, 
But how would He the hungering thousands feed? 
Ah ! see the eager group that near Him stands ! 

2 He gives to His disciples each a share, 

Then to the multitude — and hosts are fed ! 
The hand of power whose touch creates the bread 
Seeks still the human hand that bread to bear. 

3 Bread ! bread for all, the true and living bread ! 

Create by God to still man's famished cry J 
Why, since the mystic loaves still multiply, 
Do hungry thousands faint and die unfed ? 

4 Ah ! the disciples, self-absorbed, alas ! 

Lounge at their ease, with all their wants supplied ; 
And seem to marvel that, unsatisfied, 
The ranks by fifties wait upon the grass ! 

5 Up ! slothful servants ! for their hunger sore 

Take from the Master ! "Give ye them to eat !" 
Full be your eager hands, and swift your feet, 
For those He feeds shall never hunger more. 

CAROLINE M. HARRIS. 1885. 

Mrs. Harris edits a juvenile paper in Nashville, Tenn. She is the wife 

of the editor of the "Cumberland Presbyterian," published in that city. 

PRAY ONE FOR ANOTHER. 

1 As the great ocean, rising steadily, 

O'erflows each bank and bar, 
Covers the miles of marches, fills the creeks, 

And inland pools afar, 
Resistless in the glory of its strength, — 

In vain by man defied, 
Turning not back till all its work is done, 
Like this resistless tide, 
O Lord, the Holy Ghost ! 
Take Thou possession of that soul, 
That soul for which I pray. 

2 As the calm morning light that steadfastly 

Shineth to perfect day, 
Alike the mountain peak and tiny bud 

Flooding with glowing ray, 
Lighting the deserts, shining on the sea, 

Spending, yet never spent, 
Like that exhaustless light, Oh ! may Th/ power 
Upon that soul be bent. 
O Lord, the Holy Ghost, 
Take Thou possession of that soul. 
That soul for which I pray. 



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429 



As air invisible that penetrates 

The inmost, closest fold 
Of muscle, or of tissue, permeates 

The rocks' unyielding mould ; 
Forcing its way, unseen but powerful, 

Through all and everywhere, 
Be Thou at present in the inmost thought 
As to this earth the air. 
O Lord, the Holy Ghost, 
Take Thou possession of that soul, 
That soul for which I pray. 
As the electric force that, hidden, sways 

All other forces known, 
Flashes in lightning, in the thunder speaks, 

Lies hidden in the stone ; 
Binds atom unto atom, girdles earth, 

Unbounded in its course, 
Be Thou, O God, within that precious soul 
Like that eccentric force. 
O Lord, the Holy Ghost, 
Take Thou possession of that soul, 
That soul for which I pray. 



JUBILEE POEM. 

1826— A. H. M. S.-1S76. 

As some sweet carillon sends forth, 

From belfry lone and high, 
A strain of melody, to thrill 

The midnight passer-by ; 
So floated through dim forest, boughs, 

And Ashley's waters o'er, 
The first Home Missionary hymn 

On Carolina's shore. 
"New England's Offering to the Lord" — 

A little company * 
Had thither come, in fragile bark 

Braving the stormy sea. 
One hundred eighty years have flown, 

Since they, with reverence, made 
The precious sacramental feast, 

Beneath an oak-tree's shade. 
And with the rolling years have come 

New offerings to the Lord ; 
Thousands of consecrated lives 

Have testified for God ! 
Their deeds shall glow, 'neath Truth's clear light, 

With beauty unconcealed, 
As vines that grace the South-Dome's height, 

In sunset are revealed. 
Whilst a t united host moves on, 

An army tried and strong, 
The trumpet of their jubilee 

Joins the immortal song : 
To all that dwell within the land 

Proclaim ye Liberty ! 
And let the coming myriads learn 

Immanuel makes them free ! 



5 Ah ! by this noble heritage 

Our fathers nobly trod, 
■ And by their lives lived royally, 
As kings and priests, to God; 
And by the blood heroic souls 

So lavishlj r have given, 
Rest not, until our land reflects 
The radiancy of heaven ! 

6 Oh ! faith beholds a vision fair, 

A splendor drawing nigh, 
Where Minnesota's crystal lakes 

Reflect the azure sk}' ; 
Where Colorado's pine-clad heights 

Their untold riches hide ; 
And where Nebraska's many streams 

Of living waters glide. 

7 Splendor to gild each snowy mount 

Which guards the "Golden Shore," 
A glory that exceeds the sun, 

And deepens evermore. 
God grant this faith be lost in sight, 

Through His victorious Word, 
And California become 

"The Garden of the Lord ! " 

8 And deeds of violence no more 

Disturb the peaceful night, 
Where Arizona's brilliant moon 

Illumes each granite height ! 
O Christ ! who wearest many crowns, 

Reign Thou from sea to sea ; 
Till North and South, and East and West, 

Swell the grand symphony ! 

MISS ANNIE LENTHAL SMITH. 

Stouiugton, Conn. 
#Eev. Mr. Lord, and eigbt others, from Dorchester, Mass., Dec, ]695. 
f A. H. M. S. formed, " in Idea," Jan., 1825:; by Constitution, May 12. 
1879- 

BINDING SHEAVES. 

1 " Reaper," I asked, " among the golden sheaves, 
Toiling at noon amid the falling leaves, 

What recompense hast thou for all thy toil, 
What tithe of all thy Master's wine and oil ? 
Or dost thou coin thy brow's hot drops to gold, 
Or add to house and land, or flock and fold? " 

2 The reaper paused from binding close the grain, 
And said, while shone his smile through labor's stain 
" I do my Master's work, as He hath taught, 

And work of love with gold was never bought 
He knoweth all of which my life hath need — 
His servants reap as they have sown the seed. 
With all my heart I bind my Master's grain, 
And love makes sweet my labor and my pain." 

3 Then bending low beneath the burning sun, 
The reaper toiled until the day was done. 

" Lo ! here," I said, " love's largess seemeth more 
Than cruse of wine or oil that runneth o'er ; 
If work of love such store of wealth doth yield, 
I, too, will labor in the Master's field ! " 

MRS. G. NELSON SMITH. 



430 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



COMMON PLACE. 
1 Oh ! how wearily the days 

Sometimes drag themselves along, 
Through the old and common ways, 

When no life is in the song, 
And no thrill is in the air, 
And the old and common care 
Lies about us everywhere. 

2 Oh ! how bitterly we dread, 

When we waken in the morn, 
To take up the same old thread 

Of the life work so forlorn ; 
And how wearily we weave, 
And how little should we grieve 
Were we called this toil to leave. 

3 But how otherwise it seems, 

When our hearts are worked and stirred 
By all proud and noble dreams, 

Or by some inspiring word, 
When the beautiful and true 
Thrill our being through and through, 
And ennoble all we do. 

4 Then how every common duty 

Finds rich favor in our eyes, 
And the world of work is beauty, 

And our labor, sacrifice, 
And from out the tangled skein, 
Cometh order once again, 
Cometh perfectness from pain. 

5 Oh ! how sadly do we need 

Some grand purpose in our lives. 
Some strong faith that gives no heed 

To the doubt that in us strives. 
But can see in all our days, 
Opportunities to raise 
Needy souls to better ways. 

6 Oh ! that this one central thought, 

Still may fill our starving souls, 
That whatever may be wrought, 

The strong hand of God controls, 
When we shall not e'er despise 
Any common work that lies 
Nearest to our willing eyes. 

HAITIE TYNO GRISWOLD. 1883. 

AT LAST. 

1 I asked at Thy dear hands a broader field 

Wherein, my blessed Lord, to toil for Thee ; 
My grateful heart through lofty deeds would sing 
The measure of its love and loyalty. 

2 With folded hands I waited the response, 

Idle while others toiled at noontide heat, 
Bearing the burden it was mine to bear, 

Binding in sweet content their sheaves of wheat. 
'•'> The while I dreamed of tasks I would achieve, 

The sun dropped slowly down the western sky ; 
The hazy twilight deepened, and the night, 

So calm and hushed, with stealthy steps drew nigh. 



4 I rise at last and join the harvesters, 

To find the humblest task God gives me sweet ; 
With patient hand I'll strive for His dear sake 
To gather a few scattered ears of wheat. 

5 Oh ! slow of heart to learn this simple truth — 

Thy loyalty and love Thou may'st attest 
By little deeds within a narrow sphere, 
Nor vainly roam of broader fields in quest. 

MARY P. ROBERTS. 



HOME MISSION HYMN. 

1 When the morning stars chanted their beautiful lay, 

And the new-finished world high carnival kept ; 
When the sun like a monarch rode forth on his way, 

And the moon followed softly to watch when he 
slept, 
A continent slumbered afar in the west, 

Encircled by ocean in solitude grand ; 
Its altars awaiting a fitting high-priest 

To offer oblation and hallow the land. 

2 As the soldier to duty in sorrow retires 

When the tocsin of battle is bidding him come, 
So our fathers, forsaking the graves of their sires — 

Each tender reminder of childhood and home — 
Sought over the waters, through peril and storm, 

A temple for worship — its arches the skies — 
Where, prayers never hindered, unfettered by form, 

Their praises like incense should daily arise. 

3 They furrowed the valleys, and planted in tears 

The sheaves that rejoicing we gather to-day ; 
And the heathen were scattered, as troublesome 
tares 

Are tossed by the reaper forever away. 
The aisles of the forest they gladdened with song, 

The wide rolling prairie re-echoed the strain ; 
'Twas caught by the hill-tops, and handed along, 

Till ocean to ocean rest 



4 Shall we lightly esteem this fair legacy 

Where Israel rested — this Canaan of ours ? 
O sons of the Pilgrims, wherever ye be — 

Joint-heirs of the promise to true worshippers, 
Preachers of righteousness in Zion's abode, 

Partakers and helpers of latter-day bliss, 
Exalted of nations and favored of God — 

Who knows but ye came to the kingdom for this ? 

5 Our country's proud banner, unsullied by stain, 

Is waving in honor from many a height ; 
But the cross and the Bible shall victories gain 

Unheard of by heroes in life's carnal strife. 
Here earth's willing captives their weapons shall 
ground, 

The terms of surrender be, " Good will to men ; " 
In gentle communion fierce foemen be found, 

And victor and vanquished be brothers again. 



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431 



3 The kings of the Orient look westward in hope — 

The Crescent is paling in terror to-day ; 
The cloister's dim cells are fast lighting up, 

And the Hebrew's dull blindness is passing away. . 
Ours is the beacon star that shines o'er the sea, 

The city of refuge with bright golden gates, 
The Church and the Master say, " Come unto me," 

And for each faithful steward the recompense 



WORKERS TOGETHER. 

" "Workmen, as I see you resting 

From the toil you love so well, 
Have you any word to give me ? 

Have you any tale to tell ? " 
" Traveller, yes ; a tale of mercy, 

Very broad and very long, 
Is the burden of our life-work, 

Is the key-note of our song. 
" Stones were we, we two together, 

Fit for naught, and bad at best, 
Till the Lord our Saviour found us, 

And in mercy did the rest. 
" Dug us out of Nature's quarry, 

Carved and fashioned us at will : 
Even now, in patience tender, 

He is working at us still. 
" Sharp His dealing with us sometimes, 

But His hand directs the blows ; 
And we do not once mistrust Him, 

For His work our Master knows. 
" By-and-by. in love most wondrous, 

He will carry us away 
To adorn the Heavenly Temple, 

In the Land of endless day. 
" Till that time we labor gladly, 

Just to do His perfect will ; 
Stones for Him we strive to shapen 

In this quarry on the hill." 

CHARLOTTE MURRY. 



WORK, NOT REST. 

1 The hurrying days 

For all the work and praise, 
Dear Lord, I'd give to Thee, 
Are far too short and few for me. 
Thy sick and poor are all around, 

And I would comfort them ; 
Thy strong and rich ones, too, are found, 

I would rejoice with them ; 
Thy enemies who know Thee not, 

And I who know so well 

Thy tender love must tell. 



And while I work, 

With no desire to shirk, 

And heart brimful of love, 

I feel a strength that cometh from above. 

In the enforced pauses I do hear 

Sweet words of comfort and of cheer 

From the dear Master. 

The blessings which He showers on all 

Fail not into my life to fall, 
And all the faster, 
That from my cup, 
Which I hold up 
To catch them as they come, 
I pour out some 
To those who gather not 
Thy common blessings in their lot. 

I want no rest, 

But still more strength and zest ; 
I would be filled with helpfulness ; 
I long for power the world to bless, 
I'd make my life a hero's story, 

And to its latest hour 

I'd work with power, 
And pass from glory into glory. 

And in that land 

Where angels stand, 

And heroes, saints and martyrs do abide, 

And every longing shall be satisfied, 

If to come there I am so blest, 

Grant to thy servant, Lord, more work, not rest. 



Brooklyn, 1884. 



WORK AND WORKERS. 

A HOME MISSION SERMON. 
" Go work to-day in my vineyard." Matt, xxi : 28. 

"Why stand ye here idle ? " when dewy and bright, 
The vine's purple clusters wave in the morn's light; 
"Why stand ye here idle ?" when noon's golden glare 
Falls over the vineyard — ripe, waiting, and fair. 
"Why stand ye here idle ?" when broad fields in view 
Are white for the harvest, and reapers are few. 
" Why stand ye here idle still, all the day long," 
While the sunset draws near and the glad harvest 
song ? 

"Go work in the vineyard ! to-day must thou share 
The heat and the burdens my laborers bear." 
Thus the voice of the Master for each of us calls, 
Though sealed be our ears when the pleading voice 

falls. 
Oh ! what is the import of this new command? 
And what is the service He seeks at our hand ? 
And where is our mission ? What work can we do 
To prove to the Master we're loyal and true? 



432 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Through some weary journey, like the Wise Men of old, 

Must we bring Him frankincense, spices, and gold ? 

Must we search out a mission ? seek some other clime ? 

Or wait the unfolding of some golden time, 

That a costlier spikenard our off'ring may be, 

Or some marvellous bloom from the isles of the sea ? 

Through deep-hidden mines, must some rare gem be 

sought ? 
Some treasure be delved from the wide realms of thought? 
Must talent and genius their royal gifts pour 
In some rare, mental work, for Him we adore ? 



All have not earth's treasures to offer their King, 
Nor can all to the heathen the glad tidings bring, 
Nor all, as His heralds, with lips touched with flame, 
Can here to Mount Zion, salvation proclaim; 
Nor have all mental gifts to lay at His feet — 
Few could work, if such service only were meet. 



To me comes this meaning of our Saviour's command, — 
" In His name do the work laid nearest thy hand. 
For thy weakness, or strength, in fashion and mould, 
Some work he hath fitted thy hand best to hold ; 
And for it thou need'st not search continents o'er ; 
Work, importunate, pressing, crowds at thy door ! 
'Mid ' highways and hedges' and dark tangled lanes, 
'Mid the quick-throbbing pulse of the city's hot veins, 
O'er each way-side of life, 'round cottage or hall, 
Some work for the Master lies waiting for all ; 
And His honored herald art thou called to be, 
To bear the glad news o'er the wide-rolling sea, 
If the needy and sinful in home, lane or street 
Ne'er heard from thy lips 'the old story' and 'sweet ? ' " 



Ah ! near lies His vineyard, and life is so brief,— 

Like a swift-flying shuttle, or fast-fading leaf. 

Its gleam may be flown, life may fade as a dream, 

While we wait for some work or opening supreme. 

Imperial doors, in the dim far-away, 

Swing on the same hinge with the gates of to-day ; 

And Duty shall ring out no call more sublime 

For those still ignoring her every-day chime. 

Is there room for supineness? Time for delay? 

Woven gold is life's Now ! Work is worship To-day ! 



Have we but one talent ? Its use He commands ; 
" Two mites" fill the measure of His equal demands. 
And one talent, improved, shall double its own, 
While ten, which lie buried, are counted as none, 
In fields broad, or narrow, work is waiting in store, — 
Work demanding few gifts, work calling for more. 
Shall a hand fold from toil, and Heaven's order mar, 
Because it can't compass the uttermost star ? 



Do we try, from near " highway," the starving to bring 
To the banqueting house — to the feast of our King ? 
We, having one talent, their presence might win ; 
And the King has commanded — "Compel to come in ! " 
And to those in prison — in darkness and loss — 
Do we carry the healing light of the cross ? 
The " stranger, in prison, sick, naked," forlorn, 
Have we visited ? clothed ? their griefs have we worn? 

And, those overcome by the wine's fatal cup — 
Lured on by some fiend all its woe to drink up. 
For them do we work ? Do we plead Christ's name 
That they dash down the cup of anguish and shame ? 
In their bitter struggle, faint, weary and worn, 
Oh ! have we unto these, the bread of life borne ? 

The dear Sabbath School field, delightful and sweet, 

With wide-open gate is inviting our feet. 

So near and so needy ! and verdure and bloom 

Will spring into life, if but true workers come ! 

Outside, shall we idly be gathering leaves, 

When within, for our hands are rich, golden sheaves? 

.While no narrow outlook should shut from our view : 

The broad Foreign Field, with its toilers — so few — 

Where portals swing wide that were once bolted gates, 

And where Opportunity beckons and waits, 

Yet, in the Home Field, work and need still aboumd 

And rich harvests wait 'neath its free, fertile ground. 

The Home Field is wide, and few workers there be : 

Oh ! there's much Mission Work on this side the sea ! 

As wild, as untaught, in this land we call home, 

In our own Alaska, her Indians roam 

In darkness as dense as o'er Africa thrown ; 

And weary- eyed women in Utah to-day 

Weep in sore bondage while we plan and delay. 

And our North Western plains, and their slopes to the sea 

In heathendom sit, 'neath our country's roof-tree. 

We have glanced at some work. Now what is our need 

As workers, to make us true workers indeed ? 

Love is the fulfilling of the great royal law ; 

From love every service its beauty must draw. 

Like one that doth serve every high-titled guest, 

So, the lowliest service, Love may invest 

In a purple more royal, more rare than the rest ; 

And give her the dower of regal estate 

Whose portion was only to serve and to wait. 

While the work which seemed highest, to our mortal eyes, 

May be less than the least when stripped of disguise. 

The true heart is nobler than tinsel or gems ; 

The loftiest work, a low motive condemns. 

Not the costliest service ever survives 

Divorce from warmth of true hearts and pure lives. 

Although coined in rich gifts and wearing their grace, 
No great thoughts of genius with the ages keep pace, 
And no poet-songs down the centuries ring, 
Save at first they drew life from one vital spring. 



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433 



And rare alabaster box yields no perfume 
Unless Love pours the odor that fills all the room. 
All lifeless each deed (whosoever extols) 
Which throbs not through pulse of sweet lives and 
warm souls ! 

The true Mission Spirit, love ever will give ; 

Through love, as its source, this Spirit must live, 

Overlooking no need, no service at home, 

In sympathy wider its charities roam ; 

But, while seeking the lost in some far-away land, 

It lifts up the fallen one nearest at hand. 

A bramble bush, bearing but brier or thorn, 

Wouldn't turn to a rose any place to adorn ; 

And a poor barren soul which no native fruit gave 

Wouldn't turn to a missionary — over the wave. 

There is no "missing link; " this Spirit is one; 

Its essence inheres not in climate or sun. 

" Evolution of atoms," changing of place, 

Could not give to the thorn the violet's grace ; 

And no force of nature can unfold or define 

A life whose whole being and source is divine. 

That this spirit is spirit contest if you will ; 

The "thorn" and its "atoms" are "material" still. 

Just here, — oh ! I would not be misunderstood — 
Our dear foreign workers are the holy, the good. 
Their rare self-denial partakes not of earth. 
The tree — bud and bloom — has a heavenly birth. 
Its bearing full blossoms of duty at home, 
Only sweetens its bloom across the sea-foam ; 
Its fruit drops as golden upon foreign sr.ore 
As when dear native skies bent the foliage o'er. 
Never tree, leaf, or flower, yields vital perfume 
Save an influence divine unfoldeth its bloom. 

Then, one need is vital, where true work is done — 
Or, if two, they're so linked they blend into one — 
The Spirit of Missions — divine love alone ! 

Let us work for the Master ! Honor it is 

To be workers with Him, for the vineyard is His. 

He, leaving the glory and light of the throne, 

Came — a King without crown, to realms all His own 

To give His whole life, to its last bitter close, 

To rescue from sin, to heal all earth's woes. 

With the first sigh of sorrow — to the first child of 

His great Mission work to our world did begin, [sin 

Unapproached and unfathomed, yet, meeting the 

needs, 
The want and the yearning humanity pleads, 
Sweeping down through the ages, unfailing, unspent, 
One ray from His light through all blessing has blent. 

Like leaf from a tree, tiny bud from rich bowers, 
A breath of perfume from a wild waste of flowers, 
A whispering chord on JEolian strings, 
From high-sounding pieans when full chorus rings, 
Like spray from the sea, rolling boundless and blue, 



In life, all that's beautiful, spotless, or true, 
Whate'er exhales blessings, the centuries through, 
Flows out from that ocean, unfathomed and wide, 
Where Eternal Love pours its infinite tide. 

Dear fellow Christian, has a ray from above, 
Or a wave from the fountain of Infinite love, 
Transfused with its current your heart's hidden 

spring ? 
Then its outflow to others will some blessing bring. 
Streams from a sweet fountain will sweetness distill ; 
Lives lovely and pure must work out His will. 
And then, for each work, in each field of the Lord, 
How sweet is the recompense, rich the reward! 

A cup of cold water, in the Master's name given, 
Returns in a shower of blessings from Heaven. 
If service so poor meets so rich a reward, 
Is warmly approved, is so blest of our Lord, 
The joy-bells of heaven with music shall ring 
If one to the fold, only one, we may bring ; 
But those who win many from error away 
Shall shine as the stars — yea, forever and aye ! 
The dear ones who labor in fields far away, 
His presence shines over, by night and by day, 
Above and around them, though lost to the view, 
A bright cloud of witnesses bend through the blue. 
Though severed from country, fond friends, and loved 

home, 
In sweet self-surrender, afar and alone, 
Celestial companionship ever they share ; 
Their songs thrill the harps that the glorified bear ; 
All the air breathes Love's message, the waiting 

winds say — 
" E'en down to life's clo • , 1 am with you alway ! " 

Since the wide world's redemption, where'er man 

may be, 
So largely depends on this Land of the free, 
Our own let us fill with such light, that its glow 
To all other lands, in wide radiance, may flow ! 
From the lakes of the North and the deep woods of 

Maine. 
To the Yosemite vale, and Texas' green plain, — ■ 
From the Ocean whose voice the Cascade. Mountains 

hear, — 
O'er the Black Hills which hide the wealth gleaming 

near, 
O'er Montana, Wyoming, Nevada's rich mines ; 
From the Florida groves to Alaska s green pines ! 
All the mountains and plains, each valley and hill, 
With heavenly light, let us labor to fill ! 

O Land, most beloved, most honored, most blest ! 
The God who hath called thee in His favor to rest, 
Hath called thee to carry — swift, gladly and free, 
The news of salvation to each land o'er the sea ! 



434 



XN IN SACRED SONG. 



"THINE EYES SHALL SEE THE KING 
IN HIS BEAUTY." 

1 O sweet, prophetic words ! still ringing clear, 
Through all the centuries from that elder year, 
Whenever waiting hearts are hushed to hear. 

2 Thine eyes shall see the King ! wondrous sight ! 
Thy weary eyes, astrain through all the night, 
Watching for faintest gleam of longed-for light. 

3 Thy sad eyes, memorj'-touched with " all regret ; " 
Thy dim eyes, aching still with " life's small fret," 
Seeing as through a glass, most darkly yet. 

4 Thy blind eyes, seeing even not at all, 
Yet opening quickly at the Master's call ; 

Glad, eager eyes, from which all weights shall fall. 

5 O wondrous hour of vision ! Long ago 
Hath rapt Isaiah come thy joy to know ; 

That heavenly beauty which he strove to show. 

6 Archangels veil their faces while they sing, 
Before the awful splendor of their King, 

Afraid to sweep such height with e'en angelic wing. 

7 They long to know that mystery of grace, 
Whereby the ransomed see Him face to face, 
Nor fall, nor fear to fall from that high place. 

8 They know not, even they, that tenderest tie, 
By which He brings His chosen ones so nigh — 
His cross, His blood, and Calvary's bitter cry. 

9 O saddest, sweetest bond ! And can it be 

That through His sorrow, joy shall come to me? 
That thus His glorious beauty I shall see ? 

10 O Joy ! too deep for aught but happy tears ; 

O Faith ! that climbs a height beyond all fears ; 
O Hope ! that crowns and gladdens all my years. 

11 My heart repeats the promise o'er and o'er, 
Though 'tis an " old, old story " heard before, 
Yet with each dear repeating loved the more. 

12 O eyes, for which such vision is in store, 
Keep ye to all things pure, forevermore, 

Till ye shall close beside death's shadowed door. 

13 Be lighted from within, by unseen Guest, 
Send out warm rays of love to all distrest, 
And lure them by your shining into rest. 

14 So in His beauty shall ye see the King, 
And to His eyes sweet answer steadfast cling, 
Nor fade, nor droop, o'ershadowed by His wing. 

MRS. HEREICK JOHNSON. 

OUR BETHLEHEM. 

APPBOPBIATE FOE MATEBNAL, ASSOCIATIONS. 

The following poem, written for the Ninth Annual Meeting of the Woman's 
Board of the Northwest, held at Springfield. 111., March, 1880, was read by Mrs. 
H H. Forsythe. 

1 Sabbath in the Hebrew temple 
Dawned with rite and sacrifice ; 
From their places priest and psalmist 
Watched soft clouds of incense rise. 



Then the golden trumpets trembled, 
Then the cymbals clashed again, 

While the choral throng, responsive, 
Caught the high, prophetic strain : 

2 " Unto us a Son is given, 

Unto us a child is born ! 
Sing, O earth, rejoice, O heaven, 

Now is come the promised morn. 
Christ shall now have full dominion, 

Kings shall bow before His feet, 
Gentile lands be His possession, 

Every tongue His praise repeat. 

3 " Blessed she among all women 

Who this kingly child shall bear ; 
Praise Him on the sounding cymbals, 

Praise Him, earth and sea and air ! " 
From the court beyond the altar 

Broke there then a wailing cry, 
Where one, old and sorrow- stricken, 

Prostrate in her grief did lie. 

4 "Woe is me," she uttered, sobbing ; 

" All the years I prayed and wept, 
Hoping that for me this glory 

Somewhere in my pathway slept. 
Hoping mine should be the Christ-child, 

Mine the blessed motherhood, 
Every maid in Judah's borders 

Longed for, hoped and understood. 

5 " But, alas ! the vision tarries, 

And I tremble to the grave ; 
Never mine can be the joy of 

Bearing Him who comes to save ! " 
Then again her grief o'erswept her 

Like some tempest of the night ; 
But beyond still broke the chorus, 

" Praise Him, all ye stars of light ! " 

6 Gone, the music and the splendor, 

Gone, long years, the nation's pride, 
Where, in fulness of the vision, 

Christ was born and crucified. 
Yet behold, still comes an angel, 

Silently through all the land, 
Lily of annunciation 

Holding ever in his hand ! 

7 Lo ! within onr souls the promise 

Burns in song forever new — 
" Christ the Lord is born within you, 

Ye who my commandments do. 
Ye, my sister and my mother, 

High or low, o'er all the earth ! " 
Oh ! how throbs each heart of woman 

In the mystery of that birth ! 



HOME MISSIONS. RECITATIONS AND READINGS FOR PARLOR MEETINGS. 



loo 



8 Blessed she who, though not seeing, 

Yet with loyal heart believes, 
Through this spiritual travail 

In her soul the Christ receives. 
Yet, like that pure maiden mother 

On the fair Judean hills, 
Each who truly bears this Saviour 

Wider prophecy fulfills. 

9 Each is priestess at an altar 

For the world's despairing need ; 
Each some gift may cast upon it, 

Each some sacrifice may plead. 
Oh ! if ours be that fulfillment, 

Ours that blessed motherhood, 
"Wept for by each Hebrew maiden, 

Though it led to Calvary's rood, 

10. What can stay our joy's thanksgiving ? 

What can bind our eager feet ? 
Where the gift or praise sufficing 

Debt so measureless to meet ? 
Oh ! let tide of fervent loving 

Sweep us on and out to men, 
Till to every soul a Saviour 

Makes a new, glad Bethlehem. 



IT IS MORE BLESSED. 

1 Give ! as the morning that flows out of heaven ; 
Give ! as the waves when their channel is riven ; 
Give ! as the air and sunshine are given ; 

Lavishly, utterly, carelessly give. 
Not the waste drops of thy cup overflowing, 
Not the faint sparks of thy hearth ever glowing, 
Not a pale bud from the June rose's blowing, 

Give as He gave thee, who gave thee to live. 

2 Pour out thy love like the rush of a river 
Wasting its waters, for ever and ever, 

Through the burnt sands that reward not the giver 
Silent or songful, thou nearest the sea. 

Scatter thy life as the summer shower's pouring ! 

What if no bird through the pearl-ruin is soaring? 

What if no blossom look upward adoring ? 
Look to the life that was lavished for thee ! 

3 Give, though thy heart may be wasted and weary, 
Laid on an altar all ashen and dreary ; 

Though from its pulses a faint miserere 
Beats to thy soul the sad presage of fate, 

Bind it with cords of unshrinking devotion; 

Smile at the song of its restless emotion ; 

'Tis the stern hymn of eternity's ocean : 
Hear ! and in silence thy future await. 

4 So the wild wind strews its perfumed caresses, 
Evil and thankless the desert it blesses, 
Bitter the wave that its soft pinion presses, 

Never it ceaseth to whisper and sing. 



What if the hard heart give thorns for thy roses ? 
What if on rocks thy tired bosom reposes ? 
Sweetest is music with minor-keyed closes, 

Fairest the vines that on ruin will cling. 
5 Almost the clay of thy giving is over ; 

Ere from the grass dies the bee-haunted clover. 
Thou wilt have vanished from friend and from lover. 

What shall thy longing avail in the grave ? 
Give as the heart gives whose fetters are breaking, 
Life, love, and hope, ail thy dreams and thy waking. 
Soon, heaven's river thy soul- fever slaking, 

Thou shalt know God and the gift that He gave. 

ROSE TKRRY COOKE. 1881. 

THINE IS THE POWER. 

1 If ever I have had the wish to lighten 

The burdens of a single weary heart, 
Or bid the clouds depart, 
Till cheerful hope should life with color brighten, 
It is because desire was sent to me 
Through God's own agency. 

2 If any song of mine had sunbeam spirit, 

Whose melody could chase the tears away, 
And bring some hopeful ray 
Where nought but gloom seemed ever to inherit, 
It was a gift bestowed by hand divine, 
Allowed through me to shine. 

3 And if ever I breathed in trusting prayer 

A word to cause the erring to return, 
Making the conscience burn 
With the strong white heat of its convictions there 
And feeling that to save earth's wealth was 
Should cling to Thy dear Cross ; [dross, 

4 To Thee belongs the glory ! Thine be the power ! 

For out of darkness has thou lifted me 
Into the liberty 
And light of Thy sweet peace. Ought not all my 
Be spent in gratefulhomage to my King [days 
And tribute to Him bring ? 

5 I am His witness, yet I betray Him so ; 

That look He gave to Peter oft I feel, 
For cares and self will steal 
And mingle even with communion — then flow 
The penitential tears ; 'tis Love forgives, 
And Faith looks up and lives. 

6 How little I am doing ! how little done ! 

How little I am willing to endure ; 
And yet I am so sure : 
The hour hasteneth when the race is run ; 

Yes, then we shall lay life's weapons down, 
And faithful wear the crown. 

7 By that strong cord of grace that holdeth me, 

By that sweet tie of hope that ever binds, 
By my weak love — yet finds 
Its fount of immortality in Thee ; 

I know the power that saved shall also keep 
Until in Christ I sleep. 

JOSEPHINE BRAMAN. 1S84. 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



THY KINGDOM COME. 

APPROPRIATE FOR READING AT MATERNAL ASSOCIATIONS 
OR PRAISE MEETINGS. 

We fain would see Thy lace, dear Lord, as did 

Of old the apostolic band. And could 

We sit around the mountain's brow, and list 

Thy thrilling voice, could we but gaze upon 

Thy God-like face, and while the evening shadows 

Fall, be taught that wondrous prayer, 

" Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, as it 

Is done in Heaven," 

We were content to wait and pray 

With nerves all thrilled with love and zeal to work. 

We would go forth with tears to sow ; and where 

Our souls by burdens sadly overcome 

Flew back to Thee for grace and strength renewed, 

How sweetly on our ears would fall those words 

Divinely spoken, " Peace I give to you." 

If, as did John beloved, we too could lean 

Enraptured on the Saviour's breast and drink 

Our till of knowledge infinite, we then 

Could take these many crosses up and hug 

Them close, could sacrifice our homes and loves 

To tell o'er all the world the gospel news. 

If Thou wert here, no alabaster box 

Too precious were to pour upon Thy head. 

But Thou art gone on high', we wait below, 

And see far off the cross of Calvary. 

The griefs and sorrows Thou didst bear, were they 

For us ? Can ointments sweet that to Thy feet 

We bring fill all our lives with sweet perfume ? 

Lord, bring back our dead hearts to newer life, 

Call forth the faded flowers to bloom again ; 

Then shall we spin, as did of old wise ones, 

Of blue and scarlet, of purple and of 

Linen fine to make our offerings. 

Or, like her of temple fame, a widow poor, 

With lowly mien, who tearful and trembling 

" Cast her two mites and her thought seemed bold 

AVhen she wished their weight as the shining gold," 

If our gifts with love we place in His hand. 

Like seeds witli wings they shall ny o'er the land. 

Some may fall by our sides, some flourish afar, 

He giveth the rain, frost and heat cannot mar, 

Our King is beside us, His love is our all, 

What are crosses and losses, when gifts are so small ? 

Oh, naught ! sound forth the world His praise, 

Chant Heaven and earth His love, 

Each tefvr of her that mourns becomes 

A diamond in His crown. 

Each sigh a flower, whose fragrant breath 

Lisps peace to angel bands ; 

Each prayer is changed into a peaceful rill 

Which tills the soul, a fountain from our God. 

And does He reign supreme in every thought ? 

Our weapons, are they bright ? or rust bedimmed ? 

If this King shall come, as suddenly He will, 

What sheaves have we to show ? 

O sisters dear, the fray with sin goes on ; 



Wilt join the battle's host and armor near, 

Or stay thy soul on chaff, fill up thy mind 

With vanity, hang all its walls with fashion plates 

And lay upon its shelves only the latest novel ? 

God made no superfluous soul, no birds 

For humming only. 

Mothers, this your task supreme, to nurture 

From unholy air, each young immortal. 

The fair young children, blessed by the Saviour's touch, 

Surely all little ones, henceforth, we bring 

To Thee ; what mission more divine ? 

He wills our sons as plants be strong in youth, 

Our daughters corner-stones, whose polishing 

Be perfected in grace, humility and love ; 

Minds filled with wisdom, and like Eve, mother 

Of all, " with what all earth or heaven could 

Bestow to' make her amiable." 

'Tis said, " Grace was in all her thoughts and 

Heaven in her eye." 

Perhaps one day the Lord will call of these 

Our darlings to bear across the seas 

The banner of His dying love. How can 

We train them so they'll gladly heed His call? 

Or, if our King needs help for those whom now 

He calls to take the field, must we refuse ? 

Spirit Divine, Oh ! guide our thoughts to Thee, 

The while our children kneel white-robed to say 

Their evening prayer. Let incense sweet, 

Mixed with our work and prayers, 

Before Heaven's altar rise, while here 

We cry " Our Father's Kingdom come." 

MBS. D. W. EVANS. 1860. 

" Rockford Seminary Magazine," 1880. 



THE CRUSE THAT FAILETH NOT. 

" It is more blessed to give than to receive." —Acts xx : 35. 

1 Is thy cruse of comfort wasting ? Rise and share it 

with another, 
And through all the years of famine, it shall serve thee 
and thy brother. 

2 Love divine will fill thy store house, or thy handful 

still renew ; 
Scanty fare for one will often make a royal feast for 
two. 

3 For the heart grows rich in giving ; all its wealth is 

living grain ; 
Seeds, which mildew in the garner, scattered, fill with 
gold the plain. 

4 Is thy burden hard and heavy ? do thy steps drag 

wearily ? 
Help to bear thy brother's burden ; God will bear 
both it and thee. 

5 Numb and weary in the mountains, wouldst thou sleep 

amidst the snow ? 
Chafe that frozen form beside thee, and together both 
shall "low. 



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437 



6 Art thou stricken in life's battle ? Many wounded 

round thee moan ; 
Lavish on their wounds thy balsam, and that balm 
shall be thine own. 

7 Is the heart a well left empty ? None but God its void 

can till ; 
Nothing but a ceaseless Fountain can its ceaseless 
longings still. 

8 Is the heart a living power ? Self-entwined, its strength 

sinks low ; 
It can only live in loving, and by serving love will 
grow. 



ELIZABETH BUNDLE CH.J 



THE FOOLISH VIRGIN. 

1 "The midnight comes and my lamp unfilled ! " 

(Black and stormy the night wanes on.) 
"Sisters, help ! ere my hope be killed ; 
Give of your store, that my lamp be filled." 

(The Bridegroom into the House hath gone.) 

2 "Sisters, help ! " They have closed the door. 

(Black and stormy the night wanes on.) 
Naught they gave of their brimming store, 
Each one watching the lamp she bore. 

(The Bridegroom into the House hath gone.) 

3 "I will knock, though the door be closed." 

(Black and stormy the night wanes on.) 
"Lord, Thy handmaid waits. Unclose ! 
Around me night like a river flows." 

(The Bridegroom into the House hath gone.) 

4 "Who knocks so late from the darkened East ? " 

(Black and stormy the night wanes on.) 
"Depart ! I know nor greater nor least 
Who brings no light to the marriage feast." 

(The Bridegroom into the House hath gone.) 

5 "Depart ! Too late ! " words of doom ! 

(Black and stormy the night wanes on.) 
Watch well thy lamp, that it light the gloom 
And show the way to the festal room. 

(The Bridegroom into the House hath gone.) 

MARIE B. WILLIAMS. 

A LESSON. 

1 Oh ! wait, impatient heart ! 

As Winter waits ; her song birds fled, 
And every nestling blossom dead. 

Beyond the purple seas they sing ; 
Beneath soft snows they sleep ; 
They only sleep. Sweet patience keep, 

And wait, as Winter waits for Spring. 

2 And hope, thou heavy heart ! 
If tiny, trembling violet fair 

But kiss her cheek — on morning air 
If faintest note shall fall — so soon, 

Sweet Spring awakes to smile, 

Though skies are gray. In hope the while, 
She looks to greet full, golden June. 



3 Work, work, thou restless heart ! 
As royal Summer works ; to warm 
To richer life, and hold from harm 

Her fields and wood ; to tint with gold 
And rose her fruitage fair. 
Only to lay, with gracious care, 

At Autumn's feet, her wealth untold. 

4 Then trust, O doubting heart ! 

As Autumn trusts ; bright robe and crown 
Puts by, and calmly lieth clown 

in Winter's cold embrace ; for so 
God wills. Into thy night 
Of woe shall break the morning light, 

As burst new life above the snow. 

MRS. LUTHER KEEXE. 18S3. 

FLEETING MOMENTS. 

On the shores of beautiful Lucerne the family 
remained about three months, Mayflower's health 
varying ; sometimes confining her to the house, 
at other times allowing her to drive al out 
in a Bath-chair, or enjoy little rows on the lake. 
The week after her arrival she walked out for a 
short distance, leaning on her mother's arm — the 
first time for some months, — and, after returning to 
the hotel, wrote the first verses of the following little 
poem, which she afterwards completed : 

1 All your moments now come trooping 

Through the golden morning bright ; 
Stainless moments are they waiting — 

O my sister ! use them right, 
For they each will bear a message 

To the Giver of the light. 

2 You have duties waiting for you ! 

•Up and do them ! brave and true ! 
What if they're but "every-day ones ? " 

They are what God gives to you ; 
And like those of great and noble, 
I our brief moments go up too. 

3 You have trials. Ah ! my sister, 

There are others mourning too — 
Sit not still in lonely sorrow, 

Give them help and comfort true : 
And in loading so your moments 

Will not you have comfort, too ? 

4 Comfort, it a pale face brightens 

As your step falls on the ear ; 
If some poor one, sad and weary, 

Learns that with you help is near ; 
Comfort, when from children's faces, 

With a smile you chase the tear ? 

5 Mayhap suffering is your portion 

As the days steal into years ; 
Do the moments flitting upwards 

Carry from you only tears ? 
Have you naught for which to thank Him ? 

And we know the Father hears. 



438 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



He is listening as the moments 

Bring their message to His feet ; 
And He sees us ; let us work, then, 

Strive and pray, for Time is fleet. 
With the Father watching o'er us, 

Will not all our work be sweet ? 
We can use our moments for Him, 

Whether He says "Work" or "Wait,' 
We can brightly greet our moments, 

With a "heart for any fate ! " 
Till at last our moments leave us 

Entering in at Heaven's gate 



MAYFLOWER. 



A SPRING REFRAIN 



WORKING 

1 The rills, unbound, leap forth at last, 

The blue sky bendeth low 
To meet and kiss the dear brown hills 

It kissed a year ago. 
The feathered songsters of the air 

Trill our in glad refrain, 
"Our God is good, and loveth us, 

Bring forth the golden grain." 

2 Go, sower, to the faithful fields, 

And hide the faithful seed, 
Then trust, through all the summer day, 

To Him who knows our need, 
While earth and air, and faith and hope, 

Repeat the glad refrain, 
"Our God is good, and loveth us, 

And giveth all our gain." 

3 The furrows sown by Sorrow's hand, 

And watered well with tears, 
May yield us at. the harvest-time 

The ripest, richest ears ; 
And broken hearts rise up at last 

To join the deep refrain, 
" Our God is good, and loveth us, 

Nor oivetli needless pain." 

4 Go forth, O hearts with sorrow bowed, 

Go forth, hearts gay and light. 
And whatsoe'er thy hand doth find, 

That do thou with thy might, 
Till every deed and every light 

Re-echoes the acclaim, 
"Our God is good, and loveth us, 

All honor to His name." > 

MARY R. D. DINGWALL. 
Montpelier, Vt. 1882. 

WITH THE MASTER. 
"Come apart," He said, to a desert nook, 

And rest awhile, with me." 
So the twelve, in a fishing boat, He took, 

To the other side of the sea. 
For many were coming and going ; they had 

No leisure so much as to eat ; 
For them should the desert place be glad, 

And rest, with the Master, 



2 There would be time to ask of Him 

Things that perplexed the mind, 
And parables, of meaning dim, 

Their opening keys should find. 
Oh ! sweet to lie on . . h green grass, 

And feed from the Shepherd's hand, 
And watch the soft cloud-shadows pass, 

And the waves break on the strand. 

3 But the crowd had followed along the shore, 

When they saw the Master's sail ; 
And already the place was thronged before 

He came, and their rest must fail. 
Weary and worn for food and sleep 

Was He, as he climbed the hill ; 
But His heart was full of compassion deep, 

And He healed and taught them still. 

4 Now the night draws near, and the twelve entreat, 

" Send the multitudes away." 
"They need not go; give ye them to eat ; " 

These words did the Master say. 
" There are thousands here, in the wilderness, 

And whence shall we find bread ? " 
Little is much, when Christ shall bless ; 

" What have ye ? " was all he said. 

5 Then Andrew spake : "A lad is here, 

Five barley loaves has he, 
And two little fishes." " Bring him near, 

And give the loaves to me." 
The thousands sat on the grass, at rest, 

By the shore of the peaceful lake, 
When, looking up to heaven, he blessed 

The loaves, and in pieces brake. 

6 Then he gave to the twelve, and they, again, 

To the people gave the bread, 
And the fishes ; enough for all remain ; 

And so were the thousands fed. 
But the weary Master slipped away, 

To the mountain top, alone, 
When the fragments were gathered, at close of day, 

And the multitudes were gone. 

7 Oh ! thus, like the Master, still may we, 

Though weary, our tasks fulfill, 
And our meat and drink may it ever be 

To do our Father's will ! 
Though work be sent in place of rest, 

Yet shall " more grace " be given ; 
In serving others we shall be blest, 

And our food be Bread from Heaven. 

ESTHER THORNE. 1882. 

"TALITHA, CUMI." 
1 "Talitha, cumi! " Darling, rise ! 
Each morn the mother said ; 
And the youug girl with smiles arose 

From her soft-pillowed bed, 
To hear the singing of the birds, 

To greet the rising sun, 
With those fond words of mother-love 
Each happy day begun. 



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439 



2 " Talitha, cumi ! " Once again 

The kneeling mother cried, 
With garments rent and wringing hands, 

The shrouded form beside ; 
But the young lips no answer made, 

The long, dark lashes lay 
Unlifted from the shadowed eyes, 

The white-rose cheek of clay. 

3 " Talitha, cumi ! " Darling, rise ! 

The old words took new power ; 
Her lips stirred, breathing in new life ; 

Her cheek, a crimson flower ; 
Her dark eyes lifted to His eyes, 

Where Life Eternal glows, 
And with instinctive loyalty 

She heard, — obeyed, — arose ! 

4 " Talitha cumi ! " When for us 

The night of death is past, 
With that familiar word and call 

The morn shall come at last ; 
No new, strange word, no angel's song 

Shall rouse us in that day, 
The Voice will be well known, well loved, 

That calls us from the clay. 

5 " Talitha, cumi ! " Dear one, rise ! 

And we shall feel the thrill 
Of Life Immortal throb and wake 

And all our being fill ; 
Then, eager in our loyalty, 

We shall obey and rise 
To see our Lord, and find our heaven 

In His approving eyes. 

ELLEN MUBRAY. 

In "Good Times," 1882. 

An English writer says there is reason for thinking that these words, 

"Talitha, cumi ! " implying " Get up, dear little one," were the words 

often used by Hebrew mothers in waking their children. 



THE SOWER. 



1 Behold, a sower went forth to sow 

As the dawn swept over the land, 
And he sowed the seed as he passed along 

With a careful yet liberal hand. 
And the soft rain fell, and the red sun shone 

In the glare of the August noon, 
Till in due time the sheaves were bound, 

In the light of the harvest moon. 

2 Behold, a sower went forth to sow 

As the dawn swept over the land, 
And he sowed the seed as he passed along 

With a careless, niggardly hand. 
And the summer waxed and the summer waned 

In the round year's onward sweep, 
Till in the August sun at last 

Went the harvesters forth to reap. 



3 And he who had sowed with liberal hand, 

When he gathered his harvest in, 
Had of grain full store, his barns run o'er. 

And filled to the full each bin. 
But he who had sown with a sparing hand 

Such a niggardly harvest reapt, 
That when the sheaves were gathered in 

He numbered them o'er and wept. 

4 Behold, we sowers are going forth 

As Truth's dawn sweeps o'er the land, 
And whether we sow with abundant seed, 

Or strew with a sparing hand, 
The harvest will tell ; O friends ! each one 

We know will reap as he strews, 
And the time to ensure the golden sheaves 

Is surely the day that he sows. 



A MARGINAL READING. 

1 A side light from the margin cast, on many a Scrip- 

ture phrase, 
Will often give a glimpse of truth in new and helpful 

phase. 
These prismal truths — how radiantly they gleam upon 

the sight, 
We love to turn them o'er and o'er, and hold them in 

the light. 
No word of God can be in vain. " We live by every 

word 
That cometh from the Lord our God." Of old, this 

truth was heard. 

2 The splendid ritual of the past, the ceremonials grand, 
Ordained at first for Israel's race, our wonderment 

command ; 
But more than this, choice lessons hold, if we but 
understand ; 

3 Turn back the Book to Exodus, and read how God 

directs 

The Consecration of the Priests ; see how each word 
reflects 

A light through all the ages past, which shineth clear 
to-day, 

To guide us in the path of peace, in Wisdom's pleas- 
ant way. 

4 The ephod, all of " cunning work," the woven robe 

of blue, 
The breast-plate, with its shining gems, the "curious 

girdle," too, 
The mitre with its golden plate, were all of grave 

account ; 
God thought of all, and gave for each, " the pattern 

on the Mount." 
"For glory and for beauty," these, — fit garments 

for the Priest 
Through seven days' rites, thus set apart to work 

that never ceased. 
Then came to Moses on the Mount, the voice of God's 

decree : 



no 



WOMAN IN SACKED SONG. 



" Anoint and sanctify as Priests, and consecrate to 
Me 

Thy brother Aaron and his sons, for holiest minis- 
try." 
5 Wherever this word " Consecrate," occurs in the 
command, 

The margin ampli$te§ the term, and gives it, — " Fill 
the hand." 

The sprinkled blood of sacrifice the lifted hands must 
show, 

And then with offerings must be filled, and conse- 
crated so. 

For service and for sacrifice, the hands were set 
apart, 



The offices herein set forth are gone, with ages told. 

Can ceremonials obsolete, a duty now unfold ? 

Behold how Peter, in the Book, his letter has ad- 
dressed, 

To " scattered strangers " all abroad, yet, " Kings 
and Priests " confessed ; 

And " He hath made us priests," writes John. Then 
we may intercede ; 

We are to " lift up holy hands," in faith and love to 
plead. 

Then have we filled our hands ? Van we be satis- 
fied with less ? 

Our consecration Jesus seeks, He longs to fully 
bless. 



Full hands alone would indicate devotion of the 9 Our hands seem full. The clamoring world appeals 



heart ; 
And only thus, the Priest of God for all the flock 

might plead, 
As at the Tabernacle door, he stood to intercede. 
6 But look again, in Chronicles, and read of Israel's 

King, 
Preparing for the house of God, of every precious 

thing. 
The purest " Gold for things of gold," — the silver 

well-refined ! 



in all its need, 
The opening fields in which to serve, are multiplied 

indeed. 
And here is one, that stretches out beneath our native 

sky, 
Our own doors open into this, we cannot pass it by. 
The great Home field which God has given, witk 

work which He has planned, 
In this the call to Woman comes. She too may 
" fill her hand." 
With large material for the work, of every sort and 10 What means this widening "Woman's Work " ? 

kind, _ Why thus do multiply 

That waited but the skillful touch to fashion as de- Her opportunities to serve, whom Christ has lifted 

signed ; high 

Now mark his question, which all hearts would By His own gospel everywhere, to queenly place and 

quickly understand : power ? 

" Who then is willing, unto God, this day to fill his Has not the Master added this as her most gracious 

hand?" dower? 

(Material is of use alone, with labor at command.) n We need nQt drop from laden handSj what God hag 



7 Still further on the book records King Hezekiah' 

reign, 
The cleansing of the House of God, removing every 

stain ; 
And after sacrifice and song, the Royal word we 

hear : 
" Now ye have filled your hands to God, with thank- 
fulness come near ; " 
Come near to Him, whom thus ye serve. Has He 

not grown more dear ? 
Then later, when the posts went out, to summon 

through the land 
The tribes, to keep the solemn feast, we note the 

Kino's command: 



placed therein, 
He offers this beside, that we the greater joy may 

win. 
We may not, on the instant, say we cannot give it 

place ; 
Can we be sure our hands are full, until a little space 
We seek to know what load we bear, and wait to 

hear His voice, 
Whose lightest whisper of command will leave to 

us no choice ? 
Perhaps we might drop out some things that crowd 

the offerings now — 
The things of self, and of this life, we only half allow. 
12 Some hands, indeed, are almost full — the Lord has 



" Be not ye as your fathers were, but give to God taken care ; 

the hand, And yet, there may be room to hold more incense, 

And enter thus His holy house, which He hath sane- even there. 

tified, Our Lord will know, but who can say, "I've given 

And serve the Lord your God for aye, that so ye enough of prayer ? " 

may abide. Our duty and delight herein, the Master will declare. 
So runs the Word — but instances need not be mul- 13 There may be some who w not yet attained the 

to P hed - utmost bound. 

8 Have we "full hands ? " But why inquire concern- Who long to consecrate themselves in gratitude pro- 

ing things of old, found, 



HOME MISSIONS. RECITATIONS AND READINGS FOR PARLOR MEETINGS. 



To Him whose hands are ever full of blessings rich 

and free — 
Those pierced hands, stretched out, for us, upon the- 

cruel tree ; 
Then here is work for heart and hand, with claims 

of urgent need. 
The Christians in this favored land, as Priests should 

in tercede, 
For strangers to our borders come, and ignorant of 

God; 
For races called "exceptional," herein dispersed 

abroad. 

14 What rich material here abounds, for that great 

Temple fair, 
That silently is going up with its adornings rare. 
Shall ''gold for things of gold," lie waste, and silver 

unrefined, 
Because no " cunning workman's" hand is moved by 

willing mind ? 
Shall gems be lost that might adorn the Palace of 

the King? 
And shall the handmaids of the Lord their offerings 

fail to bring ? 

15 "Ye that have fill your hands, come near." How 

blessed is this place ! 
The Lord accepteth now thy gifts, in His exceeding 

grace. 
" Thy offerings are a savour sweet." Though not 

by cloud and fire 
The answer comes, yet, none the less, receive thy 

heart's desire, 
And see the glory of the Lord. Then, go thy 

separate track 
And let thy robes be always white, thy head no 

ointment lack. 
For, when we " fill the hand " to God, He fills the 

heart with joy, 
And trains us for the Songs of Praise which ever- 
more employ 
The ransomed hosts above, who join in jubilant 

acclaim, 
Ascribing kingdom, power and might, to one 

transcendent Name ! 



2 Three times the heavenly vision fell, 

Three times the Lord's voice spoke, 
When Peter, loath to break the spell, 

Koused from his trance and woke, 
To hear a common sound and rude, 
Which jarred and shook his solitude — 
The knocking at the doorway near 
Where stood the two from Cajsarea. 

3 And should he heed or should he stay ? 

Scarce had the vision fled — 
Perchance it might return that day, 

Perchance more words be said 
By the Lord's voice ; — he rises slow ; 
Again the knocking ; he must go ; 
Nor guessed, while going down the stair, 
That 'twas the Lord who called him there. 

4 Had he sat still upon the roof, 

Wooing the vision long, 
The Gentile world had missed the truth, 

And heaven one " sweet new song." 
Souls might have perished in blind pain, 
And the Lord Christ have died in vain 
For them ; — he knew not what it meant, 
But Peter rose, and Peter went. 

5 O souls which sit in upper air, 

Longing for heavenly sight, 
Glimpses of truth all fleeting-fair, 

Set in unearthly light, — 
Is there no knocking heard below, 
For which you should arise and go, 
Leaving the vision, and again 
Bearing its message unto men ? 

6 Sordid the world were vision not ; 

But fruitless were your stay ; 
So, having seen the sight, and got 

The message, haste away. 
Though pure and bright thy higher air, 
And hot the street and dull the stair, 
Still get thee down, for who shall know 
'Tis not the Lord who knocks below ? 



New Ipswich, N. H., 



THE VISION AND THE KNOCK. 

1 The trance of golden afternoon 

Lay on Judean skies ; 
The trance of vision, like a swoon, 

Sealed the Apostle's eyes. 
Upon the roof he sat and saw 
Angelic hands let down and draw 
Again the mighty vessel full 
Of beasts and birds innumerable. 



SIMON'S QUESTION. 

" Go thou" had said the Master ; " feed 

My sheep — my lambs." But lingering yet 

Beside the blue Gennesaret, 
The restless Simon asks, — (why need 
He know, whose coward word and deed 

By such appeal had just been met?) 
" And what shall this man do ? " He turned 

To one who, silent, followed on 

Behind him, — the beloved John, 
Whose soul with deeper reverence burned, 
By reason of the teachings learned 

Through three days' anguish undergone. 



442 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



3 The rash, impetuous spirit still 

Must meet a fresh rebuke, and be 

Chidden, albeit tenderly, 
As Jesus answers : " If I will 
That he should tarry here until 

I come, what matters that to thee ? " 

4 We, later followers, thus we let 

Our duty lie undone, as though 
It were our first concern to know 

What duties are for others set, 

And ask the very question yet 
That Simon asked so long ago. 

5 " Feed thou my sheep." The living word 

Which thus of old the Master spake, 

Upon our ears can never break ; 
But every soul may still be stirred 
By the command that Simon heard 

That summer day beside the lake. 

MARGARET J. PRESTON. 



MOTH-EATEN. 

1 I had a beautiful garment, 

And I laid it by with care ; 
I folded it close with lavender leaves, 

In a napkin fine and fair ; 
" It is far too costly a robe," I said, 

" For one like me to wear." 

2 So never at morn or evening 

I put my garment on ; 
It lay by itself, under clasp and key, 

In the perfumed dusk alone, 
Its wonderful broidery hidden, 

Till many a day had gone. 

3 There were guests who came to my portal, 

There were friends who sat with me, 
And clad in soberest raiment 

I bore them company ; 
I knew that I owned a beautiful robe, 

Though its splendor none might see. 

4 There were poor who stood at my portal, 

There were orphaned sought my care ; 
I gave them the tender est pity, 

But had nothing besides to spare ; 
I had only the beautiful garment 

And the raiment for daily wear. 

5 At last, on a feast day's coming, 

I thought in my dress to shine ; 
I would please myself with the lustre 

Of its shifting colors fine ; 
I would walk with pride in the marvel 

Of its rarely rich design. 

6 So out from the dust I bore it — 

The lavender fell away — 
And fold on fold I held it up 

To the searching light of the day. 
Alas ! the glory had perished 

While there in its place it lay. 



7 Who seeks for the fadeless beauty 
Must seek for the use that seals 

To the grace of a constant blessing 
The beauty that use reveals. 

For into the folded robe alone 

The moth with its blighting steals. 



MARGARET E. SANGSTER. 



In "Harper's Bazar." 

WORK. 

1 We pray for rest ; but would it be true rest 

To idly spend the hours life doth give ? 
Is not the boon of which we are in quest 

Rather the strength and aims by which we live ? 
And living is not idle ease nor play, 

But earnest striving for a nobler type 
Of manhood and of womanhood each day, 

Till for God's " better land " we shall be ripe. 

2 And not by a few acts or words do we become 

The images of beauty God will place 
Within the keeping of the angel's home ; 

But even as doth sculptor's chisel trace 
The forms of loveliness from out the stone, 

By every daily deed and word and thought 
The soul is fashioned ; and the flesh outgrown, 

Reveals the form life's slow, sure work has wrought. 

3 Then let us take the means with faithful hands ; 

Nor think the work is other than our own : 
For, though the Master near to help us stands, 

Would we be better than the senseless stone 
If passive, mute, inert our souls could be 

Given their forms as marble statues are ? 
O Father, no ! and if unskillfully 

We sometimes work, and fair proportions mar, 

4 Thou still art kind ; and Thy perfecting hand 

Deals needful strokes, from which with human pain 
Recoiling we may cry, nor understand 

How much our present grief is future gain. 
But, since we feel these are Thy means and ways, 

Ought we to scorn our earthly toil or sphere ? 
The work that winneth here no mortal praise 

To God and angels may be found most dear. 



WORK. 
What are we set on earth for ? Say to toil, 
Nor seek to leave the tending of the vines, 
For all the heart o' the day, till it declines, 
And Death's wild curfew shall from work assoil. 
God. did anoint thee with His odorous oil, 
To wrestle, not to reign ; and He assigns 
All thy tears over, like pure crystallines 
For younger fellow-workers of the soil 
To wear for amulets. So others shall 
Take patience, labor, to their heart and hand. 
From thy heart and thy hand and thy brave cheer, 
Shall God's grace make fruitful through thee to all. 
The least flower with a brimming cup may stand 
And share its dewdrop with another near. 

MRS. BROWNING. 



HOME MISSIONS. RECITATIONS AND READINGS FOR PARLOR MEETINGS. 



443 



THE WORK OF OUR HANDS. 

1 "The work of our hands, establish thou it." 

So, often, with thoughtless lips we pray ; 
But He who sits in the heavens shall say, 
"Is the work of thy hands so fair and fit, 
That ye dare so pray ? 

2 "The work of thy hands, is it fairly writ, 

In luminous lines, that all may see ? 
Is it shelter as strength, like the spreading tree 
In whose green shadow men may sit ? 
Dare ye answer me? 

3 "Is it strong as the wonderful bonds that knit 

All truth as one ? Is it pure as snow ? 
As gracious and sweet as the winds that blow ? 
As true as the stars that are nightly lit 
For the world below ? 

4 "Will the work of your hands for aye transmit 

Truth and beauty, and love and praise — 
Will it lead and light to the heavenly way ? 
Answer me, soul ; Shall I 'stablish it 
'Gainst the day of days ?" 

5 Softly we answer : "Lord, make it fit, 

The work of our hands, that so we may 
Lift our voices and dare to pray, 
The work of our hands, establish Thou it, 
For ever and aye." 

CARLOTTA PERRY. 
Milwaukee, Wis. Sept. 1884, 



WITH ONE ACCORD. 

1 "With one accord ! " The day had brought 
Its vexing cares ; its anxious thought ; 
With labor worn, with doubts perplexed, 
With toils and troubles sorely vexed ; 
When evening brought its hour of prayer, 
With sweet accord we gathered there. 

2 No lofty hall, no frescoed room ; 
Its outmost corners slept in gloom ; 

Its walls were plain ; its seats were bare ; 
And, though a King held audience there, 
Yet they who brought Him offerings meet, 
Came softly in, with tired feet. 

3 "The door was shut ! " "With one accord " 
We kneeled before our risen Lord ; 

Some needed strength ; some needed peace ; 
Some prayed that wrongs and woes might cease ; 
All felt the need of humble prayer ; 
All needed Christ, and Christ was there ! 

4 As one of old, whose heart was moved, 
To touch the robe of Him she loved, 

We stretched our hands, we named His name, 
While yet we spake the answer came ! 
From every heart was rolled away 
The weary burden of the day. 



O blessed hour ! At Jesus' feet 
We held communion, calm and sweet ; 
The weak found strength, the wt ary rest, 
The bruised reed was healed and blest ; 
The sins we wept, His love forgave, 
The good we sought, His mercy gave. 

KABEL, 

Sedgwick, Kan. 1884, 



THE MESSENGER. 



: the man that heareth Me, watching daily at, My gates, waiting 
at the posts of My doors."— Proverbs viii : 34. • 

I stand at His gate to-day, 

I linger beside His door ; 
' Twill not be in vain if I do but wait, 

I have proved Him often before. 
I am watching with eager eye, 

Listening with open ear ; 
For the Master's voice I must catch to-day, 

Each word must be plain and clear. 

• For a message I have to bear ; 

He told me I was to come — 
That He had work for me to do, 

To carry a message home. 
I know not what it will be ; 

Whether a simple word, 
Or whether 'twill cost me toil and pain 

To utter all I have heard. 

But often 'tis happy work, 

For His message is full of cheer ; 
His words of comfort, of hope, of love, 

Wipe away many a tear. 
Sometimes 'tis a pardon free 

To a rebel condemned to die ; 
When my Lord says,." Loose him, and let him go," 

Oh ! who has such joy as I ! 

Sometimes 'tis " Return ! " " Return ! " 

To a child who has grieved Him sore ; 
And how sweet to hear the faltering tones, 

" Can I ever grieve Him more ? " 
Or perhaps 'tis a warning voice ; 

Counsel both wise and true, 
To one who stands in a slippery place, 

Knowing not what to do. 

And though some will not heed 

The message I have to tell, 
My Lord will know — for He told me so — 

If I do my service well. 
So I listen beside His gate. 

And I hush my heart to hear ; 
For the Master's voice I must catch to-day, 

And each word must be plain and clear. 



444 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



TO A HEBREW DEAF-MUTE. 

1 Waiting, brother, waiting, 

For Messiah, King, 
Who to Israel's children 

Freedom, joy will bring. 
He has come, though lowly, 

And in every zone 
Holiest of the holy, 

Waits to set His throne. 

2 Hoping, brother, hoping 

For the promised light 
That will end forever 

The long, dismal night. 
Law and prophets fasten 

Round the dense and drear, 
With but expectation 

Heart and mind to cheer. 

3 Give thy hoping over, 

It is useless now, 
And in reverent homage 

To Immanuel bow, 
For the light is beaming 

O'er all longing ones, 
Brighter than the gleaming 

Of a million suns. 

4 Longing, brother, longing, 

For a fountain sweet, 
For pure, living waters 

And a rest complete. 
Lo ! a fount is flowing, 

Copious and free, 
Rest and peace are offered 

Without price to thee. 

5 Seeking, brother, seeking 

For the royal way 
To the heavenly Canaan, 

To the perfect day. 
Seek, Oh ! seek no longer, 

For the way is found, 
Narrow, straight, but wholly 

Consecrated ground. 

6 Hoping, waiting, longing, 

Seeking, all, give o'er, . 
Lo ! Messiah opens 

Wide the Gospel door. 
Leave the types and shadows 

For the substance real, 
For the Christ is mighty 

To redeem and heal. 

7 Hasten, brother, hasten, 

Time is flying fast, 
Mercy's calls are echoing 

In each breeze and blast. 
Hasten now to Jesus, 

Jesus crucified, 
And thy soul's deep longing 

Shall be satisfied. 

ANGKLINE FULLER. 

Savanna, IU. 1883. 
In "The Venture," by per. 



THE' CHURCH. 

1 I watched the builders, day by day, 
Building a church across the way ; 

2 Block after block, with nicest care, 
They piled the granite firm and fair, 

3 And set the windows all ablaze 

With memories of Christ's earthly days ; 

4 Windows and woodwork rich and rare 
To twilight gloomed the noonday's glare. 

5 And curtained desk and cushioned seat 
Glowed like the ruby's steadfast heat. 

6 " They build," I heard a man declare, 
"A house of pride as such as prayer." 

7 But quick his comrades answered, " Nay, 
They build as in the Jewish day, 

8 " When of their best the people brought, 
And their best works the artists wrought." 

9 But still his words the first maintained — 
" The world in selfishness has gained." 

10 And still I heard the other say, 

With shaking head, his pleasant " nay ; " 

11 And to myself all softly said? 

"A thousand blessings on his head ; " 

12 " For he in purest truth has caught 
The charity that Jesus taught ; " 

13 "And unto him the house of God 
By angel-feet is always trod." 

14 And in no temple built with hands 
For us the High Priest waiting stands, 

15 If from the altars of our hearts 
Sin's heavy vail His presence parts. 

JOSIB LEIGH. 



RUTH. OR, THE SATISFIED SOUL. 

" The Lord recompense thy work, and a full reward be given thee of the 
Lord God of Israel, under whose wings thou art come to trust."— Ruth ii : 12. 

1 I was a gleaner once Ruth ii : 2. 

In fields belonging to a stranger-Lord ; ii : 3. 

Many gleaned there in happiness and peace, 

Fed by His hand and hanging on His word : ii : 4. 
They were His purchased ones, 

But I was all unknown. A journey long i: 7, 19. 
Had brought me to that field, weary and lone, ii: n. 

Gathering a few chance ears amid the throng. 

2 The Master met me there ; ii : 8, 13. 

He spoke, He cheered ; "handfuls of purpose" fell 
* [ii: 16. 

Close to my path, that I might have enough : 

(Oh ! blessed those who near such fullness dwell !) 
And soon I found true rest, hi : *■ 

The joy, the bliss of lying at His feet ; hi: 14. 
'Twas with a trembling, fearful heart I came, 

[iii : 1 0, ii. 
But once laid there I thought my joy complete. 



HOME MISSIONS. RECITATIONS AND READINGS FOR PARLOR MEETINGS. 



Yet now I know new depths 

Of blessedness and rest all unalloyed, 
The peace of full redemption bought by Him,[iv : 10, 

To be through all eternity enjoyed : 
In conscious union now 

With Christ, my risen Lord, whose love and power 
Are all on me bestowed in richest grace, 

I live js sweet communion hour by hour. 

georgiana M. taylor. England. 1876. 

UNTIL THE END. 
1 To do God's will — that's all 

Tha* need concern us ; not to carp, or ask 
The meaning of it ; but to ply our task 

Whatever may befall ; 
Accepting good or ill as He shall send, 
And wait until the end. 
* What if a spire of grass 

Should dare assert itself against His power, 
And question wherefore He withheld the shower 

Or let the tempest pass 
To shred its stem and pour its juices out, 
Or shrivel it with drought ? 
8 . Each atom God hath made 
Yields to His primal law obedience true, 
Whether it be a star, a drop of dew, 

Forest or ferny blade. 
Should one resist, the world would feel the spell 
" Behold ! a miracle ! " 

4 If Nature thus can bow, 

With acquiescence absolute, profound, 
Before the mysteries that gird her round, 

Nor ever disallow 
The pressure of the Hand above her, why 

Should not this conscious If 

5 Wherefore is man so loth, 

Without presumptuous quest into the cause 
Of this or that, in God's inviolate laws, 

To trust, as Nature doth, 
Content, although he may not comprehend, 

To wait until the end ! 



Faith needs no chart ; a heavenly legion fair 
Of ministering angels have the soul in care ; 
Their pinions, rainbowed with God's promise, waft 
The human vessel to Faith's home at last. 



MARIE Le 



Lexington, Va. 1883. In " Tne Independent." 

FAITH NEEDS NO CHART. 
Faith needs no chart ; across the boundless seas 
Of infinite life — God's breath for breeze — 
Sails on our ship, nor path is marked to know 
Whence we have come and whither we shall go. 
Dark though the night be, with the cloud o'erhead, 
Dark though the wave be, whither we are led, 
Faith at the prow — Christ's star upon her breast,— 
Pilots us safe to some fair harbor's rest. 
Faith needs no chart ; the way is cleft apart 
Through deepest ocean for the following heart ; 
The radiant footsteps of a Christ of faith 
Have trod the path. ''Be not afraid," He saith. 
Go thou in courage, and be strong to smile 
For weaker traveller o'er the weary while ; 
Knowing the day will dawn from out the night, 
Knowing the eye of faith hath seen the light. 



"FOR WE ARE LABORERS WITH GOD. 1 

1 How sweet the glorious thought, 

That in the work divine 
Of God's almighty hand 

He leaves a share for mine ! 
He deigns to leave a work for me, 
And brother, sister, one for thee, 
For God's co-laborers are we. 

2 He forms the soil and seed, 

And bids the quickening sun 
Its glorious warmth impart, 

While length'ning seasons run ; 
The dews descend at His command ; 
The spring-time showers refresh the land ; 
The harvest gifts are from His hand. 

3 But man must drop the seed, 

And guide the heavy plough 
Through many a furrow deep, 

By many a springing row. 
His hand must reap the ripened grain, 
That bends above the summer plain, 
Or sun and shower would be in vain. 

4 The heavy iron ore, 

The silver and the gold, 
The diamond and the pearl, 

Are treasured as of old, 
Beneath the rock, the wave, the sand, 
Where they were planted by God's hand, 
When first He framed the sea and land. 

5 But by man's skill they change 

To forms of use and power ; 
They beautify our life, 

And lengthen its brief hour. 
The hand of Art can bend or break ; 
Swift servants it of them can make, 
Which from our weak hands burdens take. 

6 By the Almighty hand 

Was made the power of steam, 
Of which our duller thought 

For ages did not dream, 
Yet waited for man's Avakened skill 
To show how land and sea should thrill 
Beneath that power, swayed by His will. 

7 All nature's secrets lay 

In mute, unconscious power, 

So near us, yet unseen, 

Until some happy hour, 

When Thought, upon its piercing wing, 

Doth touch the hidden, rusty spring, — 

And open wide the closed doors swing. 

8 We enter in and see, 

To wonder and adore, 
But wonder most to find 
We ne'er had seen before 



446 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



The sources vast of power, which He 
Stores for our use in land and sea, 
In light, and air, around us free. 

9 We take the gifts divine, 

And scan the midnight sky, 
To measure fields of space, 

With suns and stars on high. 
The lightning is no longer free ; 
But yields to man its ministry, 
And bears his message 'neath the sea. 

10 But most we feel God's power 

In our own conscious life, 
Within our Christian homes, 

Where daughter, sister, wife, 
With father, brother, names most dear, 
Combine to banish strife and fear, 
Where love may dry each bitter tear. 

11 For us He wakes the dawn, 

And gilds the morning sky ; 
He gives us strength for toil 

When the warm noon is high. 
At eve He hangs night's curtain far, 
Embroidered bright with silver star, 
That gleams upon our rest from far. 

12 Yet we with God must work 

To make our homes most fair, 
To make them sweet and bright, 

Pure as the sunny air. 
With heart and hand, with thought and nerve, 
Should we Love's earnest mandates serve, 
Nor from the holy purpose swerve. 

13 Into our home is given 

An infant fair and sweet, 
But unto us is given 

The task to guide its feet. 
God made the mind ; 'tis ours to train 
Its powers, all pearls of truth to gain, 
As sunshine drinks the drops of rain. 

14 God doth create the brain, 

Where, in each wondrous cell, 
Some power of angel strength 

As monarch grand doth dwell. 
Perception, reason, memory, there 
In the delights of knowledge share, 
And gather treasures everywhere. 

15 Till from the weak, the frail, 

The helpless little span, 
Is grown God's grandest work, 

A strong and earnest man. 
What privilege so grand as ours ! 
To link with God's our feeble powers, 
While faith implores His gracious showers. 

16 But most the glories shine, 

Of God's eternal plan, 
To work with us, in One 
Who is both God and man ; 



Softly now, with reverent tread, 
Will we seek the lowly bed 
Where in Bethlehem lay His head. 

17 Oh ! that our tongues could speak 

Emotions deep we feel, 
As 'round the manger we 

In deep devotion kneel. 
O Christ ! Thou Lord of life, that Thou 
From Thy high throne should meekly bow, 
To take our nature on Thee . now ! 

18 But when in after years, 

Men hung upon His word, 
That, " man should work with God," 

Was oft the truth they heard. 
" Stretch out thy hand," to one he said, 
Whose arm hung helpless as if dead ; 
Yet he obeyed, by meek faith led. 

19 And when He stood beside 

The grave of Lazarus, dead, 
The help of man he craved, 

When to his friends He said, 
"Roll back the stone," and then His word 
By the dull ear of death was heard, 
And Lazarus rose to meet the Lord. 

20 On through a lowly life, 

With meekness did He tread, 
Ofttimes he had not where 

To lay His weary head. 
He suffered all our mortal woes, 
In meekness met His mortal foes, 
And down to death as mortal goes. 

21 Our eyes with tears are blind, 

Our hearts with grief do yearn, 
As from His bleeding form 

Upon the cross we turn. 
Yet led by sorrowing love, we go 
Where Cedron's waters gently flow, 
To see His shrouded form laid low. 

22 O brave and tender hands, 

That the fair linen wound 
About His wounded form, 
With fragrant spices bound ! 
That laid, upon its marble bed 
To rest, His weary thorn-crowned head, 
Whose brow was stained with dewdrops red. 

23 Not long His silent rest 

Within the darkened tomb, 
The angel at the dawn 

Dispels the shadowy gloom. 
He rises, Victor o'er the grave ! 
He lives in light, our souls to save ! 
We praise Him with the voice He gave. 

24 And shall the angel bands 

That heralded His birth, 
That watched beside His grave, 
And when He rose from earth, 



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447 



Loud chanted, where heaven's sentry waits, 
" Lift up your heads ! ye golden gates, 
The Lord of glory entrance waits ; " 

25 Shall they the story tell 

Of Christ's redeeming love ? 
Nay ! but the hand of man 

Shall point to realms above ; 
His tongue shall tell the story old ; 
The lambs He feeds within the fold ; 
As Christ repentant Peter told. 

26 Then let our souls awake ! 

And listen to His voice ; 
And may His sacred work 
Become our earnest choice : 
Till through the land, and o'er the sea, 
The gospel message spread shall be, 
For God's co-laborers are we. 

EMILY P. WILLIAMS. May 15, 1882. 

%Xm %tm\& Cratoforfo. 

"A Pew Thoughts for a Few Friends," by Alice Arnold Crawford, tells 
"us that a bright young intellect gleamed for a short time on this side and 
then passed "over the river." Of the author we only know that she wrote 
these poems and sentiments, dedicated them lovingly to her mother, and 
, died, leaving the materials unrevised ; and we have in the dainty volume 
a memorial to be cherished. A more graceful and beautiful tribute of 
love to the memory of the departed could not be desired. The editor, 
unnamed, but probably her mother, deprecates " all unkindly criticism, 
for the sake of her for whom we mourn " — a tender but unnecessary re- 
quest. Such lines as these from a poem, " Seed-time," will meet the 
closest criticism unscathed : 

O seed-time ! promised still of God, 

Man hails thee in the waking year, 
He soweth to the upturned sod, 

And, trusting, waits the harvest cheer. 
And if he toil where thistles sleep, 

The fig-tree' s bloom is sought in vain, 
For he who soweth tares must reap 

His harvest from the tares again. 
Sow not the tares, — then growth may yet 

Bring to the heart a bitter strife, 
And, in the end, one sad regret — 

The wasted seed-time of a life. 
But he that goeth forth to cast 

His precious seed upon the mold, 
Shall doubtless come with joy at last, 

And bring with him his sheaves of gold. 

Or, the following from a Thanksgiving Hymn : 

Now the reaper's work is done, 

And the crisp, brown leaf is flying 
Where the clear November sun 

On the frosted field is lying. 
Fruits whose ruddy clusters shine, 

Corn sheaves in their golden splendor, 
Laden bough and purpling vine 

Call a thousand hearts to render 
One Thanksgiving Hymn. 

* * * # . # * 

Thanks for Peace ! The mighty sea. 

In its solemn undulation, 
Joins the wondrous melody 

In the deep voice of the Nation. 



CRAWFORD. 



Interior," 1875. 



BUILDERS. 

1 I passed, one golden summer's day, 
Children in their road-side play 
Fresh the morning breezes played 
Where a shower the dust had laid, 
Where the drowsy cattle strayed 
Underneath the elm trees' shade ; 
Lines of pebbles gleaming white 
Sparkled in the morning light ; 
Busy were the children's feet 

Up and down the village street ; 
Scarce a coming foot they greet. 

2 " Busy builders, say, Oh ! say 
Wherefore toil ye so to-day." 

"'Tis our play-house, don't you know? 
Thus we build the walls, and so 
Do the cross partitions go ; 
There's the front door, there's the stair, 
Yonder broken shard's a chair ; 
There lies shining household pelf 
Piled upon a granite shelf ; 
Look ! I built it all myself." 

3 " Mine's a church," the others say ; 
" Don't you see the aisles, and stay, 
There's the organ far away 

And the pulpit built of clay." 
" Mine's a city hall ; " " and mine, 
Bank where gold and silver shine." 
Thus the children say, and lo ! 
As upon my way I go, 
Wondering that fancy's touch 
Makes so little mean so much, 
Still they toil that summer day, 
Playing work and working play, 

4 Morning passed to shadeless noon, 
Evening's shadows followed soon ; 
Over grass and clover head 
Pearls of evening dew were shed. 
Dark the solemn mountain's frown 
Where his beetling crags look down ; 
Straight across the little town, 
That day's battles overcome, 
Slowly walked I towards home. 

5 Thinking of the ceaseless strife 
That we mortals christen life ; 
Thinking of the rest which lies 
O'er the hills of Paradise. 

In the moonbeams gleaming white 
Kows of pebbles met my sight ; 
Shining bits of colored glass 
Sparkled in the dewy grass. 
'Twas the play-house lying there, 
Roofless, quaint, yet very fair 
In the moonlit evening air ; 
But the children in their glee 
At their work I could not see. 

6 Just across the quiet road, 

Through the pane the lamp-light glowed. 
There reflected might I see, 



448 



WOMAN IN S ACRED SONG. 



Sat a curly-headed three 
In the cottage taking tea. 
Listening then, above the stair, 
Lo ! I heard the words of prayer 
Where the youngest fell asleep, 
Asking God her soul to keep. 

7 Then I knew, when twilight came, 
Though the builders wrought the 
When the mother stood before 
Yonder low, half-open door, 
Quickly all the play was o'er : 
Stone, and glass, and painted ware, 
Sparkling agates, pebbles rare, 
Cast aside as useless there, 

And the children, hungry all, 
Heard the welcome supper call, 
Finding home and mother's arms 
Better than their fancied charms. 

8 I have stood where structures proud 
Gazed upon the restless crowd ; 
Pillared dome and turret fair, 
Steeple towering high in air, 
Groin and buttress quaint and rare. 
I have heard the city's street 
Echo tread of many feet ; ; 
Seen the gorgeous fanes that trade 
For its worshippers has made ; 
Gazed upon the gilded stalls 

In the book rooms' massive walls ; 
Trod its tesselated halls. 

9 Science builds her eyrie high 
Up beneath the solemn sky ; 
Bridges span the river's bed ; 
Tunnels pierce the hills o'erhead ; 
Rails sustain the rushing car ; 
Lightnings flash their wires afar ; 
Winds and waves man's servants are. 
When I ask the meaning, lo ! 
Voices whisper " Don't you know? 
'Tis men's pla3^-house here below." 
Man's a busy, working elf, 

Lo ! He builds " it all himself." 

10 Then in History's evening gray 
I have passed where ruins lay, 
Paced along the marble floor 
Where the builders come no more, 
Read where on the roll of fame 
Man's sole record is his name ; 
There I saw the tracery set 
Over arch and minaret ; 
Wondered where the fingers be 
Which once wrought such witchery ; 
Questioned where the scheming brain 
For its evening rest has lain ; 
Sighed at such creations fair, 
Sleeping in the moonlit air ; 

Art and patience everywhere, 
But the workmen no more there. 

11 Busy children, work and play 



Through your summer holiday, 
Make the best of life ye may. 
Mother from the panes inside 
Watches with indulgent pride, 
Glad to see you gay and strong, 
Glad to hear your building song. 
Build O men ! your cities grand ! 
Curb the ocean ! tame the land. 
Only do not fondly dream 
Stone and glass the things they seem; 
Servants, they, of living men ; 
Carve not idols of them then. 
Let no selfish claims intrude 
In your building brotherhood ; 
Better let some tower be low, 
Some unfinished corner go ; 
Than cement it with a blow. 
God the Master looketh down 
On your temple and your town ; 
To His eyes it seems but play, 
Yet they please Him for a day. 
Build as in His sight alway. 
12 Lo ! life's evening draws apace, 
O'er yon mead the shadows trace ; 
Look ! the sun is sinking down 
Solemn now the mountain's frown. 
Busy builders, watch and wait, 
For the night-call at the gate, 
For the supper waiting late. 
Real the mother- arms will be, 
Real the cottage waiting thee ; 
Sweeter bed cannot be found 
Than that couch where thou art bound. 
Glad to leave thy building then 
To the hands of other men ; 
Glad to see the towers that rise 
Round that city of the skies ; 
Glad to tread its shining floor, 
Walk its sure foundations o'er, 
Enter and go out no more. 
Then the life below will seem 
But a summer morning's dream ; 
Light as ocean foam will be 
What now seems so real to thee. 
Build as thou wouldst wish to share 
In the changeless fabric there ; 
Build a temple where the Lord 
Evermore may be adored ; 
Build of loving thoughts a home 
Where the Dove of peace may come ; 
Build a pavement daily trod 
By the Risen Son of God. 
So may earthly work and play, 
Builded through the summer day, 
Stand when shadows flee away 
In the light of Heaven alway. 
So thy building stones shall be 
Real, and strong, and fair to see, 
So thy work the Master own, 
Bulwarks of His snowy throne. 

WINSLOW. 



MAI; u A RET 



TEMPERANCE DEPARTMENT. 



450 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



PREFATORY NOTE 

TO 

TEMPERANCE DEPARTMENT. 

I have been advised by persons interested in the success of Woman in Sacred Song, to reject all songs 
and p6ems which have for their theme the Temperance movement of to-day, in any of its phases (except, 
perhaps, moral suasion) ; also anything relating to, or in favor of woman Suffrage. But I would not be rep- 
resenting the women of the nineteenth century were I to heed this well-intended advice. " Home Protec- 
tion" and " Equal Suffrage" are, by force of circumstance, the two subjects dearer than all others to the hearts 
and minds of the thinking woman of to-day. I should be doing her an injustice were her views on these two 
absorbing topics refused a place in this volume which is intended to convey to posterity the heart struggles, 
aims and aspirations, of Christian womankind from the year 1548 to the present time. Should any see aught 
to offend, it is unnecessary to ask that charity be exercised, and a tolerance of the opinion of others ; forget- 
ting not that matters are viewed from different standpoints, to which cause much of the diversity of opinion 
is due. 

Mrs. G. C. Smith. 

Springfield, 111., 



WOMEN OF OUR COUNTRY. 



MISS M. E. SERVOSS. 



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Copyright, 1879, by H. Huck. Used by per. 



TEMPERANCE. WEEKLY GOSPEL AND SOCIAL MEETINGS. 



451 



Ititt ft. & Serboss. 

Miss M. E. Servoss was born in Schenectady, N. Y-, and is a descend- 
ant of the Huguenots. Her great great-grandfather sought refuge in 
Holland during the persecutions, and came to this country pi evious to the 
revolution, during which he was shot. She is very active in temperance 
work, and "The Temperance Light," of which she is one of the editors 
and compilers, is one of the test books for gospel temperance meetings 
that has yet been published. Her hymns are found in thirty-five col- 
lections, and "He will hide me," is known and sung everywhere. When 
a child,her parents removed to Kansas.but for some years her home has 
been Chicago, HI. See Devotional Department, page 215. 



TEMPERANCE LIGHT. 

1 Adown earth's dark abyss of woe, 

With wondrous radiance gleaming, 
And bearing hope to weary souls, 
The temp'rance light is streaming. 
I Chorus — O weary, burdened hearts, rejoice ! 
Look up ! ye souls repining, 
For from the lighthouse of God's love 
The temp'rance light is shining. 

2 It seeks the dark abodes of sin, 

Where loving hearts are breaking 

O'er those who to a drunkard's grave 

Their downward course are taking. 

3 It bids the fallen sin no more, 

But turn from shame and sorrow, 
And trusting Him who never fails, 
Begin anew to-morrow. 

4 And soon, through all the laud, we'll hear 

A glorious anthem swelling, 
Proclaiming how this heavenly light, 
Sin's midnight is dispelling. 

MISS jvi. E. SERVOSS. 1879. 



PRAYER FOR THE HOLY SPIRITS 
PRESENCE. 

L. M. 

1 Grant us Thy presence, Lord, this hour j 
Come to our hearts with special power ; 
Help each to know and feel and see 
What Christ requires of mine and me. 

2 Thy servants toil in heathen lands, 
Giving free strength of hearts and hands ; 
Shall we give less than the true leav'n 

Of means and prayer, to work, and Heav'n ? 

3 As children of a Heavenly King, 
May we not vainly pray or sing ; 

But find our weak work blest of Thee, 
Blest, and made good, eternally. 



THE POWER OF PRAYER. 

Tune.— "Sweet Hour of Prayer." (L. M. double.) 

1 O wondrous power of wondrous love, 
When from His holy throne above, 
Our Father bows His gracious ear 
The feeblest, faintest voice to hear. 

Refrain. — O power of prayer, O power of love, 
Which moves the Majesty above, 
And grants His children here below, 
Gifts only God can e'er bestow. 

2 O wondrous power of wondrous love, 
When from His holy throne above, 
Our Father hears and quickly bears 
A sweet response to earnest prayers. 

MISS MARY A. BAKER. 1882. 



Set to music by GEO. o. hcgg. 
From "Clear Notes," by permission. 



WAIT ON THE LORD 



OPENING HYMN. 

Tune.— "Refuge or Martyn." 

1 Two or three are met together 

In this consecrated place. 
Lord, we claim the precious promise 

Of Thy sanctifying grace. 
May we be Thine open letters, 

Known and read of all mankind ! 
May we break, of sin, the fetters, 

Cheer the hopeless, lead the blind. 

2 Nothing can we do, or venture, 

Save by Thine Almighty hand, 
Lifted and extended to us, 

As we kneel, a praying band. 
So we claim Thy gracious promise, 

Bending thus together low, 
We will never cease our praying, 

Till the blessing Thou bestow. 



" Our help is in the name of the Lord,"— Psalms cxxiv: 8. 

" I wait for the Lord, my soul doth wait, and in His word do I hope." 
"My soul waiteth for the Lord more than they that watch for the morn- 
ing, I say more than they that watch for the morning."— Psalms cxxx. 

1 We look to Thee, most gracious Lord, 

With prayerful, steadfast eye, 
Our trust, dear Lord, is in Thy word, 
Oh ! hear Thy children's cry ! 

2 How long, O Lord, How long shall sin 

And Satan ride apace ? 
How long, O Lord ! shall evil win 
And triumph in the race ? 

3 Arouse Thy slumbering church, O Lord ! 

To hear the groans and cries 
That daily from ten thousand hearts 
In intercession rise. 

4 Direct us, Lord, and send us might 

When Satan's hosts assail, 
Thou only canst defend the right ; 
With Thee we must prevail. 

ANNA HOLYOKE HOWARD. 188!. 



452 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



BLESS THIS HOUR OF PRAYER. 



' Where two or three are gathered together in my i 
in the midst of them." 



Tune— "Marlow." 

1 Come in our midst, O gracious Lord, 

Unveil Thy smiling face, 
Distill in ev'ry waiting heart, 

The dew of heavenly grace ; 
From earthly scenes we turn aside, 

On Thee we cast our care ; 
We worship in Thy holy name ; 

Oh ! bless this hour of prayer. 

2 Come in our midst, O gracious Lord, 

Thy promise we believe, 
That bids us seek and we shall find, 

Ask and we shall receive ; 
We gather at Thy mercy-seat, 

Our only hope is there, 
We plead the merits of Thy blood; 

Oil ! bless this hour of prayer. 

3 Come in our midst, O gracious Lord, 

Eternal King of kings, 
And fold the children of the law 

Beneath Thy mighty wings ; 
Support the weak, the mourner cheer, 

Help all their cross to bear ; 
Thou Spring of Joy, thou Source of Life, 

Oh ! bless the hour of prayer. 

FANNY CROSBY. 1863. 

Copyright, 1870, and set to music hy W. H, Doane. 

Used by per. Biglow & Main. 



TEMPERANCE BATTLE HYMN. 

Tune— "Mine eyes have seen the alorri." 

1 We have heard a cry of anguish, which has rent our 

spirits sore. 
'Tis a long, low, bitter wailing, from a million hearts 

or more. 
It has gathered now such volume as it never had 
before, 

And we go marching on, 
Oh ! the weeping and the wailing ! 
Oh ! the souls in terror quailing ! * 

Oh ! the brows with sorrow paling ! 
Aye, we go marching on. 

2 'Tis a cry of lamentation, Rachel mourning for her 

dead ; 2 

For from almost ev'ry household has this monster 

fiend been fed, 
He has robbed of sons and fathers, he has robbed of 
clothes and bread, 3 

And we go marching on. 
Oh ! the hopes and prospects broken ! 
Oh ! the sadness never spoken ! 
Oh ! the graves that have no token ! 
Aye, we go marching on. 



And this cry has pierced the heavens, and our God 

has heard the call ; 
And with awe our souls have trembled, at the voice 

so still and small : 
"Ye are your brother's keeper, and his blood is on you 
all ! " 

And we go marching on. 
O sisters, wives, and mothers ; 
O fathers, sons, and brothers ; 
If you've any love for others, 

With us go marching on. 
Aye, God has heard this crying, and has risen in His 

might, 
With His own right arm of vengeance the sin of sins 

to smite ; 
And our enemies, discomfited, are trembling at the 
sight, 

As we go marching on. 
" Oh ! glory hallelujah ! 
Oh ! glory hallelujah ! 
Oh ! glory hallelujah ! " 

Our God is marching on. 



OUR PRAYER. 

Tune—" FAtham." (7s, Doubla.) 

1 Lord, we come with this one plea : 
From in temp' ranee set us free ; 
Not in our way, but in Thine ; 
We are human. Thou divine. 

Chorus — Blest Redeemer, heaven's King ; 
This petition now we bring : 
Hear, and grant the prayei we make, 
For Thy Name and Mercy's sake. 

2 Still, O Lord, we cry to Thee : 
From intemp'rance set us free. 
All its blackness Thou dost know ; 
All its bitterness and woe. 

3 Saviour, yet our theme must be : 
From intemp'rance set us free. 
Sway the public heart and mind ; 
Satan's cruel forces bind. 

MARY. A. BAKER. 

LET US BRAVELY STAND. 

" By faith ye stand." II Cor. i: 24. 

With the eyes of our faith on the Hill of the Lord, 

And our strength in the arm of His might ; 
With the buckler and shield He commands us to wear, 

Let us bravely stand up for the right. 
Let us learn of our Saviour, the lowly and meek, 

For His yoke and His burden are light — 
O'er the conflict of life, we shall triumph at last, 

If we bravely stand up for the right. 
There's a morn that will dawn on the faithful and just, 

And dispel every shadow of night ; 
There's a crown for the cross that is borne to the end ; 

Let us bravely stand up for the right. 



Set to music by W. H. Doane, 
Copyright, 1871. From " Pure Gold" by per. Biglow k Main. 



TEMPERANCE. WEEKLY GOSPEL TEMPERANCE MEETINGS. 



453 



WE ARE COMING. 

Tune — " We are coming, blessed Saviour." 

1 We are coming ! for Jehovah 

Has given the signal word ; 
And " To the front for Temp'rance ! " 
In all the land is heard. 
Chorus. — We are coming ! we are coming ! 

With speech, and prayer, and song. 
We are coming ! we are coming 
To right a fearful wrong. 

2 We are coming ! for our foemen 

Their heartless revels keep 

Above their slaughtered victims, 

Unheeding those who weep. 

3 We are coming ! and our banners 

On ev'ry breeze shall wave. 
We are To the Front for temp'rance, 
Our rum-cursed land to save. 



GO BRING THE WANDERERS IN. 

Tune— "Missionary Hymn." 

1 Go in the field of labor, 

There's plenty yet to do ; 
The souls unsaved around you 

Are truly not a. few. 
Be earnest in the struggles, 

Your Saviour's cause to win, 
Go in the field of labor, 

Go bring the wand'rers in. 

2 Go speak a word in sorrow, 

The blessed word of life ; 
'Twill sooth the heart in trouble, 

Give comfort in the strife. 
Go speak a word in sorrow, 

To those all lost in sin, 
And tell them Christ is waiting 

To bring the wand'rers in. 

3 Proclaim the gospel message, 

Of pardon full and free ; 
Go break the chains of darkness, 

Give hope and liberty. 
Christ bought a full redemption, 

From guilt and woe and sin ; 
Oh ! speak to careless sinners, 

Go bring the wand'rers in. 

KATE GLENN. 

Set to music by E. Karl. 

Copyright, 1883, by Emma Pitt, in "Gospel Light," 



'A SOUND OF BATTLE IN THE LAND.' 

Jer. i : 22. 
Tune- "Webb." 

1 A war is raging fiercely 

Between the Wrong and Right, 
Between the powers of Darkness 
And powers of Truth and Light. 



Chorus — Oh ! rally, Christian soldier, 
You have no time to waste, 
Put on you the whole armor, 
To front of battle haste. 

2 Sometimes we see it plainly, 

Sometimes 'tis out of sight, 
But all the day it rages, 
Nor ceases for the night. 

3 And all the world are fighting 

On one or other side, 
A line God only seeth, 
Opposing ranks divide. 

4 Of those who fight for Darkness, 

Apollyon leads the van, 
The other great Commander 
Is Christ the Son of Man. 

5 It seems at times the victory 

Turns on the side of sin, 

But in the end, the righteous 

Are always sure to win. 

6 And hard indeed the battle ; 

" Lord, how long ? " oft the cry, 
From weary, burdened soldier, 
But the close is drawing nigh. 

7 Soon the battle will be ended, 

The conflict will be o'er, 
And Christ's victorious army 
Will rest forevermore. 

8 On fields of light and glory 

They'll songs of triumph sing, 
With shouts and glad hosannas 

Crown their Captain, heaven's King. 

MRS. I. M. HARTSOUGH. 



THE SIXTY THOUSAND. 



Tune— "Memories of Earth," Gospel Hymna. 

1 In this land of boasted freedom, 

In this kingdom of the brave, 
Silently a spectral army 

Marches onward to the grave. 
Hark ! I hear their muffled footsteps 

Like a distant, dismal knell, 
As our sixty thousand drunkards 

Tread the path that leads to hell. 

2 Hark again ! that sound of wailing 

Borne along the midnight air — 
'Tis the cry of helpless orphans, 

'Tis the widow in despair. 
Still the sound is ever steady, 

Tramping, tramping through the gloom, 
Pass our sixty thousand drunkards 

To the portals of the tomb. 



454 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Dost thou see those crimson banners, 

As they nutter o'er the host ? 
Dost thou hear that dirge resounding 

Like the death-wail of the lost ? 
Dost thou see that tyrant captain, 

As he leads his tattered band ! 
Leads his sixty thousand drunkards, 

Grim and ghastly, through the land ? 

Well thou knowest then the story, 

Then thou knowest well the woe, 
And the shadows of dishonor 

That enshroud them as they go. 
And against the wily Tempter 

Let thy prayers with mine arise — 
When, O God, shall end his conquest, 

When shall cease the sacrifice ? 



WAITING, WORKING, PRAYING. 

One of the hymns sung at the Band of Hope Anniversary— Exeter Hall. 
May 12, 1880. 

1 We are waiting till the shadows 

Dark'ning our beloved land — 
Murky clouds of sin and sorrow, 

Brooding thick on every hand — 
Shall forevermore be scatter'd 

By the morn for which we pray ; 
Truth's fair suns shall rise and brighten 

Till we hail the perfect day. 
Cho. — Waiting, waiting, waiting, we are waiting ; 

Waiting, waiting, till that day shall dawn ! 

2 We are working with the sowers, 

Toiling many a weary year ; 

Till we greet the waving Summer 
That will bring the harvest near ; 

Then will reap our sheaves in triumph, 
Fruit of labors wrought in love ; 

Watered oft with tears and prayers, 
Bringing blessings from above. 

3 We are praying, " May the angels, 

Gazing from the golden walls, 
Look upon a ransomed nation, 

Which strong drink no more enthralls ! " 
Even now we faintly image 

All the glories that will be, 
When mankind shall own thy guidance, 

" Truth, and Love and Purity ! " 



PRAYER FOR WORKERS. 

Tune— " Lyons," 

1 We adore the rich grace and the mercy Divine, 
Which stooping from heaven, made lost sinners Thine, 
Rare service we'd render, our gratitude prove, 
Bringing others to share in this wonderful love. 



2 Sheltered safe in Thy fold from all foes that molest, 
We would call in the wandering here to be blest, 
Would win men to come to the feast Thou hast spread, 
And take for soul-hunger Thine own living bread. 

3 Close under Thy cross as the refuge most meet, 

We would draw men to bow at the nail-pierced feet ; 
Would teach them to glory alone in that cross, 
And show those who slight it, the infinite loss. 

4 But erring our lives, and our words so unwise, 
Unworthy are we of the service we prize, 
When bidden to watch we have fallen asleep, 
E'en thrice have denied Thee — our folly we weep. 

5 Forgiveness is Thine and the power all Thine own, 
'Tis the seed of Thy truth that is tearfully sown, 
Though " weak " and " despised " to Thy promise we 

fly, 

Grant aid from Thy Spirit ; on Him we rely. 

6 Give us His compassion who wept o'er the lost, 
His patience who sought them, whatever the cost, 
Proclaiming the gospel He graciously gave, 

Oh ! make us persuasive to win and to save. 

MARTHA TYLER (SALE, 

Mills Seminary, Cal. 1884, 



THE BEAUTIFUL. 



'•He hath made everything beautiful in His time,"— Eccles. iii. 2. 

1 'Tis beautiful to live on earth, 

To work, to watch and pray, 
To feel the ties of love and hope 

Grow stronger day by day ; 
'Tis beautiful to look within, 

And watch the waves of thought 
That come and go in ceaseless tides, 

By truth and fancy taught. 

2 'Tis beautiful to love and trust 

The friends that round us live, 
To look with pity on the weak, 

And all their faults forgive ; 
'Tis beautiful to trust in God, 

To feel our souls grow strong, 
And know that every day we strive 

To triumph over wrong. 

3 'Tis beautiful to die, when life, 

With all its duties done, 
Drifts on, as dees a summer cloud, 

To greet the setting sun ; 
It will be beautiful to pass 

On to the "Better Shore," 
And in the " many mansions " meet 

The loved ones gone before. 



ROSKCRANS. 



BELLE BUSH. 

' Palm of Victory." 



TEMPERANCE. WEEKLY GOSPEL TEMPERANCE MEETINGS. 



Ab r o 



LOWLY LABOR. 



FOR GOD AND HOME AND NATIVE LAND. 



1 Though in a narrow, humble sphere 

To labor be my lot, 
Yet by the high and lofty One, 
I shall not be forgot. 

2 To plant a seed in quick'ning mould, 

To bloom 'neath summer sun ; 
To move a rock from out the way 
That cooling rills may run ; 

3 To place the leaven in the mind 

Which shall in future life 
Pervade its motives, raise its aims, 
Preparing for its strife ; 

4 May seem to some ignoble task, 

But 'tis not so to me ; 
My hand shall work, my heart shall pray, 
And I shall blessed be. 

5 'Tis not to great and mighty deeds, 

God's smile is always given ; 
And those who lowliest walk on earth, 
May brightest shine in heaven. 

EMILY P. WILLIAMS. 

Troy, O. Jan, 1, 1819, 



GO FORTH TO BATTLE. 



Tune— "Missionary Hymn.'" 

1 Go forth, go forth to battle ; 

Though strong the foe may be, 
The mighty God of battles 

Is stronger far than he. 
Th}^ faith shall be thine armor, 

And love shall keep it bright — 
Thou canst not be the victor 

Unless thou stand and fight. 

2 Go forth ! see now God's kingdom 

Besieged by giants grim, 
Smite right and left with vigor, 

And show thy love for Him ; 
Be watchful — never sleepeth 

The enemy of souls ; 
He would rejoice to gather 

Thee in among the spoils. 

3 Go forth, go forth to battle 

That may be fierce and strong ; 
But measured by God's future, 

At best 'twill not be long. 
Fear not, though Satan's legions 

Loud vaunt with boastful words, 
But think with exultation, 

The battle is the Lord's. 

MATTIE PEARSON SMITH. 



KESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO THE PINE BLUFF W. C. 
T. U. 

1 "For God," that His all-gracious love 

Make pure and sweet the streams of life, 
And make each heart, like those above, 
Free from all poison-taints and strife. 

2 " For Home," that it be pure and clean, 

A place for restful peace and joys, 
Where nothing loathsome, low or mean, - 
Shall taint or slay " our darling boys.'' 

3 Where in the midst His altar shines — ' 

A token of His Father-love — 
And sweetly through each soul entwine 
The silken cordage linked above. 

4 "For Native Land," that God may own 

And seal each head and heart in power, 
And in this great land there be sown 
Seeds that shall yield immortal flower. 

5 That from the east, north, south and west, 

The world resound His wondrous name, 
And every happy State be blest 

With sober sons — its greatest fame ! 



MRS. H. P. BOWLES. 



GOLDEN HOURS. 

Golden hours, so swiftly fleeing, 

Stay, Oh ! stay. 
Bear me not on time's rough billow 

Far away. 
Wait, until some precious duty 

I perform^ 
Let me raise a needed shelter 

From life's storm, 
Or erect a shining waymark 

Souls to guide, 
As among life's wild temptations 

On they glide. 
I would mark the day and hour 

With some deed, 
Which the hungry souls around me 

Long may feed ; 
Even as manna, which the angels 

Spread at night 
'Round the tents where sleeping Hebrews 

Paused in flight. 

MRS. E. P. WILLIAMS. 

lawndale, LU. (now of Appleton City, Mo.), Nov. 10, 1882. 



WRECKED. 

1 In sight of port the ship went down— 
No help came from the sleeping town. 
So, precious souls, day after day, 
To drinking dens they lure and slay, 
In sight of those who weep and pray. 



J- 6 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Wrecked ! — hopes, that blossomed fair and bright, 
Wrecked, with proud manhood just in sight ! 
Lost ! out at sea, your boys and mine, 
Unless the pierced Hand-divine 
Shall lift them up to heights sublime. 

Ring, ring the bells ! danger's ahead — 
Unsteady steps by hundreds tread 
The dark and slippery downward way ; 
Somebody's boys, this very day, 
Go down beyond love's power to stay ! 

GEORGIA HUXSE M'LEOD. 

Baltimore, 1883. 



GUIDE US TO-DAY. 

1 Guide us to-day, O loving Care, 

Shielding our dangerous way. 
The white mist binds the sky o'erhead, 
The gulf beside is deep and dread, 
Our course a maze, our path a thread. 
Guide us, Love's dearest care ; 

Guide us this day. 

2 Guide us to-day, sweet soul of Peace, 

Making men's hearts obey. 
Our human hearts bleed at a wound, 
Oppression bows us to the ground, 
Our hearts faint at a cruel sound. 
Kind, calm, consoling Peace, 

Guide us this day. 

3 Guide us to-day, tender Grace, 

From zenith shadows stray ; 
A sad, deep murmur haunts the sea ; 
The summer withers ; and the free, 
Fresh wind has sighs of mystery. 
Guide us, O tender Grace ; 

Guide us to-day. 

4 Guide us, Love, Peace, and Grace, 

Guide us, divinest Light ! 
Through all our work and care and woe, 
Through all the dizzy joys we know, 
Through that " Dark Valley " where we go, 
Guide us, Love's dearest light, 

To-day, to-night. 

LAURA SANFORD. 



FORWARD. 7s & 8s- 

"Speak to the children of Israel that they go forward." Ex. sir: 15. 

1 Forward shall be our watchword, 

As weeks and months revolve, 
Forward in earnest purpose, 

And in each high resolve, 
No recreant glances casting 

On Sodom still so near, 
No wish of sloth indulging, 

No thought of coward fear. 



Forward in holy likeness, 

To Him unseen we love : 
Forward in faith unyielding, 

His faithfulness to prove. 
Forward to meet our Master, 

Whose coming draweth nigh ; 
Forward to reach the guerdon 

Prepared for saints on high. 

Forward in God's great Army, 

Embattled foes to meet ; 
Forward with song of victory, 

Our conquering Lord to greet. 
Forward in ceaseless effort 

For weal of all around, 
Forward, yes, forward ever, 

Till with Jesus we are crown'd. 



MRS. M. A. KIDDER. 



OUR BANNER HYMN. 

Tune — "Coronation." 
"In the name of our God we will set up our banners."— Psalms lz: 4. 

1 " For God and Home and Native Land," 

We gather here to-day ; 
Obedient to Divine command, 
' To work and watch and pray. 

2 Lord, save our nation from the tide 

Intemperance rolls along ; 

In Thee alone doth power abide, 

To vanquish every wrong. 

3 May we be valiant as we stand 

Amid the mighty foes ; 
" For God and Home and Native Land," 
Let us the host oppose. 

4 Ours is the cause ordained of old, 

By Him who rules on high ; 
Ours is the power by Him controlled, 
Who will our strength supply. 

5 We ask for heavenly wisdom, Lord, 

That we may never stray ; 
That we may walk with sweet accord, 
And walk Thy blessed way. 

6 " For God and Home and Native Land," 

Let every heart grow strong ; 
Lord, lead us by Thy mighty hand, 
Till victory be our song. 



LIZA BETH A. LATVSON. 

In " Union Signal." 
Pawtueket. R. I., 1885. 



TEMPERANCE. WEEKLY GOSPEL TEMPERANCE MEETLNGS. 



45; 



CHARITY, OR THINK GENTLY OF THE ERRING. 



Miss: FLETCHER, arr. 




1. Deal gently with the err-ing one ! Ye know not of the power With which temp-ta-tion on him came, In some unguarded hour. 

2. Speak mildly to such err-ing ones! For is it not e - nough That innocence and peace have gone, Without thy censure rough? 

3. Oh! kind-ly help all erring ones! Tbou yet niay'st lead them back, With gracious words,and tones of love, From mis'ry's thorny track. 




may not know how earn-est-ly He struggl'd, or how well, Un-til the time of weakness came, When sadly thus he feh. 

It suremust be a wea - ry lot, That sin-crush'd heart to bear; And they who share a happier fate, Their chidings well may spare. 
For -get not thou hast of - ten'sinned, And tempted yet may'st be; Deal gently with the erring ones, As God hath dealt with thee! 



From " Clear Notes " by per. Henry Huck. 



KIND WORDS CAN NEVER DIE. 



From "Songs of Grace and Glory," by per. Biglow & Main. 



*=P= 



W=i- 




=g: U s ^^ = ^ J ^— b=^§= 



1. Kind words can nev - er die, Cherished and blest, God knows how deep they lie, Lodged in , the 

2. Child-hood can nev - er die, Wrecks of the past Float .o'er the mem - o - ry, Bright to the last. 

3. Sweet tho'ts can nev - er die, Tho', like the flow'rs, Their brightest hues may fiy In win -try hours. 

4. Our souls can nev - er die, Tho' in the tomb We may all have to * lie, Wrapt in its gloom. 




Like childhood's simple rhymes.Said o'er a thousand times, Go through all years and climes, The heart to cheer. 
Man - y a hap-py thing, Man - y a dai - sy spring.Floats on time's ceaseless wing.Far.far a - way. 
But when the gentle dew Gives them their charms a-new, With many an added hue, They bloom a - gain. 
What though the flesh decay.Souls pass in peace a - way, Live through e - ter-nal day With Christ a - bove. 




Kind 
Child- 
Sweet 
Our 



* V w — 1 w v " " F + 

words can nev - er die, nev - er die, nev - er die, Kind words can nev - er die, no, nev-er 

hood can nev - er die, nev - er die, nev - er die, Childhood can nev - er die, no, nev-er 

tho'ts can nev - er die, nev-er die, nev-er die, Sweet tho'ts can nev - er die, no, nev-er 

souls can nev - er die, nev - er die, nev - er die, Our souls can nev - er die, no, nev-er 



die. 
die. 
die. 
die. 



458 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 

Tune— " Webb, or Missionary Hymn." 

'1 The East hangs out a signal, 

The West gives back reply, 
The North in battle ranges, 

The South with honor high 
Strikes for the safety of our homes, 

The safety of our boys, 
The honor of our daughters, 

The life of all our joys. 

2 O faith ! lift up thy pinions 

Low trailing in the dust, 
Remember God is merciful, 

Remember God is just, 
And fly to Him beyond the rifts 

And clouds of deep despair ; 
His is a mighty arm of power, 

And thy repose is there ! 



BY AND BY. 

1 Hast thou sought of God a favor, 

Which He seemeth to deny ? 

Keep on asking ; 

Keep on asking ! 
He will grant it, by and by. 

Chorus. — 

We will never cease our praying, 
While poor souls in sin are straying ; 
Though His mercy seems delaying, 

God will save them, by and by. 
All unworthy is our pleading 
For the gracious gifts we're needing ; 
But with Jesus interceding, 

God will answer, by and by. 

2 Is He deaf to thy petition ? 

Heeds He not thine anguished cry? 

Keep on calling ; 

Keep on calling ! 
He will hear thee, by and by. 

3 Fearest thou some friend will perish, 

Or thyself in sin shalt die ? 

Keep on asking, 

Calling, pleading ! 
God will bless thee, by and by. 

Miss M. A. baker. Chicago, 1871. 

Set to music by A. R. Palmer. 

By per. Dr. H. R- Palmer. 



THE MASTER CALLETH FOR THEE. 

Tune.—" When, we reach our Father's dwelling." 

1 Through the ripple of the moments, 
And the louder surge of years ; 
Through the prattle of the children 
And the grief of woman's tears; 



Midst the thunder of the battle 

When peace crowns the bitter strife 

Everywhere, the Master calleth 
Wooing to the better life. 

2 Are there sick hearts ? see ! He poureth 

Evermore the healing balm, — 
And to those who conquor evil 

Give the victor's fadeless palm. 
Lo ! the fields are white with harvest 

Waiting for the sickle's gleam ; 
(Days of sowing, then the reaping, 

With faith's trusting song between.) 

3 Will you hear His silver accents, 

Answer " Father, here am I ! " 
, Bear aloft the temperance banner 

While the eager throng press by ? 
Hopeless wives, and sad-eyed children 

Reaching mute, despairing hand, 
Pleading ever " prohibition," 

Work for " God — Home — Native Land." 

MARY E. GRISWOLD, 

Alameda. March 7, 1884. 



THE HAPPY CHRISTMAS MORN. 



1 The promised morning o'er us breaks, 

Majestic in array : 
The great Redeemer on Him takes 

The garment of our clay. 
For Bethlehem's babe shall save from sin 

Young children yet unborn ; 
And angels joy to usher in 

The happy Christmas morn. 

Chorus. 

For Bethlehem's babe shall save from sin 

Young children yet unborn ; 
And angels joy to usher in, 

The happy Christmas morn, 
And angels joy to usher in , 

The happy Christmas morn. 

2 When evening shadows thickly fall 

Around life's closing day, 
When dearest friends unheeded call, 

Life's memories swept away : • 
Our hearts shall thrill to one dear name, 

In gentle whispers borne, 
Sweet Saviour ! Jesus ! He who came 
Upon the Christmas morn. 

Our hearts shall thrill to one dear name, 

In gentle whispers borne, 
Sweet Saviour ! Jesus ! He who came 

Upon the Christmas morn, 
Sweet Saviour ! Jesus ! He who came 

Upon the Christmas morn. 

ANNA R. BARKULOO. 



TEMPERANCE. WEEKLY GOSPEL AND SOCIAL MEETINGS. 



459 



HASTEN, LORD- 



Tune — " Pleyel's Hymn.' 



1 God of mercy, bow Thine ear, 
All Thy people's pleadings hear. 
For intemperance, crime, and woe 
Meet us wheresoe'er we go. 

2 Lord, the task is far too great 

For our hands. For Thee we wait. 
Haste, the o'erwhelming tide to stay ! 
Haste to wipe its stains away ! 

MARY A. BAKER. 



CHRISTMAS CAROL. 



Christ is born, the dear Redeemer, 

Who will save the castaway I 
Little toiling orphan children, 

Heirs of destiny forlorn, 
Weep not, for the true Consoler — 

Christ, the mourner's Friend — is born! 

" Sinner, conscious of transgression, 

Scorned of men, outcast and vile, 
Christ is born, whose blood shall cleanse thee, 

And to God shall reconcile ! 
Noble spirit, patriot, poet, 

Thirsting to be great and free, 
Christ is born, thy true ensample, 

Dying on the Cross for thee ! " 
Thus they sang, the holy angels, 

'Mid the pallid stars of morn, 
" Peace on earth, and endless blessing ! 

For the Christ ! the Christ is born ! " 

MARY HOWITT. 



FOR THE GOSPEL TEMPERANCE MEETING DUBIHXJ 
CHRISTMAS WEEK. 



Tune — " Memories of earth." Gospel Hymns. 
Repeat last four lines of Tune. 

1 Listen, all ye Christian people, 

Let no fears your souls dismay ; 
God's own Son, the Lord, the Saviour, 

He was born on Christmas day. 
All the earth was bound in sadness, 

Darkness lay upon the land, 
And the silence of the midnight, 

When the moment was at hand ; 
When through all the midnight darkness, 

Through the world's sad heart forlorn, 
Passed a thrill of life ecstatic ; 

And the Christ ! the Christ was born ! 

2 Nature owned the glad emotion ; 

And the simple shepherd folk, 
As if day shone out above them, 

With the joyful impulse woke ; 
Woke, and lo ! a glorious vision 

Filled their souls with wondering awe, 
And ten thousand holy angels, 

Thronging all the heavens, they saw. 
And they heard them sing, as never 

Skylark sang above the corn, — 
" Peace on earth, and endless blessing ! 

For the Christ ! the Christ is born ! 

3 " Sons and daughters of affliction, 

Join great Nature's choral voice ! 
Thou, the captive ; thou, the stranger ; 

Thou, the poor, rejoice ! rejoice ! 
Weeping mother, cease thy anguish, 

For thy first-born gone astray ; 



MY CHRISTMAS KINGDOM. 



1 A Christmas sky, a Christmas star, 
Wise men journeying from afar, 

A cradled babe and gifts of myrrh, 
A hush of worlds, all heaven astir, 
What does it mean to you to-day ? 
Has the story told you all it may ? 

2 The Christmas sky is in my heart, 
The starbeams play a wondrous part, 
Life's dull, dark manger radiates 

A new-born light that ne'er abates ; 
The world s loud clamor hushed and still, 
Heaven sends its message — " As God will." 

3 But peaceful heart, are you so sure 
These Christmas joys will long endure ? 
In Bethlehem's star-lit manger lies 
The promise of Christ's sacrifice. 

And on the radiant Christ-child's brow, 
The cross has cast its shadow now. 

4 O doubting one, no joys so great 
On lowly cradled Christ-child wait, 
As when the soul's full ministry 
On some high peak of Calvary 

Is wrought ; when from eternal calm 
Swells full and strong, the victor's psalm. 

MARY B, WILLARD. 1884. 



4 GO 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



GOD'S PROMISES. 

" There hath not failed one word of all His good promises which He 
promised."— King Solomon. 

1 He hath promised, can I trust Him 

Jn the sunlight and the shade ? 
"Will the dark days prove Him faithful 

To the promises He made ? 
Will my " shoes be brass and iron," 

When I walk the furnace through ? 
In the desert drear lie fainting, 

Will life freshen with His dew ? 

2 When the wolf and lion haunt me 

With their savage teeth and claw, 
Will the " presence of His angel " 

Quell wild passions into awe ? 
When I grieve for dearly loved ones, 

Or with tears bedew their grave, 
Will He bear me up with whispers. 

Of His power Divine to save ? 

3 When my own poor life shall weaken, 

And I drop dear hands I hold, 
Will " His left hand then embrace me," 

And " His right my soul enfold ?" 
When He takes me through the valley, 

All unknown the farther shore, 
Will He, with a bridegroom's ardor, 

Hold me safe and guide me o'er ? 

4 Will He pluck the sting which blanches 

Every mortal heart and cheek, 
Will He from the grave's dark chamber 

My immortal spirit keep ? 
Can He then, all white, present me, 

Spotless with His radiance crowned, 
Will His own reflected glory 

Evermore in me abound ? 

5 Shall I undismayed look upward 

In the great God's holy face, 
And with new-found courage utter, 

"Abba, Father, give me place"? 
He hath promised : never promise 

Of His promises will fail ! 
Seeming failure will transparent 

Look to all " within the veil." 

CARRIE h. POST. 

Springfield, July, 1884. 

IT CAME TO PASS. 

1 O souls that sit in darkness, 

O timid ones draw near, 
No word of God can fail you, 

Cast off your gloom and fear ; 
All He has promised now believe, 
According to His word — receive. 

2 Who disbelieves that " seedtime 

And harvest " shall not fail ? 
That day and night shall follow ? 

Who dare this truth assail? 
It comes to pass — we never fear, 
According to His word each year. 



3 O weak and weary pilgrim, 

Look up, hear Jesus say, 
Come unto me ; I'll rest thee, 

Come learn of me the way 
It comes to pass, as thou dost trust 
According to His word — it must. 

4 My grace is all-sufficient, 

Believe and find it so ; 
My strength shall be thy weakness 

As on the way ye go. 
According to His word, so true, 
It came to pass — God cares for you. 

5 According to His riches 

God shall supply your need ; 
Just, lean upon this promise, 

Whatever comes still heed. 
According to His word declare, 
It came to pass as written there. 

6 All — all things work together 

For good to thee — believe. 
Oh ! trust and wait with patience j 

Faith says, He can't deceive. 
According as He speaks to you, 
Believe and you will find it true. 

7 Lo. I am with thee alway, 

'Tis I — be of good cheer ; 
Thy mansion I'm preparing, 

Ye have a title here. 
It came to pass as ye believed, 
His word proved true and ye received. 



THE UNREVEALED. 

"It doth not yet appear what we shall be, but we know that when He i 
pear we shall be like Him, for we see Him as He is."— I John iii: 2. 

1 O words, unmarked by some o'erwise, 

Who seek the veil to penetrate 
That, like a cloud of blessing lies 
'Twist earthly and divine estate ; 

2 What comfort sweet to rs you bring 

Who struggle on in toilsome ways, 
Too busy we, for questioning 
About the vast, eternal days 

3 Which lie before us ; the blest goal 

Toward which we turn our weary feet ; 
But echoing ever in the soul 
We listen the assurance sweet : 

4 " We know that ws shall be like Him, 

For we shall see Him as He is." 
Enough ! our eyes with tears grow dim ; 
Can we know aught surpassing this ? 

5 "It doth not yet appear — " ah ! no, 

Wh'o would not rather, patient, wait 
Till with hushed lips and breathing low, 
We enter at the heavenly gate, 



TEMPERANCE. WEEKLY MEETING. CONFIDENCE IN GOD AND HIS rROMISLK. 



And see with eyes, by faith made strong 

For the bright splendor of tbe scene, 
Revealed, 'mid bursts of seraph song, 

What to our earthly eyes had been 
But an unmeaning, painful glare 

Without the intervening screen 
Of the " dark glass" — in mercy there, 

Held by our Father's hand between ? 



IF. 

1 If the night be dark and drear, 

And the " east wind " blows 
Till the heart grows faint and weary, 
Jesus knows. 

2 If the storm find us obeying, 

He will to us fly ; 
In the " fourth watch " sweetly saying 
" It is I." 

3 If the clouds hang low and threatening, 

It is light above ; 
And we know God is controlling— 
" God is Love." 

4 If our eyes are dim with weeping, 

'Tis but for a night ; 
Surely, joy comes in the morning 
With' the light. 

5 If without Egyptian darkness, 

God within doth dwell ; 
Here secure where all is brightness— 
" All is well." 

6 If our Homeward way is lonely, 

He will be our stay. 
Let us trust Him always, wholly,' 
Come what may. 



f atrium 5. ioobtow 

Was born in St. Johnsbury. Boston has been her later residenoe. 
She was early and favorably known as a contributor to newspapers and 
magazines ; for several years has devoted a large portion of time and en- 
ergy to editorial work on the " Era" and the "Watchman," meanwhile 
travelling extensively at home and abroad. Her bright and breezy "Cen- 
tennial Notes "were received with especial favor by patrons of the last- 
named journal, the result being that by general request she was engaged 
for similar service at the World's Exposition at Paris in 1878. From 
that time she has had much recognition as an accomplished art writer 
and critic. Her pen is too versatile, perhaps, for the best attainments 
that could be made in a single department. One of several serials, and 
a number of short stories, have been furnished to English periodicals ; 
her poems, essays, household articles, &c, are seen in publications of 
the day ; while a considerable portion of what she calls her happiest pen- 
ning is in the line of juvenile literature. She is represented in "Poets 
of Vermont" and in Longfellow's "Poems of Places." 

"I HAVE KEPT THE FAITH." 
St. Paul. 

1 O soul beset by woe on woe, 

A wounded Christ thy wounds doth tend; 
• Whate'er thou yieldest to the foe 

Of this world's joys, hold to the end 
That confidence assui'ed in God 
Which tempers e'en the stinging rod. 



2 Paulus, true saint, " in perils oft,' 

Through persecution's blackest deep, 
His gaze inspired was turned aloft, 

Before the haven's welcome sweep, 
To say the precious freight in trust 
Was undefiled by moth and rust. 

3 With failing faith, the Father's smile 

Grows dimmer, life a clouded day ; 
O murmurer, seal thy lips awhile, 

The great apostle's blest highway 
Stretches before ; his record see : 
" Kept faith .... a righteous crown for 

4 " Not of ourselves " — bestowed by On<3 

Who watches if we lose or keep ; 
When the last mortal race is run, 

O angels ! will ye sing or weep, 
As God who gave shall ask my soul, 
"Canst thou declare thy faith is whole ? 



STANDING BY THE CROSS OF JESUS. 

"Now there stood by tne cross of Jesus His muther.and His mother's 
sister, Mary the wife of Cleopas, and Mary Magdalene."— John xix : 25. 

1 Would we stand, O Christian women, 

By the cross where Jesus died ? 

Would our love and our devotion 

Hold us thus near to His side ? 

2 Would we gaze with eyes o'erfiowing, 

Longing to release Him there, 
Yearning to endure His sorrows, 
And His suff'rings gladly share ? 

3 Then with joy let us remember, 

We may thus stand by Him still ; 
Hark ! He speaks to us — Oh ! listen — 
Haste His pleasure to fulfill. 

4 Inasmuch as ye have done it 

To the least sad fainting one 
Of my brethren, struggling homeward, 
Unto Me I count it done. 

5 Then we'll bear His blessed image, 

As we journey day by day, 
Feed His poor, and lift His bowed ones, 
Cheer His pilgrims on their way. 

6 Let us also stand, like Mary, 

By His tomb, and there proclaim, 
He " is risen ! " lost one, heed it '! 

Life He'll give you through His name. 

7 When for Him our earthwork ended, 

And we lay our armor down, 
Standing by His throne we'll hear Him 
Say, " Well done — now take thy crown ! " 

ELIZABETH C. GKEENE. 

Brooklyn, N. Y. 1884. 



4G2 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



AS THY DAY. 

Tune -"Refuge." 

1 Why art thou so weak and weary ? 

Why so troubled is thy heart ? 
Let the clouds of doubt and sadness 

Which hang o'er thy path depart. 
Hoping, loving and believing, 

Still let Faith thy watchword be, 
Ah ! remember, wayward pilgrim, 

As thy day, thy strength shall be. 

2 God, thy God will not forget thee, 

Trembling heart, why dost thou fear ? 
What though earthly friends forsake thee, 

Wand'rer, faint not, He is near. 
List not to the angry waters 

Of Life's ever restless sea, 
Follower of the Cross, remember, 

As thy day, thy strength shall be. 

3 Let the past with all its sorrows, 

All its memories of pain ; 
Let it hide itself in shadows, 

Woo it not to thee again. 
Trust in God, ne'er fear the future, 

Peace and joy shall come to thee ; 
Christian, shrink not from thy burden, 

As thy day, thy strength shall be. 



Yea, " after many days." Be patient, 

O weary, disappointed soul ! 
The end shall come, though not till moments, 

Weeks, months and years their circles roll ; 
The end shall come ! behold the promise ; 

Lift up your eyes to His sweet rays ; 
Tears shall be wiped, and prayers answered, 

And rest come, " after many days." 



'FLORENCE PERCY. 



Irs. 1. J. C Slab*. 



Mrs. M. B. 0. Slade was a writer of uuusual ability. 

For years she successfully edited the paper called Good Times, pub- 
lished at Fall River, Mass. (now at Boston, L. H. Marvel, Editor.) She 
has without doubt furnished more good material for missionary, Sabbath 
School, day school and temperance entertainments, than any other one 
individual. Her loss, by death in 1882, has been sadly felt by thousands 
of young people, as well as older ones, who have enjoyed singing her hymns 
foundin almost every collection of sacred song, especially Sabbath School 
music books She was one of the first to take an interest in this compi- 
lation, proposed four years since. In a letter of advice and suggestion 
to the one under taking the work, she herself in answer to a request, 

entioued t!u following from "The Glory," as one of her best, and 
expressed the desire that it be used as her representative hymn. Her ad- 
vice, valuable from her long experience in tins line of work, has been 
of great assistance to the editor of this volume, and by her death a year 
later, one of its best friends and helpers was removed. She has found 
the kingdom for which she so longed. 



AFTER MANY DAYS. 

1 Though I have sown and reaped no harvest, 

Have toiled for years with no reward, 
And for deaf ears, that would not hearken, 
To music touched love's sweetest chord ; 
This promise is my staff and blessing, 

Through all life's dark and lonesome ways 
" Who casts his bread upon the waters, 
Shall find it after many days." • 
Chorus — Lo ! here is one whose blessed promise, 
The simplest deed of good repays ; 
Who casts his bread upon the waters, 
Shall find it after many days. 

2 O ye who spend life's holiest moments 

In rearing altars on the sand, 
And weep to see them, ere completed, 

Totter and fall beneath your hand ; 
O ye who worship crumbling idols 

Which turn to ashes while you gaze, 
" Who casts his bread upon the waters, 

Shall find it after many days." 

3 Ye who have watched a loved one fading 

From loving hearts and eyes away, 
Seen eyes grow dimmer, fair cheeks paler, 

And slight form thinner, day by day, 
Till borne across life's misty river, 

She vanished from your yearning gaze, 
Say not ye are forever parted ; 

Remember, " after many days." 



LOOKING FOR THE KINGDOM. 

Tune— "Battle Hymn of the Republic." 

1 I am looking for the kingdom, shall I trust my trem- 

bling feet, 
Where the moonlight on the waters makes a shining, 

golden street ? 
Through the jasper walls of sunset, by its pearly 

gates aglow, 

To the kingdom can I go ? 

Refrain — Oh ! I long to find the kingdom ! 
Blessed, holy, happy kingdom ! 
Lead, O Lord, into Thy kingdom, 
Show me, Lord, the way. 

2 I am looking for the kingdom, need I seek and search 

no more, 
When I come where holy temples open wide the 

sacred do'or ? 
Where the solemn psalm is rising, and the incense 

sweet of prayer, 

Shall I find the kingdom there ? 

3 I am looking for the kingdom, shall I hills and moun- 

tains climb ? 

Shall I go where tuneful forests sweetest songs of 
praises chime ? 

Shall I seek where chanting billows sound the an- 
thems of the sea ? 

Is the kingdom there for me ? 



TEMPERANCE. WEEKLY MEETING. CONFIDENCE IN GOD AND HIS PROMISES. 



463 



4 Unto me the Lord makes answer in the stillness of 

the word ; 
Hast thou not, Lo here! full often, and Lo there! 

hast thou not heard ? 
Look within thee, weary seeker, hear the Spirit say 

to thee, 

There the kingdom thou shalt see ! 

5 Is thy kingdom, Lord, within me, wilt thou reign in 

me, my Lord ? 

I will trust the wondrous promise of the well-beloved 
word ; 

Make thou ready, O my spirit, joyful songs of tri- 
umph sound ; 

For the kingdom I have found ! 

MRS. M. B. C. SLADE. 
Set to music by Dr. G. F. Root, in "The Glory," published by Messrs, 



2 I sure must find harbor, or may it not be 
The tempest shall drive to a safe open sea — 
The winds proving friendly to pilot the way 
"Where I may cast anchor and wait for the day ? 

3 Black clouds are above me, God, what a sight 
The lightnings reveal in their flash of clear light ! 
Rocks all around me, Oh ! where is the way ? 
Right here I'll cast anchor and wait for the day. 

4 I trust in God's word, in His love, in His might ; 
He sees in the darkness as well as the light ; 
Not a rock in the sea but He knows its lay — 
I'm anchored in safety, and wait for the day. 

MRS. L. S. MILLS. 
Canton, DI. Sept. 1884. 



TRUST IN JESUS. 



TRUST AND WAIT 



" In Thee,_0 Lord, do I put my trust,"— Ps. Ixxi: 1. 

1 May we always trust in Jesus ; 
Will He never, never fail us ; 

Trust Him all the time ; 
Trust Him on the stormy waters, 
Even when our courage falters, 
And our faith grows dim. 
Chorus. — Yes, we'll ever trust in Jesus ; 

Sure of this, He ne'er will leave us 

When the cloud lies low ; 
In the darkness He is' nearest, 
'T is the thought forever dearest 
That our hearts can know. 

2 Trust Him in the deepest sorrow, 
Trust Him with the cares of morrow, 

At the set of sun ; 
Trust Him in the early dawning, 
Trust Him in the glowing morning, 

For the day begun. 

3 Trust Him in the mid-day brightness, 
When our hearts are filled with lightness, 

And our cup runs o'er ; 
Trust Him when our tents we're leaving, 
When the billows dark are heaving, 

Till we reach the shore. 



MKS. E. W. CHAPMAN. 

Set to music by J. H. Tenney. 



CAST ANCHOR AND WAIT FOR THE DAY. 

Tune— "How firm a foundation." 

1 I trust Thee, O Father ; Thy word cannot fail, 
But storms are about me, the night-winds prevail ; 
I'm alone in the darkness ; Oh ! lead to the way, 
Where I may cast anchor and wait for the day. 



Ps. xxxvii : 3—34. 

Art thou sore distressed and weary ? 

Trust aud wait. 
Does the way seem long and dreary ? 

Trust and wait. 
Still unseen One's close beside thee, 
Who will let no harm betide thee 
Through all ills He'll safely guide thee ; 

Trust and wait. 

Is thy dearest treasure taken ? 

Trust and wait. 
Sad thy heart, but not forsaken, 

Trust and wait. 
All in love the blow was given 
But to mould the heart that's riven 
For a sweeter bliss in heaven. 
Trust and wait. 

Do thy friends misapprehend thee ? 

Trust and wait. 
Do tliine enemies offend thee ? 

Trust and wait. 
Give thou love for hate full measure, 
God will give thee richer treasure ; 
Hearts are His to mould at pleasure ; 

Trust and wait. 

Is thy work still incompleted ? 

Trust and wait. 
Are thy cherished hopes defeated ? 

Trust and wait. 
Fret not at thy poor endeavor, 
All to God commit forever ; 
He will disappoint thee never. 

Trust and wait. 

ANNA HOLYOKE HOWARD. 

Brooklyn. N. Y. 1884. 



WOMAN IN SACKED SONG. 



So. Sara ftompn WMb, nte fill; 



Was born in Danville, Vt., in 1805 and is still iu vigor of mind and 
body at eighty-one. She comes of vigorous New England stock. Was 
converted.a member of the church at twelve, began to teach at fifteen 
and taught eleven summers and seven winters with great acceptance, in 
Monroe Co., near Rochester, N. Y. She studied five years in Oberlin 
College after her marriage, keeping pace with her gifted husband so far 
as possible, though having the care of three young children. She was a 
bright light in the literary society and social gathering, being endowed 
with high spirits.ready wit and spontaneous sympathy. From Oberlin, 
the family removed to Wisconsin.and Mrs. Willard drove one of the three 
teams all the way, carrying her two little girls and one other lady passenger. 
She endured with heroic fortitude twelve years of pioneer life on an 
isolated farm, rejoicing in the physical development of the children and 
building her life into their character. The family then removed to 
classic Evanston, a suburb of Chicago, where for nearly eighteen years 
Mrs. Willard has enjoyed the surroundings to which by tastes and cul- 
ture she is so well adapted. Of surprisingly independent character, she 
has lived much alone, with her books and thoughts, a few congenial 
neighbors being all she cared to see. In the early years of Mrs. Will- 
arcl's temperance work she was. during a brief space, unable to provide 
for some one to be at "Rest Cottage" as a helper to her mother, and it 
was then the following lines were written, since then revised, in Mrs. 
Willard's 82d year. The notable celebration of her 80th birthday has 
been widely heralded. It was a memorable occasion— twenty-five hun- 
dred invitations being issued to the White Ribbon women and other 
friends. 

Madame Willard's son Oliver— one of earth's rare spirits, was educa- 
ted for the ministry. He was the husband of Mary B. Willard, editor 
of the "Union Signal," and died some years ago. The memory of her 
third child— Mary— is kept beautifully green through the touching and 
tender tribute, entitled: "Nineteen Beautiful Years," written by her 
sister Frances. 



Al] alone in the house ! all alone! 

On this generous festival day ; 
Oh ! where have my girls gone this New Year's, 

Who made the house merry as May ? 
One went to the call of Death's angel, 

And one, duty took her away. 

Oh ! how will it be in that future ? 

I do wonder how it will be, 
When we all meet together in Heaven — 

Husband, son, gentle daughters and me. 
Who will bring us together in glory, 

When the long separation is done ? 
'T is the Friend who will never forsake us, 

And who never has left us alone ; 
Then fearless we'll enter to-morrow, 

'T will be one day nearer our Home. 
But when shall we reach there, I wonder, 

Where father, brother, and sister now rest, 
To dwell with the Christ who redeemed us, 

In the beautiful land of the blest ? 

MRS. MART THOMPSON WILLARD. 

Rest Cottage, Evanston, 111., New Year's Day, 1875. 

(Revised in her 82d year, 1886.) 



THE WIDOW'S DOVE. 



ALONE IN THE HOUSE. 

(In response to repeated requests for something from Madame Will- 
ard's pen, suited to the older readers, we give the following written in 
her seventieth year. It is known to the White Ribbon women generally, 
that in the earlier work of our National President, she was not able to 
provide the help, surroundings, etc., for her mother which she has now 
so long enjoyed. These tender lines give a picture of sacrifice made 
with the utmost cheerfulness, such as is not of ten witnessed, even in the . 
history of reformers.) 



1 Alone in the house ! who would dream it ? 

Or think that it ever could be — 
When my babes thrilled the soft air with love-notes 
That had meaning for no one but me. 

2 Alone in the house ! who would dream it ? 

Or think that it ever could be, 
When they came from their small garden castle, 

Down under their dear maple tree, 
Or from graves of their pets and their kittens, 

With grief it would pain you to see. 

3 Then with brows looking weary from lessons, 

Pored over with earnestness rare, 

And then, from a thoughtful retirement, 

With solitude's first blanch of care. 

4 A house of stark silence and stillness 

Is this, where I think of the rush 
Of childhood's swift feet at the portal, 
And of childhood's sweet spirit of trust! 



1 'Neath the lone widow's porch 

Dwells a dove. 
It came the very day 
They bore her child away, 
It glances through the pane 
In sunshine and in rain, 

Cooing, " Love." 

2 And the poor widow says 

Of this dove, 
God left me not alone 
In my doubly-stricken home, 
He sent soft wings to beat, 
And a voice to murmur sweet 

Of His love. 

3 On from day to day with me 

Stays this dove. 
It warms my sorrowing heart 
As it swoops with graceful dart, 
And cooing sweet appeal 
My direful grief to heal 

With its love. 
5 And always on my porch 

Dwells this dove. 
Each day it seems to know 
All my joy and all my wee. 
A sweet type it is to me 
Of hope, faith and purity, 

And God's love. 

MRS. ANNIE A. PRI 
West Northfield, Mass. 



TEMPERANCE. WEEKLY SOCIAL MEETINGS. BEARING THE CROSS. 



465 



BE THOU WITH ME. 



BEAR THY CROSS CHEERFULLY. 



1 Be Thou with me ; the way is dark and drear, 
Vouchsafe, O God, to make the pathway clear. 
Doubtful and devious still my way must be 

If Thou dost guide me not, — be Thou with me. 

2 Life's bitter chalice to its dregs I sip, 
Its fair fruits turn to ashes on my lip ; 

Thou who wept in dark Gethsemane, 

1 too have suffered — Oh ! be Thou with me ! 

3 Lonely, adrift upon a troubled sea, 

The cold waves, pitiless, break over me ; 
O Thou who stilled the waves at Galilee, 
Still Thou my troubled soul, — be Thou with me ! 

4 Cross to which I cling, illume the night ; 
Lamp unto my feet, shed forth the light ; 
O Love divine that brightened Calvary, 
Descend upon my heart, — be Thou with me. 



CHRIST'S CUP. 

1 I pray not now, as I have done, 

Let this cup pass from me ; 
But O thou weeper, sad and lone, 

In fair Gethsemane, 
I thank Thee that I worthy am 

To drink this cup with Thee. 

2 Worthy to drink with Thee ? ah, no ! 

Oh ! all unworthy I, 
Upon the turf Thy feet have pressed 

To praying, weeping, lie. 
To touch the cup Thy fingers blessed, 

Or e'en Thy death to die. 

3 But Thine own hand unto my soul 

Applied the needed test, 
Thy hand unto my shrinking lips 

The brimming chalice pressed ; 
'T was bitter, bitter, Lord, but soon 

I knew the draught was blessed. 

4 Blest by Thy love — sweet for Thy sake, 

This cup of Thine shall be, 
Whene'er Thy loving hand, O Christ ! 

Shall pass it unto me — 
When Sorrow's holy sacrament 

Thou biddest me drink with Thee. 

5 O cup of Christ ! not ever more 

The bitter draught is thine ; 
For thee there grows on Zion's hill 

A rare and fruitful vine, 
From out whose golden grapes shall flow 

A pure and luscious wine, 
And in the Father's kingdom fair 

Thy sweetness shall be mine. 



Tune — " over the ocean wave." 

1 Bear thy cross cheerfully, 

What'er it be, 
Dream not so tearfully, 

Waiting to see 
How the dark waves of life, 

Their mission bring, 
Conquest comes but through strife, 
Conquer and sing. 
Chorus — Bear thy cross cheerfully, 
Whate'er it be, 
Bear thy cross cheerfully, 
Whate'er it be. 

2 Bear thy cross cheerfully, 

Turn to the light, ' 
Trustingly, prayerfully, 

Praying aright ; 
This "shall thy heart prepare, 

Light shines afar, 
Guiding thee ever, where 

Bright waters are. 

3 Bear thy cross cheerfully, 

Though it be long ; 
Hope not so fearfully, 

Hope, and be strong. 
If in thy heart has crept 

Shadows to be, 
Faith has a treasure kept 

Somewhere, for thee. 



BELLE G. MCATJLEY. 



I WILL GIVE YOU REST. 

1 Say, art thou worn with toil and strife 
And have the cares and ills of life 

Thy heart with grief oppressed ? 
O tearful one, I'll comfort thee ; 
O weary one, come thou to Me, 

And I will give you rest. 

2 Yes, I will give thee rest, although 
Perchance thy tear-drops yet may flow, 

I say not they shall cease. 
Yet, heavy-laden, cast on Me 
The burden of thine agony, 

And I will give thee peace. 

3 It may be that thy joys are fled, 

Thy hopes all numbered with the dead, 

Still will I give thee rest ! 
No more for earthly joys thou 'It sigh, 
I'll give thee hopes that cannot die, 

To soothe thy saddened breast. 

4 Then, drooping spirit, rise, be strong; 
Though dark the road, it is not long ; 

Soon will thy heart oppressed 
Be filled with endless joy and peace ; 
Soon will thy every sorrow cease ; 

In Heaven I'll give thee rest. 

HARRIET POWER. 



-ICii 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



IN THE WAY THAT HE SHALL CHOOSE. 

" Him shall He teach in the way that He shall choose."— Ps. xxv : 12, 

1 Iii the way that He shall choose 

He will teach us ; 
Not a lesson we shall lose, 
All shall reach us. 

2 Strange and difficult indeed 

We may find it ; 
But the blessing that we need 
Is behind it. 

3 All the lessons He shall send 

Are the sweetest ; 
And His training, in the end, 
Is completest. 

FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAX. 

NOT AS I WILL. 
" Not as I will ! " the sound grows sweet 

Each time my lips the words repeat. 
" Not as I will ! " the darkness feels 
More safe than light when this thought steals 
Like whispered voice to calm and bless, 
All unrest and all loneliness. 
" Not as I will ! : ' because the One 
Who loved us first and best has gone 
Before us on the road, and still 
For us must all His love fulfill. 
" Not as we will." helen hunt. 

LINES WRITTEN AFTER READING THE 
LAST PRAYER OF H. H. 

1 O soul ! if one who wrought with such a faithful 

heart 

Lingers before life's sunset door, 

And measuring aims and blessings o'er, 
Finds there that self has had so large a part, 

How shall it be with thee, whose sluggish feet 
Move not to sound of leaders' call, 
Stir not, though weak ones shrink and fall, 

But quickly spring to voice of Pleasure sweet? 

2 How shall it be with thee, O troubled soul ! 

When thou hast reached the sunset gate, 

And at its portals trembling wait, 
While clouds and doubts and darkness o'er thee roll ? 

Wilt dare to pray for grace to enter in, 
And share that perfect, peaceful rest, 
Promised to those whom God calls blest, 

If thou hast lived in selfishness and sin ? 

. MRS. S. M. HARTOUGH. 

Leavenworth, Kan., 1886. 

SET WHOLLY APART. 

"Serve the Lord with'all your heart."— Sam. xii : 20. 

1 Set wholly apart for the use of the Master; 

To work where He pleases with holy delight ; 
As each day of life, than the last, hastens faster, 

So pass every moment as in His dear sight. 
Kept by God's power, from hour unto hour, 

Still working with happiness, strong in His might. 

2 Set wholly apart for the use of the Master ; 

To lay me aside if it seem to Him best. 
Perchance by some blow of what earth calls disaster, 



Still tranquilly leaning upon His loved breast. 
Kept by God's power, from hour unto hour, 
Relying with joy on His promises blest. 

3 Set wholly apart for the use of the Master ; 

To speak, from my heart, of His message of grace ; 
To tell of His love though glad tears gather faster, 

And point to the Saviour who died in my place. 
Kept by God's power, from hour unto hour, 

His mercy to sinners to gratefully trace. 

4 Set wholly apart for the use for the Master ; % 

To work, or to rest, or to speak for His sake ; 
To give Him, like Mary, my choice alabaster, 

My sweetest and best o'er his pierced feet to break. 
Kept by God's power, from hour unto hour, 

Until in His likeness I, satisfied, wake. 

FRANCES BEAMISH. 

Set to music by E. s. lorenz. 
In "Holy Voices." Pub. Dayton, O. 

Irs. larg g. WMa 

is the accomplished and eminently successful editor of the Union 
Signal, the National organ of the Woman's Christian Temperance 
Union, published at Chicago, 111. She married a brother of Miss 
Frances E. Willard. the Rev. Oliver Willard, who died some years since, 
as did her revered father — the Rev. Henry Bannister, D. D., a year or 
two ago. The latter was professor of Exegetical Theology in Garrett 
Biblical Institute, Evanston, near Chicago, and was extensively known 
and well beloved for a long life of usefulness in the Master's service. 
Her husband did not remain in the ministry many years, on account of 
lung trouble. Most of his active life was given to juurnaliscn, first as 
editor of the Chicago Mail, and then of its successor, the Post. 

Although so sadly bereaved, Mrs. Willard is one of the foremost work 
ers in the temperance ranks, and other good causes demanding woman's 
assistance. 

She has long stood at the head of the Illinois W. C. T. IT. legislative 
work, and no one could rill the position more acceptably, or make fewer 
mistakes. She is possessed of sound judgment, rare tact, indomitable 
perseverance, a thoroughly consecrated heart and life, and the sweetest, 
most womanly way in all i- world. Her prose writings are known to all, 
but her poems have mostly been published anonymously, or with initials 
only, so that her gems of verse are not so universally familar as they 
should be, and no doubt will become in future years. 

AN ARROW HID IN HIS HAND. 

O. M. 

1 Not hid, dear Lord ! I fain would go 

To some sure mark of Thine ; 
Aimed by Thine eye, sped by Thy hand, 

To do Thy will — not mine. 
Not hid ; Thou know'st I long to prove 

My love, and Thine to me. 
Send me, fleet- winged from thy bow ; 

See how I'll speed for Thee. 

2 Yes, hid, my child ; some broader shaft 

Shall cleave the murky air ; 
Hide closer 'neath My sheltering arm, 

And bide My will, e'en there. 
'Tis not alone on swift behest 

I prove thy loyalty ; 
But quiet, waiting readiness 

Is " doing unto me." 

MARY E. WILLARD. 
In "The Signal." 
Chicago, til. 1883. 



TEMPERANCE. CONSECRATION AND PRAISE MEETINGS FOR THE WORKERS. 



467 



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468 WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

I WILL NOT QUESTION HIS INTENT. DEDICATION TO THE LORD. 



1 Shall not the Lord of all the earth 

In everything do right ? 
Why shpuld I question His intent 
Whether He bless or smite ? 

2 His love and power are infinite, 

And marvellous His skill ; 
A single atom cannot fall 
Without His sovereign will. 

3 Safe in the sunshine of His grace 

The whole creation moves, 
Better than we can love ourselves 
The Lord His creatures loves. 

4 I see but little of His plans, 

And cannot know what's best ; 
I'll take His precious promises 
And trust Him for the rest. 



MRS. ANNTE WITTENMEYE*. 

Philadelphia, Pa., 1885. 



NEED. 

1 Teach me Thy will, O Lord ! 

The world is full of longings, Teachings, strivings, 
hopes and plans. 

I would have that will stay 

When the great cleaning fans 
Sweep o'er and brush the hollow chaff away. 
Teach me, for I would gather golden grain 

That will remain. 

2 Teach me Thy will, O Lord ! 

For there is thirst, hunger and chill within this teem- 
ing earth. 

Lead me beside the stream 

Whose healing waters gleam 
'Neath fadeless trees where fruits of life have birth. 
Forever there my failing being would 

Be still renewed. 

3 Teach me Thy will, Lord ! 

So many plants spring fair and bright of bud along the 
path ! 

So like and like they grow ! 
Show me which hath 
he poison vein, which bloom will fade, which lastingly 
will blow. 
Guide well my clasping hand, my choosing eyes 
Dear Lord, make wise. 

4 Teach me Thy will, Lord ! 

Days come and nights, the sunshine brightens and the 
shadows fall. 

Oh ! make my labor blest, 

Watch Thou above my rest, 
Stay me in light and darkness, God of all. 
Let not earth's joys bewilder, griefs affright ; 

Keep me right. 

AURILLA FURBER. 1885. 



1 O Lord, Thy heavenly grace impart, 
And fix my frail, inconstant heart ; 
Henceforth my chief desire shall be 
To dedicate myself to Thee. 

2 Whate'er pursuits my time employ, 
One thought shall fill my soul with joy : 
That silent, secret thought shall be, 
That all my hopes are fixed on Thee. 

3 Thy glorious eye pervadeth space ; 
Thy presence, Lord, fills every place ; 
And wheresoe'er my lot may be, 
Still shall my spirit cleave to Thee. 

4 Renouncing every worldly thing, 
And safe beneath Thy spreading wing, 
My sweetest thought henceforth shall be, 
That all I want I find in Thee. 

JEAN F. OBERLIN. TR. BY MRS. D. WILSON. 

THE THRONE OF GRACE. 

OPENING PIECE. 

1 There is a spot of consecrated ground, 
Where brightest hopes and holiest joys are found ; 
'T is named, and Christians love the well-known sound, 

The throne of grace. 

2 'T is here a calm retreat is always found ; 
Perpetual sunshine gilds the sacred ground ; 
Pure airs and heavenly odors breathe around 

The throne of grace. 

3 Saviour ! the sinner's friend, our hope our all ! 
Here teach us humbly at Thy feet to fall ; 
Here on Thy name with love and faith to call 

For pardoning grace. 

4 Ne'er let the glory from this spot remove. 
Till numbered with Thy ransomed flock above, 
We cease to want, but never cease to love 

The throne of grace. 



CHARLOTTE ELLIOT. 



HAVE FAITH IN GOD. 

SUITABLE TO* HEAD AT A CONSECRATION MEETING. 

Mark xi : 22. 
C. M. 

1 I love to think that God appoints 

My portion day by day ; 
Events of life are in His hand ; 

And I would only say : 
" Appoint them in Thine own goodtime, 

And in Thine own best way ; " ' 
All things shall mingle for my good, 

I would not change them if I could, 
Nor alter Thy decree. 

Thou art above and I below ! 
" Thy will be done ! and even so, 

For so it please th Thee ! " 

MRS. WARING. 



TEMPERANCE. CONSECRATION AND PRAISE MEETINGS FOR THE WORKERS. 



4G9 



MY CROSS. 

1 Trusting, my cross I bear, 

My burden take ; 
Though dark the waters are, 

Trusting I wait. 
Though all the way be dim, 

I may not see, 
My faith looks up to Him, 

Aud speaks to me. 

2 O'er heart and hands and brow, 

Its impress lies. 
Faith meets, I know not how, 

The world's replies. 
Beneath the shadows grown 

Into its care, 
Voices the heart has known, 

Where are they, where ? 
What though the flowers be few 

About my way, 
And shadows old and new, 

So near me stay. 

3 Sometimes, in dreams, I lay 

My burden down ; 
Dream of a clearer way, 

And of a crown. 
Trusting, my cross I bear, 

My burden take ; 
Though dark the waters are, 

Trusting I wait. 



BELLE e. M'ACLEY. 



CONSECRATION HYMN. 



1 O Thou that lovest contrite prayer, 

Wilt Thou not hear our plea ? 
Oh ! breathe Thy Holy Spirit now, 

And help us come to Thee. 
We consecrate ourselves, our all; 

We would be wholly Thine ; 
Oh ! send the sacred Witness now, 
And seal the bond divine. 
Chorus. — Accept the offering that we bring! 
We give ourselves to Thee, 
Our time, our talent, and our all / 
Now and eternally. 

2 Lord, we would work while life shall last, 

And be Thy blessing given ; 
Nor let us vainly toil as one 

Who fights the winds of heaven. 
May we with holy zeal go on, 

Nor faint, though trials come, 
Until we win the victor's palm, 

And reach our heavenly home. 

EVA MUNSON SMITH. 

Springfield, HI, March, 1883, 



THIS YEAR FOR JESUS. 

"Work, for I am with you, saith the Lord."— Hag. ii: i. 

1 Come one and all, this year for Jesus, 

We consecrate ourselves anew ; 
With hearty zeal and dauntless courage. 

Our heavenward course with joy pursue. 
Refrain. 
"This year for Jesus," shall be our watchword, 

This year for Jesus the cross we'll bear ; 
We'll gather souls for life eternal, 

Like stars to shine forever there. 

2 Come one and all, the Master calleth, 

Are we not pledged to Him alone ? , 
If faith be strong and love be fervent, 
Oh! let their pow'r this year be known. 

3 Come one and all, the time is fleeting, 

With giant arm defend the right ; 
To make this year a glorious triumph, 
Let Christians all as one unite. 

FANXY J. CROSBY. 

Copyright, 1875, in Set to Music by w. H. doane. 
"Brightest and Best." Used by per. Biglow & Main. 

REST. 

1 O Rock divine, in rest complete, 

What thought of fear have I 
Of winds that blow or rains that beat, 
Or waters rising high ? 

2 Builded on Christ, when winds assail 

I cast away my care, 
And when the swelling floods prevail 
I speak Thy name in prayer. 

3 In storms of wrath the heavens may fall, 

The mountains may remove ; 

But God will never fail the call 

Of those who trust His love. 

4 High in the raging heavens He rides 

And sendeth out His voice : 
When He the angry tempest guides 
My soul may well rejoice. 

LUELLA CLARK, 1883. 

LORD, WE WOULD DRAW NEAR. 

7s. 
Tune— "Horton." 

1 Lord, we would draw near to Thee, 

That our souls may And sweet rest, 
And from all our burdens free, 
We would dwell amid the blest. 

2 Night and darkness o'er our souls, 

Now on earth is holding sway ; 
Lord, we would beseech of Thee 

Thou wouldst make our darkness day. 

3 Lord, we kneel before Thee now, 

Trusting Thou wilt show Thy face, 
Pleading that our souls may see 
Some sweet token of Thy grace. 

NEVA E. PARKHILL. 

From "The Conqueror," edited by c. E. lkslik. 



470 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

CONSECRATION. 



MARY D. JAMES. 



MRS. JOS. F. KNAPP. By per. 




bo - dy, soul and 

2. Oh! Je - sus, might - y 

3. Oh! let the fire de 

4. I'm Thine, O bless - ed 



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scend - ing Just now 
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JOYFULLY, WITH GLAD HOSANNAS. 

•DEDICATION OF A TEMPERANCE TABERNACLE. 
Tune -" Zion." 

1 Joyfully, with glad hosannas, 

Voice of song and sound of prayer, 
Dedicate we now this temple, 
While sweet incense fills the air. 
Chorus — Praise Jehovah, hallelujah ! 
Shout the strain ! 
Hallelujah ! hallelujah ! 
Praise the Lord. 

2 Praise the Lord ! ring out the anthem, 

For His faithfulness is sure ; 
Praise the Lord! His loving-kindness 
Shall forevermore endure. 

3 Of this latter house the glory, 

Saith Jehovah, shall increase, 

And be greater than the former, 

In this place will I give peace. 

ELIZA SHERMAN. 1884. 

Set to music by w. J. hartshorn, and used by per. D. C. Cook. 
SUPPLICATION. 

1 Jesus, Lord, I ask but this : 

Heavenly gain for earthly loss — 
All the meaner things I miss 

I will count indeed but dross, 
If Thou wilt but dwell within ; 

Then how blest this heart of mine, 
All its poverty and sin 

Changed for riches so divine. 



2 Lost in peace my discontent, 

Gloomy doubt in sunny trust, 
Then, my selfish sorrow spent, 

Flowers shall spring from lifeless dust. 
With Thy presence all is gain, 

Thou wilt heal each hurt and wrong, 
Change to patience all my pain, 

Grief to gladness, sighs to song. 

3 Come then, Jesus, quickly come! 

Come and in my heart abide ; 
For all else my lips are dumb, 

I forego all good beside. 
Thou my paradise shalt be, 

In Thee all my hopes shall rest ; 
If Thou do but dwell with me 

I shall be supremely blest. 

LL'ELLA CLARK. 1883. 

WE'LL WORK WHILE 'TIS DAY. 

"Work while it is day, for the night cometh when no man can work." 
John ix : 4. 

We will work, we will work while yet it is day, 

Ere life with its harvest is past, 
Though the sheaves may be few we glean by the way, 

They'll help fill the storehouse at last. 
We will work ere the dew is brush'd from the way, 

Ere noon with its heat shall draw near ; 
If the clouds shall arise and hide the bright day, 

E'en then we'll not fall to the rear. 
We will work till the shades of evening shall come, 

Till life's earnest labor is o'er ; 
Then at last we will sing the dear " Harvest Home " 

With those who have gone on before. 



MRS. T. M. TOWNE. 

hy prop. T. M towne. Used by per. 



TEMPERANCE. CONSECRATION AND PRAISE MEETINGS FOR THE WORKERS. 



All 



GJfeaMt Stuart S^s. 



Although the prose writings of Elizabeth Stuart Phelps far exceed her 
poetical, she has written some gems of hymus ami sacred poetry. She 
is the daughter of Elizabeth Stuart Phelps the famous author of "Sunny ; 
Side" and other popular works, who died in 1852. Her daughter of the 
same name, and the subject of this sketch, was born at Andover, Mass,, 
in 1844. She spends her summers at the delightful Eastern Point on one 
side of Cape Ann, and her winters at Andover. In " Our Famous 
•Women," Elizabeth T. Spring says— "What the sea has told her, she has 
meanwhile given to us in different forms. In her volume of ' Poetic 
Studies,' most of the rhymes are tinged with the opal and beryl of 
the waves ; and we feel through them the ebb and flow of tides. Several 
of her songs have been set to music, -words and notes blending in a kind 
of twilight aspiration, an unaccented appeal. ' On the Bridge of Sighs,' 
is an original analogue, fit to be written under that picture of sun oppo- 
site to shadow, which every traveller brings home from Venice. 'What 
the Shore says to the Sea,' and ' What the Sea says to the Shore,' are 
perhaps the best translations she has made of that speech she has heard 
where there is no voice nor language," 

With her celebrated prose works, every reader is familiar. Her "Gates 
Ajar " has received much favorable and much unfavorable criticism. 
Of it, her biographer says— "The world has long seen in every gallery the 
infant Christ in the arms of a woman, but it has not always seen that, 
through womanhood, it is to receive some essential revelation of Christian- 
ity. It has understood only the surface meaning of Madonnas, and has 
tired of that : but at last what art has dimly been foretelling, is beginning 
to be actual. Whether in the cap and 'kerchief of sister Dora and sis- 
ter Augustine, or the red cross badge of Clara Barton, or weariug the un- 
marked dress of those who feed the hungry and teach the ignorant near 
and far off, new Madonnas are revealing something more beautiful than 
beauty, and holier than any image in a shrine." After commenting on 
her wonderful production " The story of Avis," her biographer remarks — 
"The world seems to be divided into three classes: those who do not 
know there is a Sphinx ; those who do, and will not look at it ; and those 
who, seeing it, are willing to make some sort of effort to unlock the silent 
lips, to read the riddle of the past into the prophecy of the future. 
Many call it the best of Miss Phelp's prose works. It is said Longfellow 
kept it lying on his table, and re-read it often, with sympathetic appreci- 
ation. Only a pure and exalted soul could have conceived it; and only 
a genuine artist could have given it its cast." 

" Sealed Orders," " The Lady of Shalott," "Flower Mission," and 
" Hedged In," are among the most admired of her many productions, 
While writiugthe latter, she was tryingtosave the tempted in the Abbott 
Mission. The evils of factory life depicted in " A Silent Partner," she 
learned by personal work for factory girls ; and from her loyalty to the 
purer, larger, and freer womanhood that all dream of and wait for, she 
has never swerved. Hers was not the only sensitive intuition that fore- 
saw, when slavery and the war rolled away together in fire and smoke, 
that the right development of woman would be the next great question 
for America. It is said that Warwick Castle in England is so arranged 
that the visitor who looks through the outside keyhole, looks at the same 
time through those of the thirty or forty apartments that lie beyond ; 
and so in this matter of making the higher, larger womanhood a fact, one 
cannot begin without findiiig that woman is so entangled in the heart of 
matters that all must be righted if she is. 

As early as 1869 Mrs. Phelps gave an address before the New Eng- 
land Woman's Club of Boston, on healthful dress for woman. She ab- 
jured trains and excessive trimmings and tight waists. At that time a 
woman could not walk the length of a hotel drawing-room in a short 
dress without an embarrassing sense of singularity, so universal was the 
absurdity of sweeping skirts on the streets, in the house, and on all oc- 
casions. Thus she did much, by practicing herself what she preached, 
toward inaugurating the dress reform which is steadily gaining in pop- 
ularity, desnite the great extreme to which some few have carried it. 
Then her keen eye and sympathetic heart saw the evils inflicted upon 
woman by the intemperance of the husband. Through her efforts a Re- 
form Club of sixty-five members was organized and sustainedon Eastern 
Point among the fishermen. The Club room was brightened with pic- 
tures and music ; addresses were delivered and sermons preached to the 
men; but her personal work was of a deeper and more wearing sort. She 
was a friend to each. To her they brought their cares and troubles and 
told of their temptations, the open saloons, and their despair. The ner- 
vous strain of sympathy and anxiety in connection with her literary 
work was too much, and her strength gave way. She was one of the 



first martyrs among our brave women, to the cause of temperance. All 
causes have their martyrs, and many a noble nature has sacrificed all in 
this needed reform work. From this nearly fatal break she has not yet 
physically recovered, though still doing excellent literary work in both 
prose and sacred poetry. "Dr. Zay " is ber last story, pitched in acheer- 
ful major key, which encourages her many admirers to look for much 
more from her graceful and vigorous pen, despite ill-health. 



THE DIFFERENCE. 

1 Thine the bearing and forbearing 

Through the patient years : 
Thine the loving, and the moving 
Plea of sacred tears ; 

2 Thine the caring and the wearing 

Of my pain for me ; 
Thine the sharing and the bearing 

Of my sin on Thee. 
S Mine the leaving and the grieving 

Of Thy mournful eyes ; 
Mine the fretting and forgetting 

Of our blood-bound ties ; 

4 Mine the plaining and complaining, 

And complaining still ; 
Mine the fearing and the wearying 
Of Thy tender Will. 

5 Mine the wrecking, Thine the building 

Of our happiness — 
My only Saviour, help me make 
The dreadful difference less. 

ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS, 

TRUSTING. 



1 Dear gracious Lord, on whom I lean, 

My comfort and my stay, 
How sweet to feel that it is Thy hand 

That guides me on my way. 
And to know, though heart and flesh 

And all things fail, 
Through Christ my Lord I shall at last 

O'er death prevail. 

2 And, should this frame sink under 

Its heavy load of care, 
Life's crown of thorns I'll welcome, 

And patiently can wear, 
Since I've proved Thy precious promises 

To those who trust in Thee ; 
Since I know that my dear Saviour 

Thinks tenderly of me. 

3 Sometimes — ah me ! so blindly ! — 

From Him. I go astray ; 
But He follows close behind me, 

Along my darksome way. 
My dear and watchful Shepherd 

Ne'er loses sight of me ; 
He brings me bach to the sunlight, 

Where His loving face I see. 



472 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



4 Sometimes my heart grows weary 

And longs to be at rest, 
For life's burden presses heavy 

Upon my tired breast ; 
But I look upon Thee, dear Saviour, 

Nailed upon the cross for me ; 
At its foot the burden falleth, 

To be borne henceforth by Thee. 

5 O blessed Burden-bearer, O Shepherd, 

Friend and Guide, 
Draw me by cross and burden 

Close to Thy wounded side. 
No longer would I wander 

In darksome ways alone ; 
But in pastures green, by waters still, 

With Thee I long to roam. 

MARIETTA HOLDER. 

A MOTHER'S PRAYER. 

1 O Thou, so wont of old to bless 

The children for the parents' sake ; 

Around Thy throne of grace we press, 

To bless our sons ; awake ! awake ! 

2 Though ours be not the strife of blood, 

The deadly plague of sin to stay, 
We would be zealous for our God, 
And turn Thy righteous wrath away. 

3 Be our own hearts forever pure ! 

Our hands, our voices swift to aid. 
The inexperienced, insecure, 

By many a deadly snare betrayed. 

4 Oh ! may we watch with heedful eye, 

The erring footsteps of the young ; 
And point their hearts and hopes on high, 
Ere yet the tempter's snare be sprung. 

5 Alas ! too late we mourn to see 

The children of our love beguiled ; — 
O God ! where can a mother flee, 
But to Thy grace, to save her child? 

6 So may the dire contagion cease, 

O'er which our breaking hearts have sighed | 
Send Thy sweet covenant of peace ; 
With us and with our sons abide. 



A LIVING SACRIFICE. 



Tune—" Alletta." 

1 Lord, what offering shall we bring, 

At this altar when we bow ? 
Hearts, the pure, unsullied spring, 
Whence the kind affections flow. 

2 Soft compassion's feeling soul, 

By the melting eye expressed ; 
Sympathy, at whose control 

Sorrow leaves the wounded breast. 



3 Willing hands to lead the blind, 

Bind the wounded, feed the poor ; 
Love, embracing all our kind ; 
Charity, with liberal store. 

4 Teach us, O thou heavenly King ! 

Thus to show our grateful mind ; 
Thus the accepted offering bring, 
Love to Thee and all mankind. 



PRAY WITHOUT CEASING. 



I Thes. v : 17. 
Tune — " Mear." 

1 O mother ! love the mercy seat ; 

O mother ! oft be there ; 
What if each earthly, anxious thought, 
Each random breath, were prayer ! 

2 'Twould keep thy armor strong and bright 

To meet the shafts of sin ; 
'Twould arm thee with a hidden might 
To wage the war within. 

3 'Twould make thy household garden leaves 

All fresh and green and fair ; 
Oh ! thou may'st glean some precious sheaves 
For harvest time, in prayer. 



INVOCATION. 

FOB MOTHEES' MEETINGS, IN CONNECTION WITH 

MISSIONAEY AND TEMPERANCE WOKKS. 

Tune - - " Retreat." 

L. M. 

" She went up to the house of the Lord." — I Sam. i : 7. 

1 A band of laborers here we meet, 

Waiting, O Jesus ! to be blest ; 
As now we gather at Thy feet, 

Oh ! smile, and give us peace and rest. 

2 Help us who know a mother's thought 

And love and toil and constant care, 
To help those mothers, yet untaught, 
Their little ones for God to rear. 

3 And when, beneath Thy blissful gaze, 

These poor befriended ones we meet, 
We'll join in never-ending praise, 
O blessed Master ! at Thy feet. 

# # * 



TEMPERANCE. MATERNAL ASSOCIATIONS OR MEETINGS. 



473 



WITHIN THESE QUIET WALLS. 

Tune — ". Marlow." 
" She prayed unto the Lord." I Sam. i ; 10. 

1 Within these quiet walls, Lord ! 

A fond maternal band 
Have meet Thy goodness to record, 
And seek Thy guiding hand. 

2 If e'er a mother's prayerful strain 

Hath gained Thy listening ear, 
O Saviour ! now in mercy deign 
Our ardent cry to hear. 

3 'T is for our children, Lord, we plead, 

Dear objects of our care ; 
Dangers on every side are spread ; 
Save them from every snare. 

4 O Thou blest Guardian ! walk beside 

Life's river as it rolls ; 
Light the dark stream o'er which they glide, 
And cleanse and save their souls. 



GO FORTH AMONG THE POOR. 

Tune — " State Street." 



was full of good works and almsdeeds which she did." 



1 Go forth among the poor ; 

Thy pathway leadeth there ; 
Thy gentle voice may soothe their pain 
And blunt the thorns of care. 
3 Go forth among the sad, 

Lest their dark cup o'erflow ; 
They have on earth a heritage 
Of weariness and woe. 

3 Tears dim their daily toil, 

And sighs break out from sleep ; 
Bring light among the darkness — say, 
Blessed are they that weep. 

4 With tireless hopeful love, 

Fulfill your lofty part, 
And yours shall be the blessing too : 
Blest are the pure in heart. 

# — # 

O LORD, BEHOLD US. 

Tune — " Auld Lang Syne." 

C. M. D. 

" She continued praying before the Lord." — I Sam. i : 12. 

1 O Lord, behold us at Thy feet ! 

A needy sinful band ; 
As suppliants round Thy mercy-seat, 

We come at Thy command. 
'T is for our children we would plead, 

The offspring Thou hast given ; 
Where shall we go, in time of need, 

But to the God of heaven ? 



We ask not for them wealth or fame, 

Amid the worldly strife, 
But in the all-prevailing Name, 

We ask eternal life. 
We seek the Spirit's quickening grace 

To make them pure in heart, 
That they may stand before Thy face, 

And see Thee as Thou art. 



daughter of Eev. Nelson Irish, one of the pioneer Methodist ministers 
of Illinois, was born at Albion, Penn. She early developed a talen? for 
writing in both prose and verse. While attending the Normal School at 
Mt. Morris, HI., she won many laurels through her superior literary abil- 
ity. "Victoria, and other Poems," a volume published by her iu 1863, 
is one of rare merit. Mrs. Henry has been awarded several prizes for 
• poems, and has published eight or ten prose volumes, which are exten- 
sively used in Sabbath School, W. C. T. TJ., and Y. M. C. A. libraries 
and the home. " Tne Pledge and the Cross," giving an account of her 
seven years' work iu Rockford, 111., in the cause of temperance, has 
been productive of much good ; and of her last works, it is stated 
that "The Voice of the Home" and "Mabel's Work" are doing 
more to arouse young people to a sense of their duty to work in the field 
of temperance reform, than anything ever before published. Among the 
active works of Mrs. Henry, under the auspices of the W. C. T. TJ., she 
has been the State Evangelist for Illinois, and has, at various times, had 
charge of the Temperance Tabernacle at Manistee, Mich., in both of 
which capacities she has given universal and unbounded satisfaction. 
Mrs. Henry is one of the ablest speakers amoDg women, on the subject 
of Gospel temperance, and frequently occupies pulpits tendered her, to 
the edification of all present. She was National Superintendent of 
evangelistic work for several years, and is at present (1885) evangelist at 
large, and has accomplished great good in various States, prominent 
among which is Nebraska. Her husband received injuries in the ser- 
vice of his country which resulted fatally. Her place of residence is 
Rockford, HI. 

DEDICATION HYMN. 

Tune—" Arise and Shiiie." 

1 We bring to Thee, O Lord, this temple, 

The house our hands have reared for Thee ; 
With songs of joy and exultation, 
We sound our temperance jubilee. 

2 Arise ! O Lord, come to Thy temple, 

For Thee we call ; Thyself draw near ; 
Because of Sin's dark night of sorrow, 
We wait and watch till Thou appear. 

3 We give to Thee each stone and timber, 

The walls on which to write Thy name : 
The voices that shall here be lifted 
Thy temperance gospel to proclaim. 

4 Come in, O King ! Swing wide, O portal ! 

The Lord, our God, shall surely come; 
His feet shall tread these courts in glory, 
His Spirit make our house His home. 

5 Father, we bring to Thee the people 

Who enter here Thy truth to seek ; 
Thy people, Lord, whom sin hath blighted — 
The fair and strong, the lost and weak. 

6 We ask for them Thy great salvation, 

A blessing on each heart and home ; 
Stretch forth Thy hand from thence, O Father, 
And stay the demon curse of rum. 

Sung at "Union Hall,' 



474 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



SALOME. 

L. M. 

1 She knew not what for them she sought 

At His right hand and left to sit ! 

How great the glory, passing thought ; 

How rough the path that led to it. 

2 They knew not what of Him they asked ! 

But He their deeper sense distilled ; 
Gently the selfish wish unmasked, 
But all the prayer of love fulfilled. 

3 Pride sought to lift herself on high, 

And heard but of the bitter cup ; 
Love would but to her Lord be nigh, 
And won her measure full-heaped up. 

4 With vision of His glory blessed ; 

Stood on the mountain by His side ; 
Leaned, at the Supper, on His breast ; 
Stood close beneath Him when He died. 

5 One brother shared His cup of woe — 

The second of His martyr-band : 
One by His glory smitten low, 

Rose at the touch of His right hand. 

6 Thus, when by earth's cross lights perplexed, 

We crave the thing that should not be, 
God, reading right our erring text, 

Gives what we would ask, could we see. 

MKS. CHARLES. 



RISE, TEMPLE, RISE- 

SUNG BY THE CHILDREN. AT THE 

DEDICATION OF THE TEMPERANCE TABERNACLE, 

MANISTEE, MICH. 1881. 

1 Brick and stone and timber fair, 

Rise, temple, rise ; 
Upward through the sunny air, 
Rise, temple, rise. 
Chorus. — Rise, temple, rise, 
Rise, temple, rise, 
Rise, temple, rise. 

2 Walls so grand and doors so wide, 

Rise, temple, rise; 
We are coming side by side, 
Rise, temple, rise. 

3 Little eyes have watched you grow, 

Rise, temple, rise ; 
You were built for us, you know, 
Rise, temple, rise. 

4 You were built for temperance, too, 

Rise, temple, rise ; 
All things good and pure and true, 
Rise, temple, rise. 



RISE AND BUILD 

A SONG OR RECITATION FOR THE BUILDING OF A CHURCH. 

1 "Arise, take courage ; rise and build, 

Ye people of the Lord." 
Thus down the echoing ages comes 

The prophet's stirring word. 
" Let not His house lie waste and bare, 

The while ye build your own. 
Arise and build," from heart to heart 

Sounds back the earnest tone. 

2 Bring strength of oak, bring grace of larch, 

His house to beautify ; 
All that is sweetest to the ear 

Or fairest to the eye. 
Bring gold and gems, bring hue and light, 

Let no hand stint or spare, 
Until in beauty robed and wreathed 

His temple standeth there. 

3 Bring woman's work, bring manhood's strength, 

Bring childhood's helping hand, 
Build well and wisely, that your work 

To coming years may stand. 
Your Lord, — He gave His all for you, 

Give back your very best; 
Your best is all to poor to give 

To Him, the Ever-blest. 

4 It may be through your temple fair 

The Lord shall walk some day ; 
It may be His Shechinah light 

Shall rest with you alway ; 
And prayers accepted rise to Him, 

And blessings freely fall, 
While each to each, across the fane, 

To holy watchers call. 

ELLEN MURRAY. 1882. 

OUR TEMPERANCE HOME. 

FOR DEDICATING A TEMPERANCE HALL OR TABERNACLE. 
Tune— '•' Marlow," or "Arlington." 

1 This temple, Lord, our temp'rance home, 

We consecrate to Thee ; 
Here may the light of glory shine, 
Here may Thy presence be. 

2 And while we bow before Thy throne, 

Unveil Thy smiling face, 
And water every waiting heart 
With dews of heavenly grace. 

3 Here may we gather precious souls 

To Thy dear fold of love ; 
And all who meet within these walls, 
Be Thine in heaven above. 

fanny crosby. By per. 

THE TEMPERANCE DOXOLOGY. 

" Praise God from whom all blessings flow, 
Praise Him who heals the drunkard's woe, 
Praise Him who leads the temperance host, 
Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost." 



TEMPERANCE. ANNUAL MEETINGS. 

GO, BRING THE GOSPEL OF HIS SON 

From the -'Royal Anthem Book," edited by MRS. C, H. SCOTT. 
CHRISTIAN TEMPERANCE. 



475 



MRS. M ,0. PAGE. 



MRS. C. H. SCOTT. 



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476 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 




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OH! COME, LET US SING. CHANT. 



VENITE EXULTEMUS. 



(APPROPRIATE to be sung in conventions after hearing good news op the work. ) 



CLARA H. SCOTT. 



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TEMPERANCE. ANNUAL MEETINGS. 



All 



INTEMPERANCE. 



HOME PROTECTION. 



When will this monster-demon cease 

To wield his sword of scathing flame ? 
"When will men learn that dove-eyed Peace 

Flees from this ever-dreaded name ? 
When learn to quench this baleful fire ; 

Passion and appetite restrain, 
And from the depths of base desire 

Arise to manly strength again ? 
When know that Truth and Honor fail, 

That Love and Purity must fall, 
If these dread powers of hell prevail, 

And bind the spirit in their thrall ? 
O ye, whose lives are sore beset 

By this embattled host of sin ; 
"With girded loins must it be met, 

If ye the victory would win. 
Thy tyrant's power must be o'erthrown ; 

No quarter given in the strife ; 
No truce, nor compromise be known ; 

'Tis deadly conflict, — life for life ! 



WHAT SHE COULD. 
Eespectfully inscribed to Mrs, Lucy Webb Hayes. 

1 More brave than they who at the stake 

Their lives for truth resign, 
Is she who from our nation's feasts 
Hath dared to banish wine. 
Chorus — With willing hands shall loving hearts 
On Fame's bright scroll engrave 
The name we honor and revere, 
The bravest of the brave. 

2 With purpose true she firmly trod 

Her God-appointed way; 
Nor rank, nor fashion from the right 
Could serve her steps to sway. 

3 Though custom, old and worldly wise, 

A hundred years had reigned, 
Dethroned he sits with garments rent, 
A captive doubly chained. 

4 In future years, when temperance hosts 

Have final victory won, 
Our children's children still shall tell 
How nobly she hath done. 

miss m. e. servoss, by per. 

Set to music by DR. jas. R. MURRAY. 

Copyright, 1880, by M. E. servoss. 

Note.— "What She Could" was written at Miss Willard's request, by the 
hymn editor of "Temperance Light," and in connection with " The Word 
Divine," (used by permission from " Temperance Light") is published and 
sold for the benefit of "The Mrs. Hayes Memorial Fund," by Miss M. E. 
Servoss, Chicago, 111., who will denote all profits as author andpublisher 
to the above-mentioned fund now being raised to secure a suitable me- 
morial in honor of one of whom it may be truly said, " She hath done 
what she could." 



1 Courage, comrades, courage, 

Take heart, and struggle on ! 
The fight will soon be over, 

The night will soon be gone ; 
Our Captain now is leading 

His forces to the field, 
And well we know His purpose 

Can never, never yield. 

2 He's testing every soldier, 

He is calling him by name ; 
And the traitor and the coward 

Are surely seeking shame. 
Soon foes will drop disguises, 

And friends step boldly out, 
And " Who is on the Lord's side ? " 

Be proved beyond a doubt. 

3 The ranks of God are closing in 

With angel hosts attending ; 
And mercy only stays awhile 

The thunder bolts descending. 
They vainly strive who strive with God, 

The nations now are learning, 
And Christian eyes are keener grown 

The right from wrong discerning. 

4 The valiant ones undaunted press 

Close to our Leader's side, 
And timid ones grown martyr-like, 

Will meet whate'er betide ; 
And from His mighty, loviug heart, 

Life strengthens every one 
That so in faith and love and truth, 

His will on earth be done. 

5 Courage, my comrades, courage, 

Be strong and of good cheer, 
The Conqueror's bands fight bravely, 

And have no doubt or fear. 
Soon, soon, our hearts rejoicing, 

Will hail the glorious hour 
When home shall be protected 

By Christian love and power. 

HELEN MAR MACKENZIE. 1885. 



THE SIGNAL LIGHTS. 

1 The signal lights are glancing 

From mountain top to sea, 
And thou the hosts advancing 

To set the prisoners free 
From bondage worse than ever 

Bound negroes with its chain, 
For this holds thrall together 

O'er body, soul and brain. 






478 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



2 We have no bugles blending 

"With tramping on the sod, 
But hymns and prayers ascending 

To ear of Israel's God, 
From lips unsealed by sorrow, 

To plead for those they love, 
With courage which they borrow 

From Source of strength above. 

3 Let those who count as nothing, 

This singing, praying band, 
Recall the seven-days' marching 

In Judah's far-off land ; 
How at the time appointed 

By Him who ruleth all, 
Through means by Him anointed, 

The city's bulwarks fall.' 

4 We doubt not that His blessing 

Goes with the band to-day, 
Who are the forts encircling 

Where Bacchus holdeth sway. 
Though long may be the marching, 

There'll come a blessed hour, 
When walls of sin shall crumble 

Before Jehovah's power. 



Cho. — Coming, coming, we hear the loud cry, 
Coming, coming, the victory is nigh. 

2 We will rally in concert, against this grim foe, 

His great pow'r to defeat, and his kingdom o'erthrow ; 
We will rescue from death and from ruin his slaves,. 
From this deadliest foe, which all nature depraves. 

3 We are joined hand in hand, so now let us haste ; 
For the hours they are fleeing, no time let us waste ; 
See, our victory is sure, for our cause it is just, 
And we take in the conflict our God as our trust. 

4 Come, and when the last chain of the drunkard is 

riven ; 
We will send up in shouts, our thanksgiving to 

heaven ; 
And his heart in rejoicing with ours shall ascend, 
While so sweetly his voice . with our anthems shall 

blend. 



MRS. MARY 



LEONARD. 



MARY E. WARD. 

In "Union Signal." 
North Danville, Vt., 1885. 



OUR BEACON HYMN. 

Tune— "Sweet by and by." 
" I am come a light into the world."— John xii : 46. 

1 There's a light that is beaming above, 

And a promise to us hath been given, 
From the Father of truth and of love, 
That it heralds the kingdom of heaven. 
Chorus. — It will shine more and more, 

Till its glory. like noontide shall be. 

2 It will scatter the darkness away, 

From the homes of the poor and op 
It will gather in brightest array, 
All the works that our faith lis 

3 To our merciful Father of light 

Let us offer our humblest and best ; 
For the hope of the triumph of right, 
For the promise of peace and of rest. 

ELIZABETH A. 



TEMPERANCE RALLY. 

1 There is woe in our country, awake, let us rise; _ 
'T is the wail of the drunkard ; Oh ! list to his cries ; 
'Tis the plea of his children, in pity take heed, 
'T is the anguish of hearts that for him ever bleed. 



SHALL RUM OR RIGHTEOUSNESS RULE' 



AN APPEAL, OF COL. GEO. W. BAIN. 

1 From the shore of the mighty Atlantic 
To the strand of the " Golden Gate ; " 
From the peak of our northernmost mountain, 
To the coast of the old Gulf State, 
There's a burden that weighs on the nation, 
There's a duty all must meet ; 

And who dare, 'neath the eye of Jehovah, 
Stand aside with unwilling feet ! 

Chorus. 

Born of earth's bitterest anguish, 

Natured in misery's school, 

Was the question each soul must now answer : 

" Shall rum or righteousness rule." 

2 Oh ! the sorrow that like a fierce tempest, 
Spreads destruction o'er homes so fair, 
How the flood-tide of anguish is rolling 
O'er the earth with its black despair ! 

How the hearts of the mothers are breaking 
As the children plead for bread ! 
While the fiend o'er his victim is gloating, 
For the law with his crime is red. 

3 Then away with a law so degrading 
As to license a man to sin ! 

If we stand for the right on this question, 

We shall surely the victory win. 

But the " choose ye this day " has been spoken 

To each heart in all the land.; 

And God's "Whom will ye serve ? " must be answered, 

For the battle is now at hand. 

MISS. M. E. SERVOS8. 1883. 

Set to music by B. s. lorenz, and published in sheet 
music form by w. J. shuey, Dayton, Ohio. By per. 



TEMPERANCE. ANNUAL MEETINGS. 

HOME PROTECTION IS THE WATCHWORD/ 



479 



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480 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONO. 



OH I HASTE THE DAY. 

Tune — " Happy Say." 

1 Oh ! haste the day, the happy day, 

When temperance o'er our land shall sway 
A sceptre bright, whose gleaming light 

Shall chase the clouds of gloom away. 
When men no more shall use their power 

And wealth, their breth'ren to enslave. 
Nor women weep while loved ones creep 

In shame and sorrow to the grave. 

2 Oh ! haste the day of purest ray, 

When guilt no more shall seek a screen ; 
When honor bright shall seek the light, 

And no dull barrier raise between. 
O sisters, bring, while children sing, 

Kind words to cheer the struggling brave, 
Who would unbind the chains that wind 

And drag them 'neath the surging wave. 

3 Our foes are great, the laws of state 

They frame their pathway to defend ; 
But God doth choose the weak to use, 

And on His might our hopes depend. 
Toil on, ye brave ! the land to save, 

Ye earnest workers for the right, 
Oh ! list the song Hope sings so long : 

" The morning cometh after night." 

EMILY P. WILLIAMS. 
Appleton City, Mo. June, 1882. 



to. Sarafe $L Ssks-MMtk 



Mrs. Sarah M. Sykes-Woodin was bom in Clinton, Oneida Co., N. 
Y., June 10, 1822. She came of the old Puritan stock, the first one of her 
father's family emigrating to this new world, from London, in 1630, in 
the same ship with the first Governor of Mass. (Gov. Winthrop.) She 
had excellent pious training, and has been avery active Christian worker 
all her life long. For many years she has been deeply interested in the 
Temperance cause, and has written numerous rousing songs for the fur- 
therance of the work. Her father's people were Welsh, and she inherited 
their characteristic of firmness in whatever is considered right, obeying 
God rather than man, thus rendering her eminently fit to aidin carrying 
on the various reforms of the present day. 

THE TRIUMPH OF TRUTH. 

"He that glorieth let him glory in the Lord," 
"If God be for us who can be against us ?" 
Tune — " Coronation." 

1 What means this great rejoicing throng, 

Upon this festal day ? 
Who leads their ranks, so bright and strong ? 

What impulse doth them sway ? 
It is God's army for the right, 

Who love and Him obey. 

2 It means the world is moving on, 

To check intemperance tide ; 
Determined victory shall be won, 

And virtue here abide. 
Uphold they thus the cause of right, 

Who love and Him obey. 



3 Work on ! with courage and with song, 

Improve thy talent, each hour, 
" In God we trust," to Him belong 

The glory and the power. 
Thus shall we prove 'tis our delight 

To love and Him obey. 

MRS. s. M. WOODIN, of Detroit W. C. T. XT. 



THE TEMPERANCE WAVE. 

Tune— "To the Work."— Gospel Hymns, No. 2. 

1 Yes, a wave, another wave 

Is now bearing us on 
To the shore of the right, 

To the land to be won. 
• We will work, we will pray, 

We will sing as we go, 
Till we rouse all the nation, 

And conquer our foe. 
Chorus — Roll it on, roll it on, roll it on, roll it on, 

Let us hope "and trust, let us watch and pray, 
And labor till the Master comes. 

2 Yes, a wave, another wave 

Strikes us down as we stand 
Idly waiting for work, 

When there's work on every hand. 
We are down in the valley, 

The trough of the sea 
Of Intemp'rance, but we rally, 

We "pledge," we will be free. 

3 Roll it on, roll it on, 

Blow the breeze of public mind, 
Roll it higher and higher 

Till a furious gale we find. 
Roars the wave to the shore 

Where the bark Intemp'rance lies, 
And founders it forever, 

Safe hid from weary eyes. 

MRS, CLARA SMITH. 

SOON THE CAUSE OF RIGHT WILL 
TRIUMPH. 

Tune— "Out of Darkness into Light," by Sankey, Gospel Hymns No. 3. 
Or "Memories of Earth," Gospel Hymns No. 3, page 76. 

1 Soon the cause of right will triumph, 

And we'll hurl the tempter down ; 
Alcohol, the king of ruin, 

Soon will lose his gilded crown. 
Chorus — Blessed Spirit, loving Spirit ! 

Thou hast said, Go, work, to-day ! 
Work and prayer soon, soon will conquer, 
Thou dost bid us work and pray. 

2 Soon for prohibition laws 

Our nation's voice will plead ; 
All our scorners put to flight ! 
Soon the right shall people lead. 



TEMPERANCE. ANNUAL MEETINGS. 



481 



3 Soon shall we, the temperance 

Be upon the winning side ; 
In a good time surely coming, 
Soon for us will turn the tide 

4 Soon the liquor traffic will be 

A livelihood unknown ; ■ 
Our many prayers be answered, 
Soon will spring up seed we'v 



DEVOTION TO TEMPERANCE WORK. 

L. M. 

1 To Temperance we will raise our song, 
And for its honored work will throng ; 
Marshall our hosts and take the field, 
And never, never, never yield. 

2 We'll trust in God, and faithful work ; 
Leave doubtful thoughts for those who shirk ; 
With hearts of love will seek the lost, 
Ruined by drink and tempest-tossed. 

3 God's blessings we most humbly crave; 
Help us by Thy great power to save ! 
May curse of drink not claim our hands, 
Freed be our sons from galling bands ! 

MRS. 1. D. W. FERRIS. 
Delmar. Iowa. 1883. 

FIGHT FOR PROHIBITION. 

Tune— "Ring the Bells of Heaven."- (B flat). 

1 Fight for Prohibition, gird our armor on, 

Valiantly we'll march against the foe ; 
We will wield the scepter till the battle's won, 
Till we stay the stream of blood and woe. 
Chorus. — Glory, glory, let the people sing, 

Glory, glory, make the welkin ring ; 
'Tis for Prohibition we will take our stand, 
Till we drive intemp'rance from the land. 

2 Work for Prohibition — now the father calls, 

Calling for the safety of his child ; 
Oh ! he loves him dearly, cannot see him fall 
By intemp'rance, and by sin defiled. 

MRS. J. A. OQSBURY. 

OUR W. C. T. U. WORKING SONG. 

1 How our battle-word inspires our souls, as to the fight 

we go, — 
For our God hath promised victory, and giveth 

strength, we know ; 
In His glorious armor panoplied we'll meet "each 

wily foe," 

As we go marching on. 

2 'Tis the God of truth and righteousness we love and 

trust and serve ; 
With His holy name our watchword, we will from no 
danger swerve, 



For it cheers the fainting spirit and it steels the 
quivering nerve, 

As we go marching on. 

3 Lo ! a beauteous land extended wide its broad arms to 

the seas ! 
Lo ! a starry banner floating, fanned by every fresh, 

wild breeze ! 
List ! a grand old song of freedom, echoing over hills 

and leas, 

As we go marching on. 

4 Here is freedom for the good and brave, the noble 

and the true, 
For the willing earnest worker who will bravely dare 

and do ; 
But no license here for evil, with its train of want 

and woe, 

For good we're marching on. 

5 On this warfare we have entered, and with God at 

our right hand 
We will dauntlessly press forward, and in battle firmly 

stand ! 
So ring out our cry of cheer — " For God and Home 

and Native Land," 

We're boldly marching on. 



MEIA E. B. 



HOME PROTECTION HYMN. 

COMPOSED FOE THE WOMAN'S MEETING AT THE STATE 
HOITSE, SPRINGFIELD, ILL., JAN. 19, 1881. 

Tune-"Sco«s Wa Ha." 

1 Rally at the clarion call ; 
Praise ye, fathers, mothers, all ; 
Fight till every foe shall fall ; 

Set your loved ones free ! 

2 Join the " Home Protection Band," 
Born to save your Native Land ; 
Work with will, and heart, and hand, 

Till your homes are free. 

3 Help the Healing Waters flow, 
Broad'ning, bright'ning as they go ; 
Wash the fallen white as snow, 

From their bondage free ! 

4 Mothers — sisters — hearts that bleed. 
In you dire and bitter need, 

You must pray, and vote, and plead, 
Would you e'er be free. 

5 "Who'd be free must strike the blow ! " 
Mighty words of long ago ; 

Pealing still, as on they go, 
Knells to Tyranny ! 

6 This the day, and this your hour — 
Fearful are the woes that lower ; 
"Strike with might, with every power, 

Thus God makes us free ! " 

MRS. M. p.- hodge. Eipon, Wis. 



482 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



PROHIBITION. 

1 Wake the song of Prohibition, 

Swell the chorus loud and long; 
01 the anthems of the nation, 

Ne'er was heard a nobler song ; 
It will lift a veil of sorrow, 

Many a hearth-lire make more bright, 
It will banish giant evil, 

It will aid the truth and right. 

2 All humanity that suffers. 

From humanity may claim 
Helping hand when reaching upward 

To a better life again. 
As we strive to. raise the fallen, 

May we not do something more, 
In removing the temptation 

And the tempter from the door ? 

3 Shall we boast our Schools of Science, 

Blended with ennobling art, — 
Shall we boast our land of Freedom, 

Dear to every patriot heart, 
While we harbor in our borders, 

Schools which train our youth in vice, 
Schools protected by the people, 

Chartered, licensed for a price ? 

4 Raise the nag of Prohibition, 

Rear the unfurled banner bright, 
Over all our favored nation, 

Bear it on to victory. 
Ours will be a truer people, 

Worthier of their birthright, when 
To prohibit this vile traffic, 

Stand enrolled our noblest men. 



From a poem 



MRS. LUCY H. WASHINGTON. 1876. 

ntitled "Prohibition," in "Echoes of Song," by per. 



WATCH AND PRAY. 

1 Christians, seek not yet repose ; 

Cast thy dreams of ease away ; 
Thou art in the midst of foes ; 
Watch and pray. 

2 Gird thy heavenly armor on; 

Wear it ever night and day ; 
Ambushed lies the evil one ; 
Watch and pray. 

3 Hear the victors who o'ercame ; 

Still they mark each warrior's way ; 
All with one sweet voice exclaim : 
"Watch and pray." 

4 Hear, above all, hear thy Lord, 

Him thou lovest to obey : 
Hide within thy heart His word — 
Watch and pray. 

5 Watch as if on that alone 

Hung the issue of the day ; 
Pray that help may be sent down ; 
Watch and pray. 

FRANCES RIDLEY HAVEROAI,. 



HELP. 

1 Help for the perilled millions 

Tossing in dire dismay, 
Out on the raging billows, 

Yawning for the prey. 
Man ye the life-boats quickly, 

With the resolute and the strong, 
And send o'er the angry surges 
A shout to the struggling throng. 
Chorus — Swiftly speed, Oh ! swiftly 

Out from the safe, warm shore, 
For some in the seething waters 
Are sinking to rise no more. 

2 Carry them food and raiment, 

Seek them with loving care, 
Cheer them with songs of gladness, 

Strengthen them with prayer. 
Work with a will together, 

Breasting the mighty tide, 
Nor stop for the weak dissension, 

Turning your strength aside. 

3 Ye who may sit untroubled 

In beautiful homes of ease, 
Come out from your idle dreaming 

And look on the boiling seas. 
And hasten, quick to the rescue, 

Signal or token send, 
That you watch in the love of Jesus, 

For the life of the drowning men. 

4 From the battlements of that city, 

The home of the glorious King, 
With the ransomed host — He watches 

To see if the lost ye bring. 
And listen ! through all the peril, 

And noise of the storm, to hear 
The lift of their glad hosannas, 

For the help of the toilers here. 

MRS. EMILY J. BUGBEE. 
In "Union Signal," August, 1884. 



A NEW AMERICA. 

Our country, now from thee 
Claim we our liberty 

In Freedom's name. 
Daughters of patriot sires, 
Guarding home's altar fires, 
Your zeal our own inspires, 

Justice to claim. 

Women, in every age, 
For this great heritage 

Tribute have paid. 
Our birthright claim we now, 
Longer refuse to bow ; 
On freedom's altar now 

Our hand is laid. 



TEMPERANCE. ANNUAL MEETINGS. HOME PROTECTION. 



3 Our garnered sheaves we yield, 
Gleaned from each glorious field 

Women have wrought ; 
Truth's standard raising high, 
Ready to do or die, 
Enriching life for aye 

With deed and thought. 

4 Grateful for freedom won, 
The noble work begun, 

Our sons, by thee, 
Ended shall never be, 
Until from sea to sea, 
Chorused the song shall be, 

Women are free. 

5 Sons, will ye longer see 
Mothers on bended knee 

For justice pray ? 
Rise now, in manhood's might, 
With earth's great souls unite, 
To speed the dawning light 

Of Freedom's day. 

ELIZABETH BOYNTON HARBERT. 1884. 



Each man with right imbue, 
Each woman's soul endue, 
Each child receive anew, 
God of our prayer ! 

We lift to Thee the cause 
Of honest men and laws ! 

Lord, guide our ways ! 
Deliver us from wiles, 
From tyranny and spoils 
Corruption that assails, 

And Thine the praise. 

The land and homes we'd save, 
Their deep foundations lave 

In tides of wrong. 
Each heart, and voice, and brain, 
From coward sloth regain ! 
Thy servant's cause sustain ! 

Lord, hear our song ! 



Kirkwood, Mo. Aug. 1884. 



MYRIAD VOICES. 



TO-DAY'S BUGLE CALL. 



WRITTEN FOB THE FIRST ANNUAL MEETING OF THE 

WOMAN SUFFRAGE ASSOCIATION OF MASSACHUSETTS. 

Tune—" Hold the Fort." 

1 Hark ! the sound of myriad voices 

Rising in their might ; 
'T is the daughters of Columbia 
Pleading for the right. 
Chorus — Raise the flag and plant the standard, 
Wave the signal still ; 
• Brothers, we must share your freedom, 
Help us, and we will. 

2 Think it not an idle murmur, 

You who hear the cry ; 
'T is a plea for human freedom, 
Hallowed liberty ! 

3 O our country ! glorious nation, 

Greatest of them all ; 
Give unto thy daughters justice, 
Or thy pride will fall. 

4 Great republic ! to thy watchword 

Would'st thou faithful be ; 
All beneath thy starry banner 
Are alike to thee. 

HARRIET H. ROBINSON. 



NEW AMERICA. 

1 Our country ! 't is for thee 
Land pledged to liberty, 
We do and dare ; 



Tune—" Home, Sweet Home." 

1 There's a wail in the air from highland to sea, 
And it toucheth the hearts of brave men and free ; 
For God's banner of love is now trailing low ; 
His hosts are unmarshalled, unconquered the foe. 

2 Our country has gathered from near and from far 
Its thousands, won hither to Liberty's star, 
Who still must die slaves to the lusts that attend 
Unless told of Jesus, the wanderer's friend. 

3 Our cities, that sparkle like gems on the lea. 

Are growing in strength like the waves of the sea ; 
And now they are reeking with guilt and with sin,' 
While Jesus, in pity, asks room to come in. 

4 Our homes, with their traces of Eden's pure joy, 
Have trial and pain, that with shadows alloy ; 
For some from the roof-tree have wandered away 
In sin, and temptation, to evil a prey. 

5 Where sunlight first glimmers on far eastern crest, 
Where sunlight last lingers on slopes of the west, 
From north-land to south-land the echo has come 
We're dying ; — Oh ! tell us of Jesus and home ! 

6 Wake, brother, wake, sister, Oh ! do not delay ! 
Arise ! Christian, the Master calls thee to-day 

To work in His vineyard, with heart and with hand 
That Christ, the Redeemer, may rule our fair land ! 

LYDIA M. DUNHAM. 1881. 
In " Watchword." 



484 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



CRUSADE SONGS. 



THE WHIRLWIND OF THE LORD. 

1 When on the broad Chaldean plain 

By Chebar's waters clear, 
The heavens broke, and through the rift 
Came visions to the seer, 

2 The whirlwind of the Lord was there 

Enwrapping sheets of flame ; 
And from the cloud of amber fire, 
The living creature came. 

3 E'en now to Israel's patient host 

The storm of fire appears ; 
The whirlwind of the Lord alight, 
Sweeps back the woe of years. 

4 While deep within the fiery breast 

As to Ezekiel's eyes, 
Fleet footed, winged, and faced four square, 
The living creature lies. 

MARY B. WILLARD. 1873. 

SWELL THE BATTLE-CRY. 

1 The Christian army stands arrayed 

For duty on the battle-field, 
Firm, brave, and ever undismayed, 

Gone forth to conquer, not to yield ; 
And Christ, their Captain, leads them on 

The enemy to overthrow, 
Through Him the battle shall be won, 
And right shall rule instead of woe. 
Cho. — Then swell the glorious battle-cry 

Till heaven's blue vaults with echoes ring, 
The foe we fight shall surely die, 
Vile alcohol shall not be king. 

2 For want and ruin through our land 

The enemy hath scattered wide, 
And crime and death go hand in hand, 

To seek the homes they may divide ; 
While young and old on abject knee, 

Bow down before this king of woe ; 
But' God who gives the victory 

Will bring the cruel tyrant low. 

3 We'll scale the battlements of sin 

And force the monster from his throne, 
And peace and joy shall enter in 

Where only sorrow hath been known, 
And weary hearts shall find a rest 

And sad-faced children learn to smile, 
Their homes with innocence be blest, 

Where now dwells alcohol the vile. 

Set to music by i 
BATTLE-HYMN OF THE CRUSADE. 

WRITTEN FOE THE LADIES OF CINCINNATI, AS THEY WERE 
ABOUT TO UNDERTAKE THE CRUSADE IN THAT CITY. 

1 On the plains for bloodless battle, they are gathering 
true and strong, 
All the hero-hearted women, who have wept in silence 
long ; 



At the terrible oncoming of this raven-winged wrong, 
Now God is leading on. 
Chorus — Glory, glory hallelujah, &c. 

2 They have rallied forth to conquer, and will never 

beat retreat, 
While the banner of the rum-fiend is flaunted on the 

street, 
And his hellish snares are waiting for the all unwary 

feet, 

For God will lead them on ; 

3 They will pierce the bending heavens, with united 

prayers and cries, 

Till the strongholds shall be shaken, and the foe de- 
feated lies, 

Who has slain his many thousands, of the strong 
ones and the wise, 

For God will lead them on. 

4 They have looked to law's enforcement, for the help 

that never came, 

Now God hath surely kindled in their hearts undy- 
ing flame, 

And relying on His Spirit, they shall conquer in His 
name, 

For He is leading on. 

5 For the future of their dear ones, for their country's 

power and pride, 

Onward moved by bitter memories of the past, whose 
pains abide, 

They are working, weeping, praying, in their weak- 
ness side by side, 

For God is leading on. 

6 Be still, O tongue of caviller, be strong, O heart 

of fear, 
See you not the cloudy pillar, that is ever hovering 

near? 
Know you not an ear is open, that will not refuse to 

hear ? 

For God is leading on. 

7 Oh ! the beauty and the blessing, when the curse is 

swept away, 

That has turned to midnight darkness so many a 
golden day, 

And is throwing weary shadows over many a life- 
long way, 

For Christ is coming near. 

8 All the desert and the wilderness shall blossom with 

the flowers 
Of industry and plenty, in this blessed land of ours, 
And the grace of God unstinted shall come down in 

gentle showers 

For Heaven will be bes;un. 



TEMPERANCE. ANNUAL AND SOCIAL MEETINGS. CRUSADE SONGS. 



485 



THE BLESSED YEAR 

1 year of night and tempest, 

Of dark and troubled sea ; 
year of many triumphs, 

We praise our God for thee ! 
Our " temperance ship " went launching, 

Fraught with foreboding fear, 
To find God's rich fruition 

Of blessing, hope and cheer. 

2 Oh ! our white sail with a shiver 

Streamed out o'er seas so dread, 
While the lightning glared and quivered 

From warring clouds o'erhead ; 
Our slender mast bent trembling, 

Our bark looked small and frail, 
But the " shadowy hands " pulled steadily, 

And onward sped the sail. 

3 Our foes looked out with scorning, 

Our friends aghast with fears, 
But God's hand sent a harvest 

Of seed long sown in tears. 
Why did we dread the tempest, 

Since He rules on the deep ? 
At whose rebuke the awful wind 

And wave is lulled to sleep. 

4 Perplexed toil we in rowing, 

He ever draweth near, 
If fainting or affrighted 

His loving voice we hear. 
Oh ! courage, " ship of temperance ! " 

Enough it is to know 
That His right hand is on the helm, 

Through all the gales that blow. 

MRS. MARTHA WJNTERMCTE. 
Newark, Ohio, June, 1885. 

„ HYMN OF PRAISE AND PRAYER. 

OF THE WOMAN'S CHRISTIAN TEMPERANCE UNION. 

1 God of Love, of Truth, of Justice, for the wonders 

of Thy grace, 
Our glad hearts we lift in praises, to Thy holy dwell- 
ing place ; 
We have seen Thy great salvation, and the shining 
of Thy face, 

On our loved temperance cause. 
Chorus — Glory, glory, hallelujah, our God is march- 
ing on, 

2 In Thy name we lift our banner, " Prohibition ever- 

more ; " 
By the cross of Jesus standing, we will fight this 

battle o'er, 
Till our snow-white flag is waving from the east to 

western shore, 

O'er a land from rum set free. 

3 We'll enforce the grand Amendment ; let our enemies 

find flaws 
In our noble Constitution, in our State's most right- 
eous laws ; 



They will stand in vindication of our just and holy 
cause. 

The truth is marching on. 
4 Our brave brothers for the Union won a glorious vic- 
tory ; 
Now they'll help us with the ballot, that the loved flag 

of the free 
May wave o'er a sober people, from the river to the 



Their souls are marching on. 

5 Now the crusade fires are burning ; there's a stir ah 

o'er the land ; 
An awakened, outraged people, purer, juster laws 

demand ; 
" Home protection," and the ballot in the wife and 

mother's hand, 

The Nation will redeem. 

6 The resistless tide sweeps onward, and the God of 

battle waits 
To swing back by hands of Justice, Love and Truth, 

the golden gates 
Of a glorious deliverance for the sisterhood of States. 
The liquor traffic's doomed! 

7 Thou art coming, King of Glory, whose great right 

it is to reign ; 
For a blessing Thou wilt help us use our fruits and 

golden grain ; 
Thou wilt heal the broken-hearted, wipe away the 

Nation's stain ; 

Thy truth is marching on. 

8 Let the Holy Spirit's fullness on Thy waiting chil- 

dren fall ; 
May a love for Thee, Our Father, so inspire the souls 

of all, 
That with burning hearts we'll rally, while we shout 

our battle call, 

" God, Home and Native Land ! " 

MARY FLETCHER BEAVERS. 

At the end of the 3d, 4th, 6th, 7th and 8th verses, let us sing the 
last line instead of "Our God is Marching On." 



THE GREAT CONFLICT. 

In vision, the battle appears to my mind, 
The shout of the captains seems borne on the wind, 
Hell's legions are marsh'ling, that claim to maintain, 
To kingdoms of earth and their glory, how vain ! 
The Victor of Edom, behold ! He draws nigh, 
A name's on his vesture, a name's on his thigh. 
Around him are gath'ring the gallant and brave, 
Their standard is His who is mighty to save. 

Hark! 
From closet and hearthstone, I hear Knox's cry, 
My country, O God, or Thy servant will die. 
And women, like Deborah, watch till at length 
Each may say, " O my soul, thou hast trodden down 
strength." 



486 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



On then, ye brave hosts of the Lord, press right on. 
These forces of evil, o'erthrown, bring the dawn 
Of earth's glorious morning, promised so long- 
In prophecy, gospel, in story and song. 
The great " Cloud of Witnesses " they wait all around, 
To make the grand Arches of Glory resound 
With shouts ; Earth with Heaven may keep her glad 

tryst, 
Her kingdoms are won for " Our Lord and His Christ." 



MISS E. MO. SLOANE. 



OUR BATTLE-CRY. 

1 For God, and Home and Native Land ! 
Did battle-cry more brave, or grand, 
E'er move the heart, or nerve the hand, 

To do if needs 
Heroic deeds ? 

2 For God ! four hundred thousand strong, 
His arm ! to right a mighty wrong, 
We're marching to the Advent song, 

Sung happy morn 
When Christ was born. 

3 For God ! for Him whose name is Love, 
Our God ! who watches from above, 
Descend on us, thou Heavenly Dove, 

Enter each heart, 
Set us apart, 

4 That consecrated soldiers, we 
May long with loving loyalty, 
To haste the promised victory, 

Of good o'er ill, 
Doing His will. 

5 Oh ! let us put His armor on, 

The girdle and the breastplate don, 
The gospel peace our feet upon, 

His panoply 

So full and free. 

6 The shield that wards the fiery dart, 
The helmet that makes brave the heart, 
With sword to act the gallant part, 

And with all prayer 
Ourselves prepare. 

7 For home, loved home, we also say, 
Dear mother guards, watch night and day, 
And plead each promise, as ye may. 

God covenant keeps, 
He never sleeps. 

8 The babe that's now upon thy breast, 
Shall rise one day and call thee blessed, 
Sweet promise, to God's child addressed, 

List to the voice ! 
Mother, rejoice. 

9 As plants, grown up in youth, we'll see, 
By our God-blessed ministry, 

Our sons, from vice and folly free, 
Fill useful place 
With manly grace. 



10 Like corner-stones, of beauty rare, 
Fit to adorn a palace fair, 

Make daughters given to our care ; 
We're taught to ask 
For well-done task. 

11 Yet haunts of infamy and sin 
Are peopled by those once within 

Some home. Brave rescue corps, go win 
All little ones, 
Daughters and sons, 

12 For Him who said "Forbid them not, 
But let them come to Me," and taught 
That such His kingdom was, and thought 

Children to bless 
With sweet caress. 

13 And now the cry's for native land ; 
Dear soldiers, do we understand 
How much the times of us demand, 

The patriot's zeal, 
For country's weal ? 

14 Our " Ship of State " 's a drifting barque, 
The wind is high, the night is dark, 
False lights of wreckers lure, and hark ! 

The breakers roar 
'Gainst treacherous shore. 

15 Our Ship of State ! our Ship of State ! 
Who is her captain ? Who her mate ? 
What pilot's trusted with her fate ? 

Is no chart there ? 
Her compass, where ? 

16 Hear women mourn, see children weep, 
Where 're they, who watch and guard should 
About the ship ? Asleep ! asleep ! 

Oh ! who can save 
From ocean grave ? 

17 There's One the elements obey, 

He with a word proud waves can stay ; 
Why own we not the mighty sway 

Of King of kings, 

That safety brings ? 

18 Deborah, awake ! awake ! 

And Esther, with thine all at stake ; 
Maybe ye're come for country's sake, 

Free from her crime 

For such a time. 

19 Go bid this land, brave prophetess, 
Break off her sins, by righteousness, 
And may our God the message bless, 

And by thy hand 
Save native land. 

20 And queen, so beautiful and brave, 
Coming, resolved to die or save, 
To such, the king her people gave. 

Gracious as he 
Thy King shall be. 



TEMPERANCE. ANNUAL AND SOCIAL MEETINGS. CRUSADE SONGS. 



487 



THE SWORD OF THE LORD AND OF 
GIDEON. 

INSCRIBED TO THE W. C. T. TT. 

1 Soldiers, in this earnest battle, 

Buckle on your armor bright, 
Prayer and work must go together, 

If we vanquish in the fight. 
Paul must plant, Apollis water, 

They their labors must not cease, 
Then to prayer and faith awaiting, 

God, Himself, gives the increase. 

2 Gideon's sword must flash and glitter, 

Gideon's arm must brave the foe ; 
Then the Lord through grace will strengthen, 

By our work our faith we show. 
And though often faint and weary, 

Drooping from the dust and glare, 
We should never flag nor falter, 

Till the victor's crown we wear. 

3 Forward, then, the temperance rally, 

Alcohol, in ail his might, 
On ten thousand fields is tenting 

Ready to contest the fight. 
Fling abroad our snow-white banner, 

Let its folds be seen afar, 
Gleaming, where the foe is thickest, 

Like the white plume of Navarre. 



CRUSADE RALLYING SONG. 

1 We are marshalling the forces 

Of an army true and strong ; 
We are going forth to battle 

'Gainst a Hydra-headed Wrong ; 
We are marching to the music 

Of the " Coronation " song, 
And by this sign we'll conquer 

Though the fight be fierce and long ! 

2 Where the bugle calls to battle 

We shall go with fearless feet, 
Though the proud may deem this service 

Both for them and us unmeet : 
Keeping step to Right and Duty, 

We shall find the pathway sweet ; 
And from thence ne'er has our Leader 

Called a halt or a retreat. 

3 From the Rum Fiend's poisoned arrows— 

From his fiery, fatal quest, 
We are pledged to guard each other 

And all those we love the best : — 
And the battle cry is, " Forward ! 

No faltering and no rest 
Till Rum's flaunting, mocking ensign 

'Neath our conquering feet is presssd ! " 



4 With hearts all aglow with pity 

For the tempted ones who fall, 
And with arms outstretched to rescue 

Wounded friend, or foe, or all, — 
We are pledged to do our utmost 

To break down this tyrant's thrall! 
Ne'er, " Am I my brother's keeper ? " 

Be our answer to God's call ! 

5 See, bright from many a hill- top, 

How new camp-fires flash and glow ! 
Hear from tented fields and valleys 

New songs of victory go ! 
Shout answers shout, till a chorus 

Breaks in impetuous flow : — 
"All hail ! " "What cheer ! " "Lo ! the morning 

Shall dawn on a vanquished foe!" 
" The East takes its tint from the glory 

That the coming day shall know ! " 

MBS. MAHY a. leavitt. 1873. 



HOW LONG? 



1 When musing on the sin and woe 
That from intemperance darkly flow, 
As some broad river deep and strong, 
My heart exclaims, O Lord! how long? 

2 How long shall this dark evil reign ? 
Oh ! when shall right the victory gain ? 
And men arise from slavery free, 

In manly, God-like liberty ? 

8 Once blood was poured like water forth 
The slave to free. But South and North 
Are sunk in slavery deeper still ; 
No gift the Tyrant's greed can fill. 

4 Oft youth and innocence are given ; 
The joys of earth, the hopes of heaven, 
The peace of home, the love of wife, 
The children's bread, the father's life. 

5 But still the Tyrant calls for more, 
Though thousands fallen in years before 
Have given a wild, despairing cry, 

To warn the young its snares to fly. 
' 6 Oh ! rouse ye, men ! and trample down 

The monster ; let his rayless crown, 

This iron crown, be rent in twain ; 

While right and freedom victory gain. 
7 Arouse ! arise ! and list the cry 

Of widowed hearts, that rends the sky ! 

Oh ! check the stream, roll back the tide, 

Before ten thousands more have died. 

EMILY P. WILLIAMS. 188i 



488 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



GIRD ON THE ARMOR. 

1 Stand fast in the cause of our Master and Lord, 
Let truth be our breast-plate, the Bible our sword ; 
Gird on the whole armor, prepare for the strife, 

A conflict with sin, and a battle for life. 

2 The Gospel our sandals, and faith for our shield, 
Salvation our helmet, the world is our held; 
Our foes are without and our foes are within, 
Be strong for the Master, the conquest to win. 

3 Pray earnest, pray fervent, be always in prayer, 
The shaft that will vanquish the tempter is there ; 
Unheeded and harmless the arrows will fall, 

The Saviour has promised to answer our call. 

FANNY CROSBY. 

Set to Music by A. van axstyne. 
By per. 

IS RUM TO BE KING? 

1 Is Rum to be King of the nation, 

O sons of your patriot sires ? 
Will you in the dust tamely grovel 

And bend to a Tyrant's desires? 
Can you look on the land you inherit, 

And barter sweet liberty's smile 
While the best and the purest is trampled 

'Neath the foot of a despot so vile ? 
No, no, no, no ! 
A million brave voices are shouting, 

We'll draw our bright swords while we may ; 
And we'll smite while the great God of battles 

Will stand by our side in the fray. 

2 Is rum to be King of the nation 

That flaunts her proud flag to the world — 
Her stars and her stripes, the bright emblems 

That liberty long hath unfurled ? 
Is Rum to be King while the green sward 

Is red with the blood of the brave ? 
When yet o'er the hills ring the echoes 

That the shouts of their victory gave ? 
No, no, no, no ! 
Sons of freedom, Oh ! shout till the echoes 

Proclaim to the world evermore 
That ne'er shall the foot of a Tyrant 

Be planted on liberty's shore. 

3 Is Rum to be King of the nation, 

The grandest on all the wide earth ? 
Whose sons and whose daughters were cradled 

In times that but fostered their worth ? 
Can these rivet chains for their children, 

And leave but a record of shame ? 
Can these to their graves go dishonored 

And leave so ignoble a fame ? 

No, no, no, no ! 

A million brave voices are shouting, 

We'll draw our bright blades while we may ; 
And we'll smile while the great God of battles 

Will stand by our side in the fray. 

MATTIE P. SMITH. 1883. 



FORWARD. MARCH. 

TO THE TEMPERANCE WORKERS OF THE UNITED STATES. 

(To be recited or sung at an Annual Meeting.) 

1 Join hands ! 

The mists are lifting; 

All the east is red. 
What though black clouds fiercely shifting, 

Mutter overhead ; 
Storms have come, and storms have vanished, 

And the green earth stands 
Trusting till her ills are banished. 

Friends, join hands ! 

2 Close ranks ! 
Across the valleys 
See the foemen stand 

Massing for the coming rally, 

Ready for command. 
Ours to meet and check their scourging, 

Our reward the thanks 
Of the souls the war is purging. 

Friends, close ranks ! 

3 Forward, March ! 
The field before us, — 
Homes we love at hand ; 

With the God of battles o'er us 

Tread we now the land. 
March till purity shall level 

Safe highway for peace ; 
March 'gainst hellish rout and revel ; 

Forward ! for release. 
March ! 

AURILLA FURBER. 
Cottage Grore. Minn. 1884, 

DAUGHTERS OF COLUMBIA. 

C. M. 

Tune — " Dundee." 

" Hear my voice, ye careless daughters."— Isa. xxxii : 9. 

1 Shall desolation always rule 

Throughout our native land ? 
Is there no human power to save 
The souls by drink unmanned? 
CHORUS — daughters of Columbia ! 
Arise ! arise to-day ! 
Arise ! to shield our own loved homes, 
And watch, and strive, and pray ! 

2 Of small avail are pledge and badge, 

Against the tempter's wile, 
For, licensed with the "right " to kill, 
'T is easy to beguile. 

3 How shall we save our little ones, 

When on each busy street 
The serpent coils in many a den, 
And finds a safe retreat ? 

MISS. M. E. SERVOSB. 

Set to music by jam. r. Murray. Nov. 1879. 
From "Temperance Light." By per. 



TEMPERANCE. ANNUAL AND SOCIAL MEETINGS. CRUSADE SONGS. 



489 



THE NATION'S FOE. 

1 There's an enemy at hand, 

Shall we forward march, or stand? 

"While there is within our land a deadly foe ; 
Foe that charges on the soul, 
Lurking in the sparkling bowl, 

Luring on to folly, ruin, crime, and woe. 
Chorus — On ! on, on, the foe is marching, 

Bearing to death a mighty throng i 
Let us rally at the call, 
Rally bravely one and all, 
God is leading in the battle 
'Gainst the wrong. 

2 'T is a foe with smiling face, 
Who with winsome, smiling grace, 

Binds his victim first with frailest silken band ; 
But his power will increase, 
He will banish joy and peace, 

And he holds with fatal grasp and iron hand. 

3 Rally for that noble son, 
Rally for the precious one, 

Upon whom the light and joy of life depends ; 
Are thy treasures all secure ? 
Hast thou nothing to endure, 

Rally, then, with tender heart, for neighbor, friend. 

4 Rally with the voice of love ; 
Bear the emblem of the dove ; 

Seeking safety from the deluge of despair. 
Rally, with your banners high, 
Waving in the azure sky, 

And the eagle's dauntless pinion graven there. 

5 Wouldst thou clean from every fold, 
Stain of blood and glare of gold, 

Placed upon it by the nation's direst foe ? 
Shun his glittering " reward ; " 
Heed the mandate of the Lord ; 

Lest thou come to feel the bitter, burning "woe." 

6 Forward, march, without delay, 
Or the foe may win the day, 

He is raisiug new recruits on every hand ; 
Forward, with the battle-cry ; 
Those we love may surely die, 

If we do not rout the foe within the land. 

MRS. L. H. WASHINGTON. 1877, 



UP FOR JESUS STAND. 

1 Soldiers of the eternal King, 

Speed the watchword ! give it wing, 
Let it through the churches ring ! 

Up for Jesus stand. 
Write it on the temple's spire, 
Utter it with tongues of fire, 
Sire to son and son to sire, 

Up for Jesus stand, 
Sire to son and son to sire, 

Up for Jesus, Jesus stand. 



Chorus — Up for Jesus stand, 
Up for Jesus stand, 
Speed the watchword ! give it wing, 
And up for Jesus stand. 

2 Label it on every door, 
Place it high the pulpit o'er 
Let it stand forevermore ! 

Up for Jesus stand. 
Blazon it in mansion halls, 
Pencil it on prison walls, 
Do and dare as duty calls, 

Up for Jesus stand. 
Do and dare as duty calls ! 

Up for Jesus, Jesus stand. 

MKS. JOS. F. KNAPP. 

In the Cantata, "Prince of Peace." 

Set to music by mrs. knapp. Used by per. 



CRUSADE SONG. 
motto: jehovah-nissi, the LORD OUR BANNEB. 

Tune — " Rally 'round the Flag." 

1 Let us rally ' round the banner, 

Rally once again, 
Raising our united voice in prayer ; 

For we have a precious promise, 
That it shall not be in vain ; 

Then rally with earnest, pleading prayer. 

Chorus — Our brothers forever, 

Our joy, and our pride. 
Oh ! that they may never 

Be borne on the tide, 
To the fearful, fatal vortex, 

Where multitudes have died ; 
Rally with earnest, pleading prayer. 

2 We have turned to Legislation, 

But she gave us no redress, 
No covert from the dark, deluding snare ; 

We enlisted Moral Suasion, 
She effected even less, — 

Now we turn to God, and trust in prayer. 

3 We are weak and faint and weary, 

But our Advocate is strong, 
Then let us call on Him our every care ; 

With " the lord " upon our banner, 
We will rally with our song, 

Rally with earnest, pleading prayer. 

4 Then we'll rally round the banner, 

Again and yet again ; 
Surely the way He will prepare ; 

He is leading in the battle, 
And can turn the hearts of men, — 

Then rally with earnest, pleading prayer. 

MRS. L. H. WASHINGTON. 
In " Echoes of Song." 1877. 



490 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



LAND OF LIBERTY. 

1 Is this a land of liberty ? 

When, as each yearly cycle rolls, 
Are dug the graves, yes, drunkard's _ 
For seven times ten-thousand souls ? 
Chorus — O God of righteousness, draw near, 

While for our native land we plead ; 
Oh ! free it from the curse of drink, 
And then it shall be free indeed. 

2 And can we claim this land as free, 

When on its streets so oft we find 
The slaves of drink, in chains of woe, 
And burdened with a demon's mind ? 

3 Is this a land of liberty ? 

Then let us firmly take our stand 
Against the cruel tyrant, Drink, 
And save the honor of our land. 

4 Thus, with God's hand to lead us on, 

Unflinchingly we'll meet the foe ; 
Wrest from his power this dying throng, 
And check the mighty tide of woe. 

MISS M. E. SERVOSS. 

Set to music by geo. o. hugs. 
Used by per. HENRY HUCK. 

INVOCATION. 

C. M. 

Tune—" Dundee." 

1 Thou great spirit whom we seek 

To know, to love and praise ! 
To Thee in supplication meek, 
An earnest voice we raise. 

2 A cloud has risen o'er the land 

From tears that sorrows give ; 
In mourning for the stricken band 
Who still might "look and live." 

3 But Oh ! the Tempter in his might 

Is fierce and strong to-day ! 

May we be wise to help the right, 

To Thee, O Lord, we pray. 

4 Touch every nation with Thy hand 

Of fire, O God of might ! 
Till selfishness, like shifting sand, 
Is wasted from the sight. 

MRS. M. M. FRAZIER. 

TEMPERANCE PRAYER AND HYMN. 

1 Give, Lord, Thy gracious, list'ning ear 
As we before Thy throne appear; 

" O'er us a tide of mercy roll ; " 
Bless, purify each waiting soul. 

2 To our dear cause Thy spirit lend, 
Be Thou our present help and friend ; 
Gird us with strength the sin to fight, 
And bid us conquer by Thy might. 

3 Thou whom the wind and waves obeyed, 
Stop Thou the woe that drink has made ; 
Unbind the drunkard from his chains ; 
Vanquish this death, relieve these pains. 



4 And as this prayer ascends on high, 
Father, hear the feeblest cry ; 
May pitying love this cause constrain, 
And Thou Thy people's work sustain. 



WE'LL HELP THE CAUSE ALONG. 

1 We must work and pray together, 

Working, praying for the right ; 
We must fight against the evil, 
Till we conquer by our might. 
Chorus — We're strong to do, we're strong to dare, 
In faith and hope we're strong ; 
United thus in strength and prayer, 
We'll help the cause along. 

2 In defence of truth and justice, 

Like a bulwark we must stand, 

And the soul that's full of courage 

Will give courage to the hand. 

3 We must work and not be weary, 

Though we conquer not to-day ; 
For the rescue of our brothers 
We must work as well as pray. 

4 Hark ! the crystal streams and fountains 

Swell the chorus of our song ; 
And they seem to be rejoicing 
As they help the cause along. 

JOSEPHINE POLLARD. 
Copyright, 3870, and set to music by TV. H. DOANE. 
Used by per. Biglow & Main. 

MY CONFIDENCE. 

1 I hold Thy truth, O Lord, within my heart, 

Thy law I love ; 
I hold Thy cross, and try to do my part 

My faith to prove ; 
I hold Thy promise, Lord, and daily pray 

" My faith increase, 
That I may closer cleave to Thee, the Way, 

And have Thy peace." 
Yet little joy my holding brings to me, 

Because I know 
That, though my soul still trusting clings to Thee, 

I may let go. 

2 But I am held, O Lord ; Thou hast my hand, 

And Thou art strong ; 
Throughout my journey in this desert land, 

However long, 
Thou givest me support. I shall not fall. 

Though foes assail 
And press me hard, over myself and all 

I shall prevail. 
Great joy Thy presence and Thy pledge afford, 

Because I know 
That Thou wilt not, since Thou hast givenThy word, 

Of me let go. 

SARAH DOUDNEY. 

Author of "Nothing but Leaves." 



TEMPERANCE. SABBATH GOSPEL TEMPERANCE MEETINGS. HYMNS FOR THE WORKERS. 



491 



NOTHING BUT LEAVES. 

And when He came to it He found nothing but leaves."— Mark xi : 13. 

1 Nothing but leaves ! The Spirit grieves 

O'er years of wasted life ; 
O'er sins indulged while conscience slept, 
O'er vows and promises unkept, 

And reap from years of strife — 
Nothing but leaves ! nothing but leaves ! 

2 Nothing but leaves ! no gathered sheaves 

Of life's fair ripening grain ; 
We sow our seeds ; lo ! tares and weeds,— 
Words, idle words, for earnest deeds — 

Then reap with toil and pain, 
Nothing but leaves ! nothing but leaves ! 

3 Nothing but leaves ! Sad memory weaves 

No veil to hide the past ; 
And as we trace our weary way, 
And count each lost and misspent day 

We sadly find at last — 
Nothing but leaves ! nothing but leaves ! 

4 Ah! who shall thus the. Master meet, 

And bring but withered leaves ? 
Ah ! who shall at the Saviour's feet, 
Before the awful judgment-seat, 

Lay clown for golden sheaves, 
Nothing but leaves ! nothing but leaves ! 

MRS. LDCY EVELINA AKERMAN. 

Set to music by SILAS J. VAIL. 

WHY STAND YE HERE IDLE? 

Tune— " How firm a foundation." or "Home, sweet Home." 

1 Why stand ye here idle ? there's so much to do — 

The vintage is ready and waiting for you ; 
The Master is saying, " Oo work ye, to-day, 
And what ye're deserving I surely will pay." 

2 " The fields are all white," saith the Master again ; 

" Why stand ye here idle ? go gather my grain," 
And a crown to the faithful I surely I will give, 
For the workman is worthy, by labor, to live. 

3 Why stand ye here idle ? there's so much to do — 

A world is receding, a heaven's in view. 
Work while it is day, for the night hastens on, 
And the hours ye could profit, in dai'kness are gone. 

4 Why stand ye here idle, Eternity's nigh 

And God may be saying, '' this night ye shall die." 
The grave hath no cunning, no skillful device, - 
But as the tree falleth, forever it lies. 

5 The golden bowl's useless ere ye are aware ; 

The silver cord loosed, ye can never repair ; 
The pitcher may break at the fountain to-day, 
And the wheel at the cistern is doomed to decay. 

6 Why stand ye here idle, when life is so short ? 

Go cultivate richly the ground of the heart ; 

'T will bud, aye, and blossom, and ripen above, 

In the garden of God, the Elysium of love. 

ADELIA C. GRAVIS. 

Winchester, Tenn. 1883. 



THE STAR OF HOPE. 

1 The star of hope has risen 
For millions doomed to die, 
And from the gray horizon, 
Ascends the vaulted sky ; 
O hearts grown weary watching, 

For rescue from the grave, 
Look up ! salvation cometh, 
The Lord, the Lord can save. 
Chorus.— The star of hope has risen, 

And shineth from on high, 
Let every soul be waiting, 
Redemption draweth nigh. ' 
• 2 O slaves of drink, He calleth, 

And bids you seek His grace, 
That as a Friend and Brother 
You may behold His face ; 
Your shackles shall be broken, 

And, by God's powerful hand, 
The enemy be vanquished 
And driven from the land. 
3 The star of hope has risen, 
Let every heart rejoice ! 
And in one glad hosanna 
Be lifted every voice. 
And tell the dying millions, 
That Jesus, by His might, 
Can save the vilest drunkard 
That Bacchus doth benight. 

MISS M. E. SERVOSS, 

Set to Music by p. L. Armstrong, "In Clear Notes." 

Used by permission of Henry Buck. 

OUR TRUST. 

" Such trust have we through Christ."— n Cor. iii : t, 

1 Our trust is in Thy name, 

In ev'ry hour of fear ; 
Thy faithful promises we claim, 
And joy to find Thee near. 
Chorus — Our trust is in Thy name, 

Our peace alone in Thee ; 
Thy hand can loose the heavy chain, 
And set the captive free. 

2 Once when Thy children brought 

The sick and blind to Thee, 
Thy hand its mighty healing wrought, 
And made the blind to see. 

3 So to Thy feet to-day 

These blind and dumb, we bring; 
Open their eyes, O Christ, we pray, 
And loose their tongues to sing. 

4 Shield them with tender care 

When crafty foes assail, 
And in Thine arms of pity bear, 
When feeble flesh shall fail. 

EMILY HUNTINGTON MILLER. 

Set to Music by WM. A. ogden. 

Published by O. Ditson & Co. 






492 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



THE SURE RETURN. 

Pray ; though the gift you ask 
May never comfort your fears, 
May never repay your pleading, 
Yet pray, and with hopeful tears ; 
An answer, not that you long for, 
But diviner, will come one day ; 
Your eyes are too dim to see it, 
Yet strive and wait, and pray. 

ADELAIDE A. PROCTER. 

HE COMESI 

FOR EASTER SUNDAY. 

1 Thy garments like him who treadeth iu winefat."— Is. lxiii : 2. 
8s & 6s D. 

1 He comes in blood-stained garments ; 

Upon His brow a crown : 
The gates of brass fly open, 

The iron bands drop down ; 
From off the fettered captive 

The chains of Satan fall, 
While angels shout triumphant, 

That Christ is Lord of all ! 

2 O Christ ! His love is mighty ; 

Long suffering is His grace ; 
And glorious is the splendor 

That beameth from His face. 
Our hearts up-leap in gladness 

When we behold that love', 
As we go singing onward 

To dwell with Him above. 

CHARITIE LEES BANCROFT. 



Irs. lap. 



Mrs. Mayo, better known as Miss Edgarton, was born in Shirley, Mass., 
1819. She became known to the public as a writer in 1837. at the age of 
18 years, when she contributed to various prominent religious journals, 
and soon after became one of the editors of the Ladies' Repository, a 
monthly magazine published in Boston. She also edited a religious an- 
nual, " The Rose of Sharon," for more than nine years. Her poetical 
works are "The Flower Vase," "The Poety of Woman," &c.,&c. She in 
1846 became the wife of Rev. A. D. Mayo, Gloucester, Mass., and died 
there in 1848. It is said her character was a model of Christian excellence, 
and her poems and hymns are indeed marked by an elevated thoughtand 
expression, a purity and tenderness of feeling which are iu harmony with 
such an encomium. Oneof her best poems is "The Answered Prayer."— 
"Am. Female Poets." 

BE FIRM. 

May be read at meeting ; or may be sung to any L. M. by repeating last 
two lines of tune and omitting the last "Be Firm." 

1 Be firm ! whatever tempts thy soul 
To loiter ere it reach its goal, 
Whatever syren voice would draw 
Thy heart from duty and its law, 
Oh ! that distrust. Go bravely on, 
And, till the victor-crown be won, 
Be finn ! 



2 Firm when thy conscience is assailed, 
Firm when the star of hope is veiled, 
Firm in defying wrong and sin, 
Firm in life's conflict, toil and din, 
Firm in the path by martyrs trod, — 
And Oh ! in love to man and God, 
Be firm ! 

SARAH C. EDGARTON MAVO. 

Sto. J. 3. 1. Cramer. 

Mrs. M. A. M. Cramer was bom in New York City, and went West in 
her 9th year. When but five years of age, a severe attack of scarlet fever 
left her totally deaf, an affliction from which she has never recovered. 
Her education has been received entirely at home, she never having at- 
tended a sign school or other kind. 

She has, in a degree, retained her speech, conversing with members of 
her own family.understanding them by Up language. She is considered 
one of the very best writers in prose and verse among the silent sister- 
hood, poetry being her specialty.however.and her articles are a triumph 
over difficulty, indeed. Before the Galaxy was merged into the Atlantic, 
she contributed very acceptably to its columns. 

HYMN TO THE CROSS. 

1 O hallowed sign ! the holy, the availing, 

Thorn-wreathed, yet dear to bosoms sorrow-riven, 
When faith grows weak, and human strength is fail- 
ing* 
Thou risest up, a type of promise given. 

2 Hope of the wanderer ! in a world of error ; 

Guide of the saint who clings to thee for guiding ; 
We blindly drift on seas of doubt and terror, 
To see the waves around thy base subsiding. 

3 When youthful dreams, so fervid in their swaying, 

Have faded hence into the unreturning, 
And each vain quest for Love, the undecaying, 
Is stilled in pangs, and tears intensely burning ; 

4 We raise our eyes to thee, and peace comes stealing 

A healing presence on, through ways of duty, 
Till on our vision breaks a light revealing 
The sacrifice that wears divinest beauty. 



Written in her 17th year. 



THE LORD'S PRAYER. 



1 Our Father who in heaven art, 

All hallowed be Thy name ; 

Honor and praise to Thee belong, 

For worthy Thou the same. 

2 Oh ! help to pray as Christ hath taught, 

Thy glorious kingdom come ; 
And as in heaven, so on earth, 
Thy righteous will be done. 

3 Give us, this day, our daily breads 

That we die not, but live ; 
And all our trespasses remit, 
As others we forgive. 



TEMPERANCE. SABBATH GOSPEL TEMPERANCE MEETINGS. HYMNS FOR THE WORKERS. 493 






4 Into temptation lead us not, 

Lest into sin we fall ; 
Evil abounds, Father, God, 
Deliver us from all. 

5 The kingdom, and the power are Thine ; 

And angel host and men 
The glory shall ascribe to Thee, 
Forevermore. Amen. 

MRS. I. M. HARTSOUGH, 

IN HEAVENLY LOVE ABIDING. 

7s & 6s. D. 

1 In heavenly love abiding, 

No change my heart shall fear ; 
And safe is such confiding, 

For nothing changes here. 
The storm may roar without me, 

My heart may low be laid, 
But God is round about me — 

And can I be dismayed ? 

2 Wherever He may guide me, 

No want shall turn me back ; 
My Shepherd is beside me, 

And nothing can I lack. 
His wisdom ever waketh, 

His sight is never dim ; 
He knows the way He taketh, 

And I will walk with Him. 

3 Green pastures are before me, 

Which yet I have not seen ; 
Bright skies will soon be o'er me, 

Where the dark clouds have been. 
My hope I cannot measure, 

My path to life is free ; 
My Saviour has my treasure, 

And He will walk with me. 

ANNIE L. WARING. 1870, 

IF ONE TALENT GOD HATH GIVEN ME. 

Time— " What a Friend we have m Jesus," (F.) 

1 If one talent God hath given me, 

To my neighbor given two, 
Shall I envy him his treasure, 

Shall I be less kind and true ? 
If one talent God hath given me, 

To my neighbor given five, 
Shall I waste my life complaining, 

Shall I, mourning, cease to strive ? 

2 If with my one little talent, 

I my crown through Him have won, 
I am blest beyond all blessing, 

When I hear the words " Well done." 
Ever striving, ever striving, 

Be our talents five or one ; 
We'll not cease the mighty struggle 

Till our work below is done. 



THE SHIP INTEMPERANCE. 

A SONG FOE THE WOEKEES. 
"Then they cried unto the Lord in their trouble."— Ps. cvii: IS. 

1 A ship comes over the sea of time, 

Freighted with human souls ; 
And out on the billows dashing high 

The cry of their anguish rolls ; 
The masts are broken, the rudder gone, 

Sails are all tattered and torn ; 
And high on the crest of rolling waves 
The ship toward the rocks is borne. 
Chorus — Oh ! pray to God, who alone can save, 
As you never prayed before ; , 
But look to it well that you're ready to help 
If any should come ashore. 

2 All un seaworthy she left the port, 

Colors were flying fair ; 
A slaver that buys up human souls 

And sells them to dark despair ! 
The ship Intemperance, homeward bound, 

Freighted with vassals of drink ! 
To whirlpools of woe she bears them on ; 

Oh ! must they, her victims, sink ! 

3 See how she bounds on the sunken rocks 

Carried before the blast : 
A ship that never could breast a gale, 

She'll sink ere the storm is past. 
'Tis only God who can bring to land 

Shipwrecked and perishing souls ; 
He surely will hear ; so on the strand 

We'll watch, as each breaker rolls. 

MISS M. E. SERVOSS. 
Set to music by I. o'kane, 
From " Temperance Light," By per. 



BITTER-SWEET 



1 Thank God for labor, ye who press 

Life's path of rose and rue ; 
Thank God for need's impelling stress 
The tiresome task to do. 

2 Thank God for rest to heart and brain 

His least co-worker finds, 
Though chilled and chafed by labor's chain, 
That frees, the while it binds. 

3 Thank God, with every breath, that so 

Compelled to do and dare, 
No seed within your soul shall grow 
Of idle-born despair. 

4 True, true, perhaps, on lofty dreams 

Life's tyranny may frown ; 
Yet, still, thank God for light that streams 
Onktoil's accomplished crown. 

5 Of honest work, thank God, the rays 

Reach to the very skies, 
And call the morning stars to praise 
The peace that in them lies. 

MARY BARKER DODGE. 1885. 



494 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Irs. Unlit pmer. 



Mrs. Phoebe Palmar was born in New York, December 18, 1807, and 
died Nov. 2, 1874. The following quotations are from her memorial 
published in 1874, and kindly permitted by her devoted daughter, Mrs. 
Joseph F. Knapp of Brooklyn, N. Y. 

" Her writings are a monument to her wonderful industry. ' The Way 
of Holiness,' ' Faith and Its Effects,' ' Incidental Illustrations of the 
Economy of Salvation,' ' Promise of the Father,' ' The Useful Disciple,' 
' Sweet Mary,' ' Four Years in the Old World,' ' Pioneer Experiences,' 
and ' Entire Devotion,' are the titles of the books which she wrote. In 
her early life she commenced to write religious poems, mostly hymns. 
She wrote the dedicatory hymn of the Mulberry Street Church. She 
was accustomed at that time to write the anniversary hymns for the Sun- 
day-Schools of the Church, and one of these, ' Blessed Bible,' which fol- 
lows, was the means of the conversion of several of tho scholars. She also 
composed many other hymns, some of which are very ex&ensivelyusedin 
our social meetings. At the age of eleven years, on being presented with 
a Testament, she composed and inserted on the first page the following 
stanzas, displaying a sure talent in sacred poetry : — 



1 This Revelation — holy, just, and true — 
Though oft I read, it seems forever new ; 
While light from heaven upon its pages rest, 
I feel its power, and with it I am blest. 

2 Within its leaves it grace divine displays, 
Makes known the Almighty's will in various ways ; 
Justice it speaks to those who heaven defy, 

And with ungracious lips its truths deny. 

3 'T is here the wearied one, in sin's rough road, 
May find the path mark'd out that leads to God ; 
And when oppressed by earth, all here may find 
Sweet promises of peace to cheer the mind. 

4 To this blest treasure, O my soul, attend, 
Here find a firm aud everlasting friend — 
A friend in all life's varied changes sure, 
Which shall to all eternity endure. 

5 Henceforth I take thee as my future guide, 
Let naught from thee my youthful heart divide ; 
And then, if late or early death be mine, 

All will be well, since I, O Lord, am Thine. 



This first effort of her pen at that early age seems to be prophetic of her 
life. She always held the pen of a ready writer, aud her heart and hand 
were dedicated to the service of her Divine Master. To show her love 
for souls and interest in the temperance work, one illustration is given :— 

Once, while waiting at a railway station for the arrival of the train, she 
saw coming down the road, a man intoxicated. Her passion for soul- 
saving needed no stirring-up ; but at once moving towards him, shekindly 
raised her hand, at which the man stood still. Then addressing him in 
tones of earnest warning and entreaty, she besought him to seek his Sav- 
iour. The man was sobered, conquered ; and she said exultingly to me, 
"I expect to meet that man in heaven." 

Her conception of the value of a human soul, and her absorbing love 
to Christ, is the explanation of this unquenchable zeal. She used -to say 
that if one unsaved soul was at the extreme verge of the universe and it 
should require the united efforts of all the inhabitants of earth to reach 
aud save that one, the object would be well worth the cost of the vast 
expedition. 

In all her public labors Mrs. Palmer never desired a license to preach. 
She did not believe that women were called to the regular work of the 



pastorate. She believed, however, that there was a very wide and high 
sphere for women's work in the church, and most urgently did she call 
them to it. 

Providence so ordered it that her husband, who fully sympathized with 
her in her views of duty, could travel and labor with her. AndabovealL 
her ardent zeal for God, her interest for the salvation of perishing souls, 
gave her the highest qualification for this office and work ; for neither in 
the ministry nor in the desk are men and women of much account in the 
church, until they have apassion for the saving of souls, until they are rest- 
less, unless they can see and feel that God is enabling them in some way 
aud by some instrumentality to win souls to Christ. And this with her 
was a constant inspiration. She was always under the constraining love 
of Christ, and, moved by that passion, she laboredmost persistently and 
earnestly, in season and out of season, to save them. 

The editor of a Methodist journal says the following :— 

"Her peculiar views of entire sanctification we never tried to under- 
stand. We doubt if we could now state , or at any time could have 
stated, what they were. To our minds this appeared a matter of small 
moment, though a hot controversy once raged, of which her mode of 
statement was the exciting cause. The one fact that seemed to us ad- 
mirable was that here was a Christian who believed the Gospel to be the 
power of God unto salvation, and who was resolved to make its power 
felt over the world. In this light it was a pleasure to think of the weekly 
meeting maintained at her own house for many years, and attended by 
Christians of every name. There are houses opened in this great city 
for gambling, for drinking, and for sins of every hue ; but here was a 
home open every week where Christians might meet and cheer each 
other, where the converse was of becoming better through divine help, 
and of making the world better through the power of Christ's truth. It 
made one more hopeful of our city's future to remember that there was 
in it such a centre of light and love whose influence reached a wide cir- 
cumference." 

The spirit of this is kind and commendatory ; but the writer seem- 
ingly failed to recognize the important fact that the unprecedented suc- 
cess of the "Tuesday Meeting," and Mrs. Palmer's extraordinary labors, 
was due to the power aud truthfulness of her "peculiar views of entire 
sanctification" which he never even tried to understand. Nor is it a 
"matter of small moment" what were her "peculiar" views. She was 
an "acceptable member of a great church, " &c. At the burial, Rev. Dr. 
Parker said— It is my candid conviction that no woman has existed in 
this or any other land, whose life-labors have been so productive of saving 
results. 

In the memorial sermon at the Allen St. M. E. Church, the eminent 
Rev. Dr. W. H. Boole remarked — She has stamped a more deeply in- 
delible impression upon the theology and religious life of the church, 
than any other woman or man of her time. She leaves with the church 
the record of a larger number of souls sanctified and souls converted, 
than any living Christian worker, probably. 

During the last twelve years she was chief editor of " The Guide to 
Holiness," which is still issued monthly. (1884). 

"In 1859, her husband gave up his prof ession as physician, and re- 
solved with her to devote their whole life to evangelical work. They 
went at once to England, and, in labors ' more abundant.' spent four 
years in the United Kingdom. Thousands were converted to God." 

Ex-president Young of the Wesleyan Conference, England, says that 
in twelve weeks there were added to the church, through the labors of 
Dr. and Mrs. Palmer, in the district of Newcastle, 3, 444 persons. 
"Holiness," she would frequently say, "holiness is power ; " and her life 
declared it. Mrs. Palmer's spirit, life, and labors answer conclusively 
the unchristian libel that "professors of holiness make little effort, and 
have little care for the conversion of sinners." 

"The meeting she began in her house so many years ago is still contin- 
ued. Hundreds of believers from all Christian churches gather to it each 
week. Thousands have been saved through its influence. A great 
many other meetings have since been established in different parts of 
the world. Probably not less than one hundred are holding weekly at the 
present time. Her consecration to this one work led her, in her failing 
health, to go with her husband to all parts of this land and Canada— 
to camp-meetings, protracted meetings, and conventions for the 
promotion of holiness. And now an association has been formed, hav- 
ing as their purpose to spread Scriptural holiness over this nation, and 
a literature is developing from a hundred pens to meet the increasing 
demands of the church for light and help. And, under God,- we regard 
her as the mother of all this movement. 

You will hardly care now to ask how did she die? She lived God'a 
consecrated servant, she died God's triumphant saint." 



TEMPERANCE. SABBATH GOSPEL TEMPERANCE MEETINGS. HYMNS FOR THE WORKERS. 



495 



SABBATH HOME. 



FOR THE SABBATH AFTERNOON GOSPEL TEMPEBANCE MEETING. 



MRS. E. P. WILLIAMS. 






MARIANNA WILLIAMS. 






















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3 For us His precious life He gave ; 
His grace our sinful souls can save ; 
To Him, our fervent hearts we give, 
And Oh ! may He the gift receive, 

The gift receive. 

4 Lord, fill our souls with reverence meet, 
As bowing lowly at Thy feet, 

We feel with joy, and sacred fear, 
The Lord is near, the Lord is here ! 
The Lord is here. 

Appleton City, Mo. Nov. 1, 1884. 

TEMPERANCE BELLS. 

Tune " Portuguese Hymn." 
" Thanks be unto God, which always causeth us to triumph."— n Cor. ii : 14, 

1 The glad bells of temperance are joyously ringing 
Their sweet strains of triumph out on the clear air, 
While souls, once in darkness, hosannas are singing 
Thanksgivings of praise to the Hearer of prayer. 



Chorus. 

Then lift up your voices in loud exultation, 
Extolling the name of the Saviour and King ; 

The only sure help in resisting temptation ; 
Oh ! praise Him till heaven's blue arches shall 
ring. 

2 And while the sweet bells are proclaiming the story 

Of captives set free from the bondage of woe, 
Our hearts shall look back on the years that are hoary 
And number our victories over the foe. 

3 Right boldly the tempter once ruled in high places, 

While now like a coward he lurks in his den ; 
And in the near future the drink that debases, 
Shall be all unknown to " the children of men." 



Set to Music hy jas. it. Murray. 



is. By per. 
Nov. 1879. 



BLESSED BIBLE. 



MRS. PH03BE PALMER. 



MRS. JOSEPH F. KNAPP. By per. 



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3. Tes,sweetBi -ble, I will hide thee Deep, yes, deep - er in this heart; Thou thro' all my life will 



496 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



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TEMPERANCE. REFORM CLUB MEETINGS. INVITATION TO SIGN THE PLEDGE. 



497 






A FOE IN THE LAND. 

Tune—" Tramp, tramp, tramp, the Boys are marching," 

1 " There's an enemy at hand. 
Shall we forward march, or stand, 

While there is within our land, a deadly foe ?" 
'T is an enemy of souls, 
Lurking in the sparking bowls, 

Luring on to folly, ruin, crime and woe. 
Chorus. — 

Down, down, down, the maddening potion 
Steals to take the sense away, 

But we'll toil and watch and pray, 
Trusting God each weary day, 
Till the temperance cause victorious shall sway. 

2 Shall we how our heads and sigh, 
When the remedy is nigh ? 

Shall we sit and vainly cry " we are undone ? " 
Sure there's something we can do, 
If we're willing to go through 

Patiently the glorious work that is begun. 

3 Shall the liquor hosts defy 
As we prayerfully draw nigh, 

In behalf of father, brother, neighbor, son ? 
Though they scornfully deride, 
God can turn the fearful tide 

Of destruction, that is swiftly rolling on. 

Chorus. — 

Shout ! shout ! shout ! the boys are turning, 

Cheer up, loved ones, they will come 
With a heart true, brave and light, 
With a step that says " all right," 

Bringing gladness to each well-beloved home. 



SIGN THE PLEDGE. 

"Tune.— Battle-hymn of the Republic." 

Sign the pledge, my youthful brother, 

Sign the temp'rance pledge tonight, 
Give not slumber to your eyelids 

Ere you choose the path of right. 
Life's highway is full of danger, 

Pitfalls lie on every side. 
Sign the pledge and give your promise, 

Taking Jesus for your guide, 
Sign the pledge and give your promise, 

Taking Jesus for your guide, 
As we go marching on. 
Sign the pledge, my manly brother, 

You whom laurels wait to crown, 
As you tread the hill of action, 

Seeking honor and renown. 
Oh ! how full of fierce temptation 

Is the path you proudly tread ! 
Sign the pledge and may God's blessing 

On it light and gladness shed. 
Sign the pledge and may God's ' 

On it light and gladness shed, 
As we go marching on. 



3 Sign the pledge, my aged brother, 

Tott'ring on life's earthly brink ; 
God will guide you through the 

He will never let you sink. 
Sign the pledge, — the blessed angels 

Wait to chant the glorious song 
Of another captive brother, 

By God's grace redeemed from wrong. 
Of another captive brother, 

By God's grace redeemed from wrong, 
As we go marching on. 



SPARKLING AND BRIGHT. 

1 Sparkling and bright, in its liquid light, 

Is the water in our glasses ; 
'T will give you health, 't will give you wealth, 
Ye lads and rosy lasses. 

Chorus — Oh ! then resign your ruby wine, 
Each smiling son and daughter ; 
There's nothing so good for the youthful blood, 
Or sweet, as the sparkling water. 

2 Better than gold is the water cold, 

From the crystal fountain flowing; 
A calm delight both day and night, 
To happy homes bestowing. 

3 Sorrow has fled from the hearts that bled 

Of the weeping wife and mother : 

They have given up the poison'd cup, 

Son, husband, daughter, brother. 

MRS. MART S. B. DANA, 1840. 



THE INEBRIATE. 

1 Brother ! stay thy rash design ; 

Let not passion thee control ! 
Poison lurks beneath the wine, 
Sparkling in the festive bowl. 

2 From thy lips, the mad'ning stream 

Quickly dash ! 't is death to thee ! 
Do it now, while reason's beam, 
Comes again thy light to be. 

3 All too long wert thou the slave 

Of a cruel demon's will ; 
Buried darkly in the grave, 

Would'st thou leave thy talents still ? 

4 Rouse thee from this fatal sleep ! 

Rend the tyrant's iron chain! 
Let not sin thy senses steep ! 
Rise and be a man again ! 

MART C. WEBSTER. 

Rocky Hill. Conn. 1883. 



498 WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. , 

OH! COME AND SIGN THE PLEDGE, TO-NIGHT. 



Dedicated to the Reform Club, Springfield, 111. 1880. 



Words and Music by Mrs. GEO. CLINTON SMITH. 




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TEMPERANCE. REFORM CLUB MEETINGS. INVITATIONS TO SIGN THE PLEDGE. 



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* Repeat last strain, at the end of 2d stanza, using these words. 



500 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



LOOK NOT ON THE WINE WHEN IT IS RED. 

1 " Look not on the wine " which gloweth 

With its ruddy crimson light ; 
Though 'tis crowned with sparkling jewels, 
Dash it from your yearning sight. 

2 Thougl) it seem to thee like nectar, 

" Touch not, handle not, nor taste ; " 
" It will bite thee like a serpent," 
And thy life blood it will waste. 

3 Think not thou canst with it dally, 

And its brief enchantment sip ; 
It will " sting thee like an adder " 
If thou raise it to thy lip. 

4 Trust thyself not — in thy weakness, 

Let this be thine earnest plea : 
" Lead me, Father, from temptation, 
Keep me from this evil free." 

5 He is " mighty to deliver," 

He will hold thee with His arm ; 
And though fierce may be the struggle, 
He will keep thee safe from harm. 

6 Look not on the cup, then, brother, 

Join the temp'rance ranks to-night; 
Men and angels wait to bless thee, 
And our God will help the right. 

RVSIE V. ALDRICH. 1884. 

THE INVERTED GLASS. 

"Look not upon the wine."— Prov. xxiii: 31. 
Respectfully inscribed to Ulysses S. Grant, who, iu his tour around the world, 
though feted by monarchs and emperors, invariably inverted his glass when 
wine was on the table. 

1 There are soldiers who have battled 

To save our native land ; 
Who where the shot fell thickest, 

Were bravest to command ; 
But when a friend or comrade 

A foaming draught would brew, 
They had not strength to chide him, 
Nor courage to be true. 
Chorus — Oh ! give us men, brave men, 

Who right 'gainst custom bring, 
And dare invert the proffered glass, 
Though offered by a king. 

2 There are firesides cold and cheerless, 

Where children plead for bread ; 
Where hope is clad in anguish, 

And joy and peace have fled ; 
Oh ! whence this shame and ruin, 

Which blight of wars surpass ? 
'Tis Satan's plenteous harvest, 

His seed the " friendly glass." 

3 Then all honor to the hero 

Who, tempted, stands aloof, 
And offers 'gainst intemperanne 

A silent, firm reproof. 
O ye who would be noble ! 

Whate'er your rank or class, 
Rebuke the subtle tempter 

With an inverted glass. 

MISS M. E. 8ERV0SS. 

Set to music by GEO. c. huuo. 

In "Temperance Light." 



GOD HELPING ME. 

Tune— "Varina," or "Dundee.' 
C. M. Double. 

1 God helping me, I promise now 

To break the fetters strong, 
That woven slowly, day by day. 

Have held me fast so long — 
To dash aside the mad'ning cup 

That's darkened heart and brain, 
And climb, if need be, painfully 

Up to the heights again, 
God helping me. 

2 Out of the darkness toward the light, 

Writing a record new — 
Winning my manhood back again, 

Loyal and brave and true. 
Turning to bless the loving hearts 

Whose weary watchings end, 
Redeeming as I may the name 

Of Father, Brother, Friend, 
God helping me. 

3 Standing erect, with brow upturned, 

And purpose firm and strong, 
Yet struggling fiercely every hour 

With fetters worn so long : 
Oh ! ye whose feet have never trod 

The downward, deadly way, 
Ye cannot know how much we need 

With every hour to pray, 
God helping me. 

4 Oh ! tend'rer than a brother's love 

The heart upon the throne, 
That bends with pitying, watchful care, 

To catch the faintest tone ; 
That's touched by our infirmities, 

That heed's the sparrow's fall ; 
O tempted one, fear not but He 

Will heed thy slightest call, 
God helping me. 

ELLEN M. STORKS. 

Hannibal, Mo. 

GOD HELPING ME. 

Tune— "Old Hundred." 

1. God helping me, I'll yield the cup, 
And help to lift my brother up ; 
God helping me, I'll flee its pain, 
And from intemperance abstain. 

2 God helping me, I'll live and move 
My word and honor thus to prove ; 
From the inebriate's bondage free, 
I'll keep this pledge, God helping me. 

3 God helping me, I'll firmly trust 
My heavenly Father, kind and just ; 
God helping me, I'll yield my will, 
Through Him life's duties to fulfill. 



TEMPERANCE. REFORM CLUB MEETINGS. SIGNING THE PLEDGE. 



501 



MY WORD AND HONOR. 



TAKING THE BLUE RIBBON, 



WORD— Titus i : 9— "Holding to the faithful word." 
HONOR— Prov. xxix ; 23— "Honor sustaineth the humble." 

1 By our word we are pledged, friends earnest and true, 

To God and to each other spoken, 
With our Father's sure help our lives to reuew, 
By His help, that our pledge be unbroken. 
Chorus — God helping us, we cannot fail ; 2 

God helping us, we shall prevail. 

2 By our honor we're pledged, friends earnest and true, 

With malice to no human brother ; 
No charity wanting, in all that is due, 

That we will encourage each other. 3 

3 God helping us all, in our weakness infirm, 

From the cup we will ever abstain ! 
From the draught that destroys we ever will turn, 
Neither touch, taste, or handle again. 4 

4 Whoso trusteth the Infinite Father, alway 

He'll sustain in the cause of the right ; 
So we'll help on each other, that none go astray, 
And in righteousness ever delight. 

MRS. S. A. GORDON. _ 



Pss « SB. taML . 

Miss Ella M. Trusdell was born at South New Berlin, Chenango Co., 
N. Y.,inl849. She has written much for the Rochester, N. Y., "Exponent" 
under the name of Florence Cone, chiefly for the Children's department, 
and has also contributed to the "Temperance Banner" and other papers, 



FOR THEE THE PLEDGE I TAKE. 

Tune— "America." 

1 For Thee the pledge I take ; 
Just for a brother's sake 

The pledge I take ; 
Not for my love of wine 
Draw I so strict a line, 
But for my brother, thine, 

The pledge I take. 

2 For Thee the pledge I take ; 
For charity's sweet sake 

The pledge I take ; 
Not that I've been astray, 
E'er in the drunkard's way; 
To help the weak, to-day 

The pledge I take. 

3 For Thee the pledge I take ; 
E'en for a nation's sake 

The pledge I take ; 
To save my brothers all, 
Come I at country's call ; 
Men, into line now fall 

The pledge to take. 



Tune— "Portuguese Hymn." 

The past with its blackness I bury behind me, 
I stand for my manhood in honor and truth, 

I sunder the cords of the satans that bind me, 
And take as my emblem this ribbon of blue. 

To the hopes of my father, the prayers of my mother, 
To the trust of my friends, to the dreams of my 
youth, 

To that love and devotion no sorrow could smother, 
With the help of my God I will henceforth be true. 

I take for my shelter my Conqueror's powe.r, 

I bless the strong arm that hath dealt me the rod, 

I battle with weapons He giveth this hour, 

And wear for my breastplate the ribbon of blue. 

To the want of the world with its white harvest 

tying* 
Await for the workers who gather for God, 
To the call of the falling, the cry of the dying, 
In the strength of my Saviour I dare to be true. 

5 When tempted by appetite, crowded by evil, 

In hand to hand fight with the forces of sin, 
'Gainst the league of the flesh, the world and the 
devil, 
I bear at my banner this ribbon of blue. 

6 To the law of the Lamb that true freedom secure th, 

To the voice of the peace-giving spirit within, 
To the self that is real, to the life that endureth, 
O Lord of my soul, I rejoice to be true. 

AURILLA FURBER. 

Cottage Grove, Minn, 1881. 

FOOTPRINTS OF JESUS. 

INVITATION TO ACCEPT CHRIST. 

1 O Thou who hast sinned, come wash and be pure, 
Come, travel within the path that is sure ; 

Dear Jesus has trod this desolate way ; 
Come, journey to God, come, join us to-day. 

Chorus. 

Footprints, bright footprints of Jesus I see, 
Jesus has left them for you and for me ; 
Hear Him say, " Follow me," Jesus, I come, 
Since Thou hast loved me so, lead me safe home. 

2 Oh ! earth was so dark, men roamed in despair, 
When Jesus came down, our burden to bear, 
Now over the wild, bright footprints I see, 

Worn, grieved and reviled, Christ made them for me, 

3 Now, earth may be dark, sin's pitfalls abound, 
See each shining mark, our pathway is found ; 
Safe, safe, o'er the way, e'en children may go, 
With Jesus to stay, washed whiter than snow. 

MRS. L. B. THORPE. 

Set to music by c. e. pollock. By per. D. C. Cook. 



502 



WOMAN IN SACRED SON&. 

COME, WEARY SOULS. 



ANNE STEELE. 1760. 



CLARA H. SCOTT. 
Anthem Book." By per. 



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TEMPERANCE. REFORM CLUBS. INVITATION TO ACCEPT CHRIST. 



503 




SLAY NOT THY SAVIOUR. 

1 Waiting soul, what canst thou say, 
Turning from Thy Lord away ? 

He hath called and He hath sought thee ; 
By His precious blood hath bought thee ; 
And is asking thee to-day : 
Soul, wilt thou Thy Saviour slay ? 
Cho. — Do not Thy Redeemer slay ; 

Seek, Oh ! seek His grace to-day ! 

He hath sought thee, He hath bought thee ; 

Oh ! do not Thy Saviour slay. 

2 On the cross He once was slain, 
Bearing, guilty soul, thy pain ; 
By His loved ones left to languish 
'Neath thy bitter doom and anguish. 
Sinning soul, slay not again 

Him whose blood can cleanse thy stain. 

3 Dying soul, reject not one 

Who so much for thee hath done ; 
But, as day by day 't is nearing, 
Gather fruit for His appearing ; 
For the vintage hath bqgun, 
And the " heir " is God's own Son. 



Set to music hy DR, H, R. palmer. And used by per. 
Chicago. 1871. 
HE KNOWS. 

8s & 7s. D. 

Yes, He knows the way is dreary, 

Knows the weakness of our frame, 
Knows that hand and heart are weary ; 

He in all points felt the same. 
Look to Him, and faith shall brighten, 

Hope shall soar, and love shall burn, 
Peace once more thy heart shall brighten ; 

Rise : He calleth thee : return. 

MISS E. R. HAVBROAL. 

FATHER, TAKE MY HAND. 

1 Take my hand and I will guide thee, 

Pilgrim through a weary land ; 
I will save, whate'er betide thee, 
If thou'lt only take my hand. 

2 Take my hand, O child of weakness, 

Trust not to thy strength to stand, 
Trust Me, child ; my love will aid thee, 
If thou'lt only take my hand. 



3 Take my hand and I will guide thee 
Through this weary, doubting land, 
To the crystal stream of gladness, 
If thou'lt only take my hand. 



NEVA E. PARKHIXL. 1875. 

In the " Conqueror.'' 



COME UNTO ME AND REST. 



1 Why should I long for rest, 

Since Jesus bids me " Come ! " 

And cast on Him my soul oppressed 

And find His heart my home ? 

2 Who giveth rest in toil ; 

Who giveth joy in tears ; 
Who maketh light the burdened soul 
And turns to praise our fears. 

3 Why should I weary roam, 

And anxious vigil keep ? 
My Saviour calls my spirit home, 
To find sweet peace and sleep. 

4 " Come unto Me and rest," 

Pie tenderly doth plead. 
Stay not away, with heart oppressed, 
Li all thy helpless need. 



EARTH AND HEAVEN. 

1 You've been seeking through life, O my brother, 

The pleasures this world can bestow ; 
But Oh ! where are the joys you have garnered? 
And what is the peace that you know ? 

2 Earthly joys, like earth's flowers, my brother, 

A moment will gladden the eye ; 
But like rose-leaves their fragrance must perish, 

Their beauty must wither and die. 
' Oh ! then turn thee to Heaven, my brother ; 

Its joys through eternity bloom ; 
And the fruits of its hope shall be gladness, 

Its light chase the shades from the tomb. 

CARRIE M'INTOSU. 

Hart's Grove, Ohio. 1884. 
In " Gems of Poetry." 



504 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

THE VOICE OF JESUS CALLING. 



MrB. MARY O. PAGE. 

With deep feeling. 



FOR MALE VOICES. 



Adapted from the German. 
And arr. by Mrs. SCOTT in " Royal Anthem Book." 



1. 'Tisthe voice 

2. On - ly grasp 

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of Je-sus sweet-ly call -ing, .. 
one precious promise sure -ly, ... 
O sinner, quickly has -ten,.. 



Lis-ten, then, 
Fix your heart 
For the Lord 



while yet it is to - day; 
and feed up-on His love; 
Him - self may soon ap - pear ! 



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1. 'Tis the voice of Je - sus sweet-ly call-ing, sweet-ly call-ing, 

2. Only grasp one precious promise sure-ly, promise sure-ly, 

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Fix your heart and feed upon His love, " up-on His 



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To the rest a - wait-ing there a - bove, 

Call, Oh! call up -on Him while He's near 



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He will bring you at the end se-cure-ly, end se-cure -ly, 



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TEMPERANCE. REFORM CLUBS. INVITATION TO ACCEPT CHRIST. 



505 



WHAT HAST THOU DONE FOR ME? 

1 " I gave My life for thee, 

My precious blood I shed, 
That that thou might'st ransomed be, 

And quickened from the dead ; 
I gave My life for thee — 
What hast thou done for Me ? 

2 " I spent long years for thee 

In weariness and woe, 
That one eternity 

Of joy thou mightest know; 
I spent long years for thee, 
Hast thou spent one for Me ? 

3 " My Father's house of light, 

My rainbow-circled throne, 
I left for earthly night, 

For wanderings sad and lone ; 
I left them all for thee, 
Hast thou left aught for Me ? 

4 " I suffered much for thee, 

More than thy tongue can tell, 
Of bitterest agony, 

To rescue thee from hell ; 
I suffered much for thee, 

"What dost thou bear for Me ? 

5 " And I brought clown to thee, 

Down from My home above, 
Salvation, full and free, 

My pardon and My love ; 
Great gifts I brought to thee, 
"What hast thou brought to Me ? 

6 " Oh ! let thy life be given, 

Thy years for Me be spent ; 
"World-fetters all be riven, 

And joy with suffering blent; 
Give thou thyself to Me 

And I will welcome thee ! " 

FRANCES R. HAVEROAIi. 



Open wide for Him the portal ! 

Shall He longer ask in vain ? 
If within thy soul He dwelleth. 

Thou shalt full salvation gain. 

MRS. C. L. SHACKLOCK. 

Set to music by T. martin towne. 
From "Welcome Songs." Published by F. H. ReveU. 



COME TO CHRIST. 

1 Weary, trembling, burdened one, 
Come to Christ, God's only Son ; 
He will cheer thee on thy way, 
Lead thee up to perfect day. 

2 Oh ! how precious is His name, 
Yesterday, to-day the same ; 
Come by faith, no other plea 
He will ask, poor soul, of thee. 

3 Earth is not thy resting-place, 
Freely now accept His grace ; 
All thy worthless toil forsake ; 
To a better life awake. 

4 Great the promise of His love, 
Angels chant the theme above ; 
Come, no longer cease to live ; 
Christ His love will freely give. 

5 Love so pure, so rich and free, 
God bestows on you and me ; 
Gladly of this love partake, 
For the dear Redeemer's sake. 

6 Yesterday, to-day, the same ; 

Oh ! how wondrous is His name ; 
Light in darkness, joy in pain ; 
Overcome, and with Him reign. 

Kiss m. M. fitch, July 27, 188*. 



AT THE THRESHOLD. 

" Behold, I stand at the door and knock." 

1 Hearts of pride ! unbar your portal ! 

Cast aside the bolts of sin ! 

He is waiting at the threshold ; 

Let the blessed Master in ! 

Chorus — Open to the dear Redeemer, 

He hath suffered for thy sin : 
All He asketh is a welcome ; 
Let the blessed Master in. 

2 He hath carried all our sorrows, 

He hath borne our griefs alone ; 
Now, in tender love and mercy, 
He hath come to claim His own. 



FAULTLESS. 



1 " Faultless in His glory's presence ! " 

All the soul within me stirred, 

All my heart reached up to heaven 

At the wonder of that word. 

2 " Able to present me faultless ? 

Lord, forgive my doubt," I cried ; 
" Thou didst once, to loving doubt, show 
Hands and feet and riven side. 

3 " Oh ! for me build up some ladder, 

Bright with golden round on round, 
That my hope this word may compass, 
Reaching Faith's high vantage-ground ! " 

MRS. DR. HERRICK JOHNSON. 
Chicago, HI., 188L 



506 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

NOTHING TO PAY. 



Words and Music by Miss F. E. HAVERGAL. 




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TEMPERANCE. REFORM CLUB. INVITATION TO ACCEPT CHRIST. 



507 



NOW.' 



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were to loose their hold of the 
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the broken mast of a sinking ship in Dublin Bay. A rope was thrown to them. At the ta-umpet signal "Now ! " they 
mast and trust themselves to the rope, Four did so, and were hauled safe to shore. The fifth hesitated to let go, and 

Words and Music by FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL, 



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508 



WOMAN IN SACRED SON&. 

GLAD TIDINGS. 



"Behold I bring you tidings of great joy.' 



Words aud Music by Mrs. M. E. WILLSON. 



Mrs. M. E. Willson is a sister of the lamented P. P. Bliss. She has composed extensively for a 
collections. Glad Tidings is taken from the popular song book, "Great Joy." Mrs, Willson ably ass 

Duet. 



of years ; and her gospel songs appear in several 
her husband in his evangelistic labors. 





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Copyrighted by Mrs. M. E. Willson, and used by 



TEMPERANCE. REFORM CLUBS. INVITATION TO ACCEPT CHRIST. 



509 



MERCY BEFORE SACRIFICE. 

"Come unto me and I will give you rest," 
Tune— " Webb," or " Missionary Hymn," 

Come to the clear deep river. 

Come where the pastures call; 
Give to the great good-Giver 

The trust that is thy all. 
From want eternal fleeing, 

Come to an endless store ; 
Bring thy whole famished being, 

For He wants nothing more. 

If thoughts of thine appall thee, 

Oh ! lean on His and live ! 
To sacrifice they call thee, 

While He is here to give. 
Accept thy Father's measure 

Of need that He can see ; 
The heart to do His pleasure 

Is in His love for thee. 

He will not now refuse thee, 

Weak hands and vision dim ; 
For something He will use thee, 

But first thou wantest Him. 
The spirit worn with straying, 

Will find His judgment best ; 
Oh-! hear what He is saying, 

And yield thyself to rest. 

For one transporting minute 

The beckoning word obey: 
There is a power within it 

To bear thee on thy way. 
That voice of mercy speaking, 

Is God the Saviour's might, 
And all thy heart is 

Lies safely in its light. 

ANNA L, •WAKING, 



THE STORY OF THE CROSS. 

1 Tell me the old, old story 

Of unseen things above, 
Of Jesus and His glory, 

Of Jesus and His love. 
Tell me the story simply, 

As to a little child, 
For I am weak and weary, 

And helpless and defiled. 

2 Tell me the story slowly, 

That I may take it in — 
That wonderful Redemption, 

God's remedy for sin ! 
Tell me the story often, 

For I forget so soon ! 
The " early dew " of morning 

Has passed away at noon ! 



3 Tell me the story softly, 

With earnest tones and grave ; 
Remember ! I'm the sinner 

Whom Jesus came to save. 
Tell me that story always, 

If you would really be, 
In any time of trouble, 

A comforter to me. 

4 Tell me the same old story, 

When you have cause to fear 
That this world's empty glory 

Is costing me too dear. 
Yes, and when that world's glory 

Is drawing on my soul, 
Tell me the old, old story : 

" Christ Jesus makes thee whole." 

CATHERINE HANKEY. 



Ctril $xmm &ltm\\kx 



is the daughter of Major Humphreys, of Strabane, Ireland. In 1850 
she married the Kev. W. Alexander, now Bishop of Derry. She has 
published numerous books, chiefly poetry, Of one of these. "Hymns for 
Little Children," about a quarter of a million copies have been sold. She 
has also written for "The Dublin University Magazine" and " The Con- 
temporary Review." 



THE BLEEDING HAND. 

1 When wounded sore the stricken soul 

Lies bleeding and unbound, 
■ One only hand, a pierced hand, 
Can salve the sinner's wound. 

2 When sorrow swells the laden breast, 

And tears of anguish flow, 

One only heart, a broken heart, 

Can feel the sinner's woe. 

3 When penitence has wept in vain 

Over some foul dark spot, 
One only stream, a stream of blood, 
Can wash away the blot. 

4 ' T is Jesus' blood that washes white, 

His hand that brings relief ; 
His heart that's touched with all our joys, 
And feeleth for our grief. 

5 Lift up Thy bleeding hand, O Lord ; 

Unseal that cleansing tide ; 
We have no shelter from our sin 
But in Thy wounded side. 

CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER. 



510 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



llns. Sara %tim iirbinson 



is the writer for the new Prohibition paper in New York. If everything 
in the columns reached the altitude of her department it would soon 
come to the front as a power indeed.— "The Signal." 

The Editor of Woman in Sacred Song had the pleasure of meeting 
the distinguished poet, Mrs. Mary L, Dickinson, at that grand National 
Convention of W. C. T. TJ., workers, held in St. Louis, beginning on the 
22d of Oct. 1884. Although she says she does not consider that her forte 
lies in addressing an audience, she did so at Pickwick Theatre, upon 
urgent solicitation ; and of all the speakers during the four evening meet- 
ings held there, no one interested the audience more, or kept them 
loader laughing with brilliant sallies of wit and humor, than did Mrs. 
Dickinson. 

It was she who said, in regard to boxes, while making an appeal for 
funds to aid the local Union in St. Louis : -"If any one wishes to leave 
before the contribution box reaches him, he is at liberty to do so, since 
he will find a nice little lady with a nice little box, at the door, waiting 
to receive his donation. It is unnecessary to say, perhaps, as all are 
aware of it, that women are fond of boxes ;— band-boxes, lunch boxes, 
candy -boxes, money-boxes; and," added she in a subdued tone, stepping 
back, in a half -frightened manner- "some of us- a good many of us, 
are — beginning — to believe we should — like the— ballot-box." It is 
needless to say this completely brought down the house. 

Mrs. Dickinson has a remarkably fine personal appearance ; she has 
long been consecrated to Christian work ; but it was not until a more 
recent date that she felt specially called to work for Home Protec- 
tion . Her addition to the workersin temperance reform, was considered 
a very desirable accession. 



AS A LITTLE CHILD. 



" As a little child, as a little child ! 

Then how can I enter in ? 
I am scarred, and hardened, and soul-defiled, 

With traces of sorrow and sin. 
Can I turn backward the tide of years 

And wake my dead youth at my will ? " 
" Nay, but thou canst, with thy grief and thy fears, 

Creep into My arms and be still." 

" I know that the lambs in the heavenly fold 

Are sheltered and kept in Thy heart ; 
But I — I am old, and the gray from the gold 

[las bidden all brightness depart. 
The gladness of youth, the faith and the truth, 

Lie withered or shrouded in dust." 
"Thou'rt emptied at length of thy treacherous 
strength ; 

Creep into My arms now — and trust." 

" Is it true ? can I share with the little ones there 

A child's happy rest on Thy breast ? " 
" Aye, the tenderest care will answer thy prayer, 

My love is for thee as the rest. 
It will quiet thy fears, will wipe away tears — 

Thy murmurs shall soften to psalms, 
Thy sorrows shall seem but a feverish dream, 

In the rest — in the rest in My arms. 



4 " Thus tenderly held, the heart that rebelled 

Shall cling to My hand, though it smite ; 
Shall find in My rod the love of its God, 

My statutes its songs in the night. 
And whiter than snow shall the stained life grow, 

'Neath the touch of a love undefiled, 
And the throngs of forgiven at the portals of heaven 

Shall welcome one more little child." 



MARY L. DICKI> 



BLESSED ARE THEY THAT BELIEVE. 

1 Come to the fountain of mercy and live, 

Come, and a pardon receive ; 
Drink of the water that Jesus will give, 

Freely to those that believe ; 
Weary and burdened with sorrow, 

Sweet is the message to thee ; 
Learn of the meek and the lowly, 
Come, heavy-laden, to Me. 
Chorus — Come to the clear, flowing river, 
Drink of its waters forever, 
Hungry and thirsty, Oh ! never, 
Blessed are they that believe ! 

2 Happy the nation whose God is the Lord ; 

Hearing in meekness and love 
Counsels of wisdom and truth in His word, 

Looking for comfort above ; 
He is their rock and salvation, 

He is their strength and their song, 
Onward from glory to glory, 

Leading them gently along. 

3 Look unto Jesus, ye regions of earth, 

Victor of death and the grave, 
Though He was humble, and lowly His birth, 

He is the mighty to save. 
Why should we wander in darkness ? 

Why to the world should we cling ? 
Hope, like a bird, is before us, 

Pluming her beautiful wing. 

FANNY CROSBY. 
Set to Music by w. H. doane. By per. Biglow & Main. 

THE FOUNTAIN OF LIFE. 

1 Jesus by the well-side sitting, 

Weary, thirsty, sad and lone, 
To the wondering, erring stranger, 

Said in gentle, tender tone, 
" Whoso drinketh of this water, 

He will thirst, and thirst again, 
But the Water of Salvation 

Will the weary soul sustain." 

2 Thirsty ones, come to this Fountain, 

Christ your Saviour still is nigh, 
And this clear and " Living Water " 

Can your deepest needs supply. 
Turn away from poisoned fountains 

That bring sorrow, woe and pain ; 
These sweet waters, pure and healing, 

Will give health and joy again. 



TEMPERANCE. REFORM CLUBS. INVITATION TO ACCEPT CHRIST. WARNING AND INVITATION. 511 



3 We still hear Thy voice, dear Saviour ! 

Oh ! our thirsty souls supply 
With those cooling drops, so precious, 

From that Fountain never dry. 
We have drank from earthly cisterns, 

And perhaps the poisoned bowl, 
Now we seek the " Living Waters " 

For the weary, fainting soul. 

4 That pure Fountain will not fail us, 

Wheresoe'er our footsteps stray, 
Whether in the crowded city, 

Or along a lonely way. 
For the streams of " Love Eternal " 

Wash away all sin and strife, 
And bear up our joyful spirits 

Into "Everlasting Life." 



GOSPEL INVITATION. 



Gen. vi : 3. 



HUNTING, 1883. 



ACQUAINT THYSELF WITH HIM AND BE 
AT PEACE. 



1 Acquaint thyself with Him ; 

So shalt thou find release 
From every battle waged within, 
From every fetter forged by sin ; 

Perplexing doubts shall cease, 
Faith's angel brood where strife has been, 

And white-robed Peace. 

2 Acquaint thyself with Him, 

The tender heart and true, 
Learn what His love to man hath wrought, 
The pierced hand that victory bought ; 

So shalt thou read anew 
Life's records with keen suffering fraught, 

And goodness too. 

3 Acquaint thyself with Him, 

His wisdom-tempered love ; 
Till sin and want and sorrow seem 
Swift phantasms of a morning's dream ; 

His rainbow arch above 
Flooding the darkness with its gleam, 

His goodness prove. 

4 Acquaint thyself with Him, 

Child of the dust ; 
Thy cares and burdens day by day 
Bring boldly at His feet to lay ; 

All merciful and just ! 
So shalt thou bear a song away 

Of perfect trust. 

5 Acquaint thyself with Him, 

So discord all shall cease, 
So faith shall Eden build again 
Above earth's weariness and pain, 
And every mystery shine plain 

In God's complete release ; 
Acquaint thyself with His sweet reign 

And be at peace. 

MISS M. E. WINSLOW. 



1 Say, sinner ! hath a voice within 

Oft whispered to thy secret soul, 
Urged thee to leave the ways of sin, 
And yield thy heart to God's control ? 

2 Sinner! it was a heavenly voice, — 

It was the Spirit's gracious call ; 
It bade thee make the better choice, 
And haste to seek in Christ thine all. 

3 Spurn not the call to life and light ; 

Regard, in time, the warning kind ; 
That call thou may'st not always slight, 
And yet the gate of mercy find. 

4 God's Spirit will not always strive 

With hardened, self-destroying man ; 
Ye who persist His love to grieve, 
May never hear His voice again. 

5 Sinner ! perhaps, this very day, 

Thy last accepted time may be : 
Oh ! shouldst thou grieve Him now away, 
Then hope may never beam on thee. 



MBS. A. B. HYDE. 



LET HIM ALONE! 

1 'T is your Maker, mortal, whose voice of woe 

Is. bidding farewell to your heart ; 
He has pleaded for entrance in accents low, 

But ever you bade Him depart ; 
Oh ! grieve not the Spirit, lest this be its moan : 

" He is joined to his idols, let him alone." 
Let him alone. 

2 The dear Saviour is standing outside your heart 

And knocking, still knocking in vain ; 
He is waiting in patience and love, apart, 

Your bidding to come and remain ; 
Oh ! answer the summons, or hear this sad moan : 

" He is joined to his idols, let him alone." 
Let him alone. 

3 He has woo'd you so often with promises sweet, 

To freely forgive and to bless, 
Had you only been willing to kneel at His feet, 

All the sins of your soul to confess. 
Oh ! believe and accept Him, for sad is the moan : 

"He is joined to his idols, let him alone." 
Let him alone. 

4 You are clinging to idols which God bids you leav 

Earth's treasures and cares fill your breast ; 
Yield to Jesus the homage He waits to receive, 

And seek for your soul life and rest. 
Shall eternity echo, forever, this moan: 

" He is joined to his idols, let him alone." 
Let him alone. 

ELLEN OLIVER. 1876. 
Set to music and copyrighted by rev. s. l. conde. Used by per- 



512 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



WHERE ARE WE DRIFTING? 

" He that overcometh, the same shall be clothed in white raiment."— Eev. in : 5. 

1 The sea of life, — it is deep and wide, 

And countless the treasures that 'neath it hide ; 
The currents of life are full and strong, 

With counter currents of right and wrong. 
Let us ask ourselves, as we float along, 

Where, Oh ! where are we drifting ? 

2 Ah ! who the billows can safely ride ? 

What craft has the power to breast the tide ? 
The maelstroms of life are strong and deep, 

And some on the edge of the vortex sleep ; 
Let us ask ourselves, as our watch we keep, 

Where, Oh ! where are we drifting ? 

GRACE H. HOKK. 
Set to Music by ASA hull, ia " Golden Sheaf." 



SOWING THE SEED. 

9s & 7, with Chorus. 

1 Sowing the seed by the daylight fair, 
Sowing the seed by the noonday glare, 
Sowing the seed by the fading light, 
Sowing the seed in the solemn night : 

Oh ! what shall the harvest be ? 
Cho. — Sown in the darkness or sown in the light, 

Sown in our weakness or sown in our might, 
Gathered in time or eternity, 
Sure, ah ! sure will the harvest be. 

2 Sowing the seed by the wayside high, 
Sowing the seed on the rocks to die, 
Sowing the seed where the thorns will spoil, 
Sowing the seed in the fertile soil : 

Oh ! what shall the harvest be ? 

3 Sowing the seed with an aching heart, 
Sowing the seed while the tear-drops start, 
Sowing in hope till the reapers come, 
Gladly to gather the harvest home : 

Oh ! what shall the harvest be ? 



THE WORD DIVINE. 
" Nor drunkards shall inherit the kingdom of God."— i Cor. vi : 10. 

1 No pearly gate on hinge of gold 

Shall ever swing ajar for those 
Who just for drink their birth-right sold, 
To heav'nly joy and sweet repose. 
Chorus — O ye who tarry at the wine ! 

Yet think to see that land so fair, 
Remember 'tis the word divine, 

No drunkard e'er shall enter there. 

2 No heav'nly street with golden pave, 

Nor Tree of Life, with healing leaves ; 
Nor harp, nor crown, hath been prepared 
For one who thus the Master erieves. 



3 No welcome voice will greet his ear 

From loved ones who have crossed the strand ; 
In vain they'll wait his coming home ; 
His eyes shall ne'er behold that land. 

4 Then hear the Father's voice to-day ; 

And, lest to-morrow prove too late, 

Make now thy choice, forsake the glass, 

And pardon seek at Mercy's gate. 

MISS M. E. SERVOSS. 

Set to Music by jas. E. Murray. Nov., 1879. 
From "Temperance Light," published by Oliver Ditson & Co., by per. 

THY BROTHER'S BLOOD 

Genesis iv : 10. Psalm ix : 12. 
L. M. 

1 Thy brother's blood ! thy brother's blood ! 

It crieth to me from the ground ; 
And when unerring search is made, 

Where shall its crimson stain be found ? 

2 It may not call from lonely field, 

From forest dark, or rocky dell ; 

The cry may sound from village street 

Or crowded thoroughfare as well. 

3 There is a woe to him who builds 

A town with violence or wrong ; 
Who proudly sets his nest on high, 

And in his neighbor's spoil grows strong. 

4 There is a woe to him who puts 

The bottle to his neighbor's lips ; 

Who seeks to cover guilt with gold — 

His sun shall find a sure eclipse. 

5 From blighted homes comes up the cry, 

From starving orphans bursts the call, 
From ruined manhood's reeling step, 
From tempted childhood's fatal fall. 

6 With step erect, and fame untouched, 

In robes by fellow-men held fair, 

Above his victim's blood-stained path, 

His foe may walk without a care. 

7 But when he comes whose practiced eye 

Inquires for blood, 't will then be vain 
To cover o'er or seek to cleanse 

From red-hued skirts the fatal stain. 

8 Thy brother's blood ! thy brother's blood ! 

It crieth to me from the ground ; 
And when unerring search is made, 

Where shall the crimson stain be found ? 

JULIA P. BALLARD, 1881. 

THE GOLDEN SCEPTER. 

1 By the law condemned to perish, 
Vain for help I cry ; 
Is there none to hear my pleading ? 
Must I surely die ? 
Chorus — See the scepter ! precious promise ! 
Jesus help can give ; 
By the hand of love extended, 
All may touch and live. 



GOSPEL TEMPERANCE. REPENTANCE. ACCEPTING CHRIST. 



513 



2 Will He take a soul in trouble, 

With no other plea 
But a need of love and pardon ? 
Will He, even me ? 

3 May I come with all my ruin ? 

All my sorrows bring ? 
Can I thus approach the Saviour ? 
Thus address the King ? 



PEACE! BE STILL! 



I cannot ask Thee to restore 

The years of canker and of blight, 
For Thou hast called me o'er and o'er, 

And sought me through the long, dark night ; 
I cannot ask it, Lord, but see, — 
I bring a broken heart to Thee ! 
And Father, though my heart be dead, 

A look from Thee shall bid it rise ; 
I feel upon my bended head 
The holy pity of Thine eyes ; 

The waste and wilderness are past — 
My Father's house at last, at last ! 

MARY A. LATHBURY. 
New York, 1885. 



1 Master, the tempest is raging ! 

The billows are tossing high ! 
The sky is o'ershadowed with blackness, 

No shelter or help is nigh ; 
" Carest Thou not that we perish ? " 

How canst Thou lie asleep, 
When each moment so madly is threat'ning 

A grave in the angry deep ? 

2 Master, with anguish of spirit 

I bow in my grief to-day ; 
The depths of my sad heart are troubled ; 

Oh ! waken and save, I pray ! 
Torrents of sin and of anguish 

Sweep o'er my sinking soul ; 
And I perish ! I perish ! dear Master ; 

Oh ! hasten, and take control. 

3 Master, the terror is over, 

The elements sweetly rest ; 
Earth's sun in the calm lake is mirrored, 

And heaven's within my breast ; 
Linger, O blessed Redeemer, 

Leave me alone no more ; 
And with joy I shall make the blest harbor, 

And rest on the blissful shore. 

MISS M. A. BAKER. 

Set to Music by dr. H. r. palmer, aud used by per. 



SHOW ME THE FATHER. 

1 " Show me the Father," Lord, 
Thine all-pervading love reveal, 

My harp in every chord 
Hath loss, if Thou Thy heart conceal. 

Frozen but for Thy sun, 
Blind to all good but for Thy light, 

Helpless, at sea, alone, 
If Thou illumine not my night. 

2 On all my being lies 

The great seal of the Sovereign Soul ! 

I blindly recognize 
My King ! and bow to His control. 

Bind me by dearer ties, 
My heart finds in Thy love its sun, 

Dawn on its waiting eyes, 

infinitely mighty One. 

3 Where art Thou, Father, where ? 

1 call Thee both by prayer and song ; 

Thy power and love and care 
Shall circle all my groping wrong. 

Thy sore-pressed child fears not 
If but Thy strong right hand is here ; 

The sorrowfullest lot 
Finds sacredness when Thou art near. 



THE PRODIGAL. 

1 My Father, if these lips defiled 

May call Thee by that sacred name, 
A weary wanderer, once Thy child, 

Comes burdened with his years of shame, 
A wrecked and wasted life to cast 
Upon Thy love at last, at last ! 

2 From years of pain and poverty, 

From barren wastes of dark despair, 
I stretch my helpless hands to Thee ; 

Deny me not a refuge there ! 
Deny me not the one retreat 
For peace and pardon at Thy feet. 



SHOW ME THE WAY. 

1 Show me the way that leads to the true life, 

I do not care what tempests may assail me ; 
I shall be given courage for the strife ; 

I know my strength will not desert or fail me : 
I know that I shall conquer in the fray, — 
Show me the way. 

2 Show me the way up to a higher plane, 

Where body shall be servant of the soul ; 
I do not care what tides of woe or pain 

Across my life their angry waves may roll, 
If I but reach the end I seek some day, — 
Show me the way. 



514 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Show me the way above all little aims, 

All foolish sorrows and belittling pleasures, 
Above small triumphs over little gains, 

Above vain grieving for unworthy treasures, 
Up to those heights where these things seem child's 
play, 

Show me the way. 
Show me the way to that calm, perfect peace, 

Which springs from inward consciousness of right, 
To where these conflicts with the flesh shall cease, 

And self shall radiate with the spirit's light. 
Though hard the journey and the strife, Lord, pray, 
Show me the way. 



TEMPERANCE HYMN. 

" The whole head is sick and the heart faint." Isaiah. 

1 Thou healer of the broken heart, 

Helpless we come to Thee for aid : 
Leprous with sin we stand apart, 

Distressed, sore tempted and dismayed. 

2 Our feeble thought scarce knows the right ; 

Our wayward will consents to sin, 
We have no wisdom, power, nor might, 
Debased without, defiled within. 

3 Yet doth Thy long compassion wait, 

With yearning pity to forgive, 
To save us from our lost estate, 
To bid us turn again and live. 

4 Still with the dew Thy locks are wet, 

Thy feet are travel-stained and sore, 
Thy weary eyelids fail, and yet 

Behold, Thou standest at the door ! 

5 Create, O Lord, our hearts anew ; 

Shine on the chaos of the soul ; 
In us the power of sin subdue, 

Till we are every whit made whole. 



I WILL ARISE AND STAND. 

This day I will arise and stand, lift up my face, 
Stand soul and body at my highest height ; 
True to my loftiest thought, and from my place 
Will clamor for the soul's divinest right — 
The right to trust itself and face the light. 
I cannot lend to you a helping hand, 
I only show you that a soul may stand, 
That you may say, " One stands as weak as I; 
I will arise and stand beside him there." 
Then it shall come to* pass some other day, 
That from the ground the lowest and the least 
Will clamber up and smiling on us say, 
" Lo ! Man hath risen to his own estate ; 
Behold ! The dust of death hath blown away." 



THE MOURNING WANDERER. 

"The backslider in heart shall be filled with his own ways." 

1 Oh ! could I feel and know again 

The joy of sins forgiven ; 
That living faith that works by love, 
And points the soul to heaven. 
Chorus — I will arise, no more delay, 
I'll seek a Father's face ; 
My sins confess, His pardon ask, 
And fly to His embrace. 

2 My burdened heart to Jesus, then, 

Could tell its every care ; 
Could lean confiding on His breast, 
And find a blessing there. 

3 Why did I lose the guiding star 

That cheered me on my way ? 

Why did I heed the tempter's voice, 

And cease to watch and pray ? 

4 Dear Father, take the wanderer back, 

Thy erring child forgive ; 
Restore me to Thy love once more, 
And teach me how to live. 



FANNY CKOSBY. 1: 

Copyright, 1866, and set to music I 



'Singinpr Pilgrim." 

PHILIP PHILLIPS. 

Used by per. 



CALLING, CALLING, DO WE HEAR? 

Tune — " Knocking." 

1 Calling ! calling ! do we hear ? 
Calling ! calling ! Oh ! how near. 
From poor souls by sin benighted, 

' From sad homes by sin made drear, 
Ask that prayer may be availing ! 
For a blessing to appear. 

2 Calling ! calling ! lovest me ? 
Calling ! calling ! tenderly ; 

How we need the Christ you're loving, 
Want to serve the God you fear ; 
See the sunshine of His grace 
- Saviour of a ruined race. 

3 Calling ! calling ! Oh ! how clear ; 
Calling ! calling ! yes, 't is near ; 
Oh ! for peace which is divine, 
For that hope which may be mine, 
For a taste of life that's sweet, 
For a place at Jesus' feet. 

4 Calling ! calling ! let us heed ; 
Calling ! calling ! strange indeed ! 
Sin-sick soul with error rife, 
With no hope for blessed life, 
Infinite love the answer gives, 
Prayer by faith, in heaven lives. 



TEMPERANCE. REPENTANCE. ACCEPTING CHRIST. 

TOO LATE. 



515 



Mrs. ABDY. Adapted from Mrs. Abdy's poem "Too Late 

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4 Too late — too late ! O sinner, hasten now, 
Thy Saviour seek, and sweet redemption find. 

TOO LATE. 

Too late — too late ! How heavily that phrase 

Comes, like a knell, upon the shuddering ear, 
Telling of slighted duties, wasted days, 

Of privileges lost, of hopes once dear 
Now quenched in gloom and darkness. Words 
these 

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All that he might have been in thought he sees, 

And sorrows o'er his present wreck — too late. 

Too late — too late ! The prodigal who strays 
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The cold and false deceiver, who betrays 
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The spendthrift, scattering his golden store, 

And left in age despised and desolate, 
All may their faults confess, forsake, deplore, 

Yet struggle to retrieve the past — too late. 
Too late — too late ! O dark and fatal ban, 

Is there a spell thy terrors to assuage ? 
There is, there is ! but seek it not from man : 

Seek for the healing balm in God's own page ; 
Read of thy Saviour's love, to Him repair ; 

He looks with pity on thy guilty state ; 
Kneel at His throne in deep and fervent prayer, 

Kneel and repent, ere yet it be — too late. 
Too late — too late ! That direful sound portends 

Sorrow on earth, but not immortal pain ; 
Thou mayst have lost the confidence of friends, 

The love of kindred thou mayst ne'er regain ; 
But there is One above who marks thy tears, 

And opes for thee salvation's golden gate ; 
Come then, poor mourner, cast away thy fears, 

Believe and enter — it is not too late. 

MRS. ABDY. 1883.. 



{516 WOMAN IN SA CRED SONG. 

IS IT FAR, DO YOU THINK, TO THE SAVIOUR? 



Mrs. M. O. PAGE 




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of Love," By per. Dr, H. R. Palmer. 



GOSPEL TEMPERANCE. REPENTANCE. ACCEPTING CHRIST. 

WHAT IS MY IDOL? 



517 



Mrs. M. 0. PAGE. 



Mrs. C. H. SCOTT. 



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From "Songs of Love." Pub. by Cburch ft Co. By per. Dr. H. E. Palmer. 



518 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



COME UNTO ME. 




1. Come un - to me! Who is it that calls 

2. Come un - to me! Why is it He calls 

3. Come un - to me! To what does He call 

4. Come un - to me! But how, when He calls 

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GOSPEL TEMPERANCE. REPENT ACE. ACCEPTING CHRIST. 



519 



Mrs. PHCEBE PALMER. 



THE CLEANSING WAVE. 



Mrs. JOSEPH E. KBTAPP. by per. 



1. Oh! now I see the crim- son wave, The foun - tain deep and wide: Je-sus, iny Lord, might- 

2. I see the new ere - a-tionrise, I hear the speak- ing blood; It speaks !pol-lut - ed 

3. I rise to walk in heaven's own light, A - bove the world and sin, With heart made pure, and 

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JESUS, TAKE ME IN. 



Mrs. M. O. PAGE. 



Mrs. C. H. SCOTT. 



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1. I am still with-out the fold, Je - sus, take me 
2.LongI've heard Thy gen-tle voice, Je - sus, take me 
3. But dear Saviour, come I now, Je-sus, take me 

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At Thy feet I'll hum - bly bow, Je - sus, take me in 

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I'm a wand'rer far from Thee, But Thy fol-low'r I would be, Saviour,come and com - fort me, Je -sus,take me in. 
Tho' He was a friend in need, Yet that voice 1 would not heed, Oh! I have been deaf m - deed, Je - sus,take me in. 
Oh I to be with -in the fold, Where are pleasures all un - told,Pleasures bet-ter far than gold, Je - sus,take me in. 




From "Songs of Love." By per. Dr. H K. Palmer 



520 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

JESUS, MY MASTER. 



Miss ALICE GARY. 



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Je-sus, my Master, il-lum-ine my way! In the con-flicts that pass 'twixt my soul and my God, 
comest and mak-est Thy home in my heart. My thoughts lie with - in me as waste as the sands ; Oh ! 




walk as onewalketh a fire- path nnshod; And in my de-spair-ing sit dumb by the way — Come, 
make them be mu-sic-al strings in Thy hands ! My sins, red as scarlet, wash white as a fleece— Come, 



GOSPEL TEMPERANCE. REPENT ACE. ACCEPTING CHRIST. 



521 



Je - sus, my Mas - ter, and heal me, I pray. 
Je - sus, my Mas - ter, and give me Thy peace. 




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WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



LAMB OF GOD. 

Tune — " Children of the Heavenly King." 

1 Lamb of God, with bleeding feet, 
Standing at the mercy-seat, 
Pleading those dear wounds of love, 
For our sins, with God above, 
Thou art strong our souls to save, 
Victor over cross and grave. 

2 Thou art gone the vail within, 
Bearing ransom for our sin, 
Blood of sprinkling to atone 
At the Father's altar-throne ! 
Lamb of God, by sinners slain, 
Plead for me Thy bitter pain. 

3 With a glory streaming now 
From the thorn-prints on Thy brow, 
And Thy priestly vesture dyed 
With the blood from out Thy side, 
Thou who once on earth didst bleed, 
Livest still to intercede. 

4 Through Thy blood our souls draw nigh 
To the throne of God most high ; 
Bold through Thee, our hands lay hold 
Of that altar, which of old 

None could touch ; but Thou hast died, 
God, through Thee, is reconciled. 

EDITH R. WILSON. 

Set to Music by T. martin totvne. By per. D. C. Cook. 



WILL YOU DECIDE FOR JESUS? 

" Wilt thou not from this time cry unto me, My Father, Thou art 
Guide of my youth?" — Jer. iii : i. 

1 Will you decide for Jesus ? 

Will you decide for Him? 
Who gave His life so precious, 

Thy lost life to redeem ? 
No other friend can love thee 

With love as great as His ; 
To spurn Him is eternal woe ; • 

To love eternal bliss. 

2 Will you decide for Jesus — 

You who have grieved Him long ? 
He knows that heart so faithless, 

And yet His love is strong. 
Thy sins it was that pierced Him, 

Thy sins for which He died. 
Can you reject His pardon ? 

Oh ! why not now decide ? 

3 Will you decide for Jesus ? — 

For Him to live and die ? 
Has Satan satisfied you ? 

Why then still serve him, why ? 
Oh ! banish indecision, 

From that weak, wavering mind, 
And decide for Jesus, 

And in Him pardon find ! 



4 Will you decide for Jesus ? 

Will you decide to-day ? 
Christ beckons thee, O sinner, 

Why wilt thou turn away ? 
Beside thee now He standeth — 

He may not call again ; 
Why dost thou spurn His mercy ? 

Why give Him so much pain ? 

5 Will you decide for Jesus ? 

Will you decide just now ? 
Oh ! yield to His entreaties — 

Now, now before Him bow ! 
The Spirit now is pleading, 

The Bride just now says " come," 
To-morrow they may leave thee, 

Why should you longer roam ? 

6 Will you decide for Jesus ? 

Time passes swiftly by, 
The long, long home is nearing, 

And you will have to die ; 
Will have to leave earth's pleasures, 

Earth's emptiness and woe. 
Oh ! ask yourself the question, — 

And where shall I then go ? 



7 Will you decide for Jesus ? 

He asks it now of thee. 
Thy heart must give an answer; — 

What shall the answer be ? 
Oh ! ere the Christ has left thee, 

Oh ! while heaven's gates stand wide, 
While yet the Spirit pleadeth, 

Cry — " Lord, I will decide ! 

8 " I will decide for Jesus, 

I will decide for Thee ! 
Just now I take the pardon 

Which Thou dost offer me. 
I will decide for Jesus, 

For Him to live and die ; 
Now I am Thine, Lord Jesus, 

For Thou hast heard my cry ! " 



FAIRLIE THORNTON. 

a'" Herald of Mercy." 



OPPRESSED BY SIN. 



Tune — "Jesus, lover of my soul." 

1 Weary, weak, by sin oppressed, 

Father, come I now for rest, 
Profligate and vile I've been, 

Foremost in the ways of sin. 
Father, I no more will roam ; 

Humbly, now I seek Thy home, 
Thy forgiveness I implore ; 

Help me that I sin no more. 



GOSPEL TEMPERANCE. REPENTANCE. ACCEPTING CHRIST. 



523 



2 Worthy not of any place 

"With the children of Thy grace, 
Be a servant's portion mine, 
Since I've slighted love like Thine. 
Hast Thou come to meet Thy child, 
Wretched, poor, by sin denied ? 
Surely Thou wilt hear my plea, 
And be merciful to me. 



MRS. J. HITCHCOCK. 1879. 

Set to Music by A. j. abbey. 
Used by i>er. D. C. Cook. 



WHITE AS SNOW. 

1 " White as snow ! " Oh! what a promise 

For the heavy-laden breast, 
When by faith the soul receives it, 
Weariness is changed to rest. * 

2 " Red like crimson," deep as scarlet, 

Scarlet of the deepest dye, 
Are the manifold transgressions 
Which upon my conscience lie. 

3 God alone can count the number, 

God alone can look within ; 

Oh ! the sinfulness of sinning ; 

Oh ! the guilt of every sin. 

4 Heavy-laden, worn and weary, 

To the promise let me go : 
" Though your sins may be as scarlet, 
They shall be as white as snow." 

CATHARINE HANKBT' 

Set to Music by tvilliam johnson. 



THE CRY OF THE PENITENT. 

Tune— " Saviour, like a Shepherd lead us." 

1 Father, I have heard Thee calling 

In sweet accents, " Come to me ; " 
Very far away I've wandered, 
But I'm coming now to Thee. 
Chorus — Father, Father, I am coming, 

Nevermore from Thee to roam, 
While I hear Thy sweet voice calling, 
Father, I am coming home. 

2 Long Christ's spirit has been pleading 

At the throne of God for me, 
But I'm coming now, my Father, 
All unworthy though I be. 

3 In Thy loving-kindness, Father, 

All my trespasses forgive ; 
Jesus, who hath died for sinners, 
Teach, Oh ! teach me how to live. 

4 Oh ! my Father, all unworthy 

Am I of Thy tenderest love, 
By which Thou wouldst draw Thy children 
To the heavenly home above. 

ELIZA SHERMAN. 

Set to Music by w. i. hartshorn. 
From Sab. School Quarterly, p. C. Cook, 



PENITENCE. 

Tune — " Portugeuse Hymn." 

1 Listen, Oh ! listen, our Father all holy ! 

Humble and sorrowful, owning my sin, 
Hear me confess, in my penitence lowly, 
How in my weakness temptation came in. 

2 Pity me now, for, my Father, no sorrow 

Ever can be like the pain that I know, 
When I remember that all through to-morrow 
Missing the light of Thy love I may go. 

3 For Thy forgiveness, the gift I am seeking, 

Nothing, Oh ! nothing I offer to Thee ! 
Thou to my sinful and sad spirit speaking, 
Giving forgiveness giv'st all things to me. 

4 Keep me, my Father, Oh ! keep me from falling, 

I had not sinned had I felt Thou wert nigh ; 
Speak when the voice of the tempter is calling, 
So that temptation before Thee may fly. 

5 Tho'ts of my sin much more humble shall make me; 

For Thy forgiveness I'll love Thee the more : 
So keep me humble until Thou shalt take me 
Where sin and sorrow forever are o'er. 



DESIRES. 

1 More faith, dear Lord, more faith ! 

Take all these doubts away ; 
Oh ! let the simple words, ".He saith," 
Confirm my faith each day. 

2 More hope, dear Lord, more hope ! 

To conquer timid fear, 
To cheer life's path, as on I grope, 
Till heaven's own light appear. 

3 More love, dear Lord, more love ! 

Such as on earth was Thine ; 
All graces and all gifts above, 
Unselfish love be mine. 



'LORD, I BELIEVE, HELP THOU MINE 
UNBELIEF." 

1 Lord, I believe Thy gracious Word, 

Thy promise full of love I claim, 
And at Thy footstool bowing low, 
Adore Thy holy name. 

2 All, all I now resign to Thee, 

Oh ! make my life and soul all Thine, 
Me cleanse from every sin and stain, 
And save through grace Divine. 

3 Trusting-, I cast my hopes and fears 

On Thee, my Saviour and my King ; 
Believing, rest in sweet repose, 
While to Thy Cross I cling. 






WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



i Helpless and weak I come to Thee, 

Oh ! let me trust Thee more and more, 
Till I shall gain the perfect day, 
When doubts and cares are o'er. 

5 Thus firm in faith and hope and love, 
Let me still find in Thee relief ; 
Oh ! let me never doubt Thee more, 
Help Thou mine unbelief. 

MRS. LAURA PRICE. 

New Orleans "Christian Advocate," 1884. 



DO NOT PASS ME. 



1 Pass me not, O gentle Saviour, 

__ Hear my humble cry ; 
While on others Thou art smiling, 
Do not pass me by. 

2 Let me at Thy throne of mercy 

Find a sweet relief ; 
Kneeling there in deep contrition, 
Help my unbelief. 

3 Trusting only in Thy merit, 

Would I seek Thy face ; 
Heal my wounded, broken spirit, 
Save me by Thy grace. 

4 Thou the Spring of all my comfort, 

More than life to me, 
Whom on earth have I beside Thee, 
Whom in heaven but Thee ! 

MRS. F. C. TAN ALSTY1TB, 
Copyright, 1870, by W. H. Doane. Used by per. Biglow & Main. 



5 Oh ! change these wretched hearts of ours, 
And give them life divine ; 
Then shall our passions and our powers, 
Almighty Lord, be Thine. 



ANNE STEELE, 1760. 



PRAYER FOR FORGIVENESS. 

1 How oft, alas ! this wretched heart 

Has wandered from the Lord ! 
How oft my roving thoughts depart, 
Forgetful of His word ! 

2 Yet sovereign mercy calls — " Return ! " 

Dear Lord, and may I come ? 
My vile ingratitude I mourn : 
Oh ! take the wanderer home ! 

3 And canst Thou, — wilt Thou yet forgive, 

And bid my crimes remove ? 
And shall a pardoned rebel live 
To speak Thy wondrous love ? 

4 Almighty grace, Thy healing power, 

How glorious, how divine ! 
That can to life and bliss restore 
A heart so vile as mine. 

5 Thy pardoning love, so free, so sweet, 

Dear Saviour, I adore ; 
Oh ! keep me at Thy sacred feet, 
And let me rove no more ! 

ANNE STEELE. 



THE. PRODIGAL'S RETURN. 



PRAYER FOR PURITY. 

Romans viii: 8. 

1 How helpless guilty nature lies, 

Unconscious of its load ! 
The heart, unchanged, can never rise 
To happiness and God. 

2 Can aught, beneath a power divine, 

The stubborn will subdue ? 
'T is Thine, Almighty Spirit ! Thine 
To form the heart anew. 

3 'T is Thine the passions to recall, 

And upward bid them rise ; 
To make the scales of error fall 
From reason's darkened eyes ; 

4 To chase the shades of death away, 

And bid the sinner live ; 

A beam of heaven, a vital ray, 

'T is Thine alone to give. 



Tune- " Dundee." 

1 The prodigal, with streaming eyes, 

From folly just awake, 
Reviews his wanderings with surprise ; 
His heart begins to break. 

2 "I starve," he cries, "nor can I bear 

The famine in this land, 
While servants of my Father share 
The bounty of his hand. 

3 " With deep repentance I '11 return 

And seek my Father's face ; 
Unworthy to be called a son, 
I '11 ask a servant's place. 

4 Far off the Father saw him move, 

In pensive silence mourn, 
And quickly ran, with arms of love, 
To welcome his return. 

5 Through all the courts the tidings flew, 

And spread the joy around; 
The angels tuned their harps anew, — 
The long-lost son is found I 

MRS. LYDIA H. SIGOHKNET. 



GOSPEL TEMPERANCE. REPENTANCE. ACCEPTING CHRIST. 



525 



BRINGING ALL TO JESUS. 

1 I bring my sins to Thee, 

The sins I cannot count, 
That all may cleansed be 

In Thy new-opened Fount. 
I bring them, Saviour, all to Thee, 
The burden is too great for me. 

2 My heart to thee I bring, 

The heart I cannot read ; 
A faithless, wandering thing, 

An evil heart indeed. 
I bring it, Saviour, now to Thee, 
That fixed and faithful it may be. 

3 To Thee I bring my care, 

The care I cannot flee ; 

Thou wilt not only share, 

But bear it all for me.- 

loving Saviour, now to Thee 

I bring the load that wearies me. 

4 I bring my grief to Thee, 

The grief I cannot tell ; 
No words shall needed be, 
Thou knowest all so well. 

1 bring the sorrows laid on me, 

suffering Saviour, now to Thee. 

5 My joys to Thee I bring, 

The joys Thy love hath given, 
That each may be a wing 
To lift me nearer heaven ! 

1 bring them, Saviour, all to Thee, 
For Thou hast purchased all for me. 

6 My life I bring to Thee, 

I would not be my own ; 
O Saviour, let me be 

Thine ever, Thine alone. 
My heart, my life, my all I bring 
To Thee, my Saviour and my King ! 

FRANCES RIDLEY HAVEKGAL. 

HIS GRIEF. 

" And it grieved Him at His heart."— Gen. vi : 6. 

1 Does it grieve Thee, precious Saviour ? 

When I wilfully refuse 
All Thy love, so freely offered, 
In the gospel of " good news ? " 

2 Does it grieve Thee — art Thou saddened ? 

Can it be Thou carest so ? 
When, to quench my soul's great thirsting, 
I to " broken cisterns " go ? 

3 And when, in low and thrilling tones, 

I hear Thee whispering " come," 
Does it hurt Thee if I linger, 
Darkness drear to hasten from ? 

4 Yes, I know I wound Thee ever, 

By my folly, blindness, sin. 
And I know my soul is blackness 
Until Thou shalt enter in. 



AT THE DOOR. 

1 The mistakes of my life are many, 

The sins of my heart are more ; 
And I scarce can see for weeping, 
But 1 come to the open door. 

2 I am lowest of those who love Him, 

I am weakest of those who pray ; 
But I'm coming, as He has bidden, 
And He will not say me " Nay." 

3 My mistakes His love will cover, 

My sins He will wash away ; . 
And the feet that shrink and falter, 
Shall walk through the gates of day. 

4 If I turn not from His whisper, 

If I let not go His hand, 
I shall see Him in His beauty — 
The King in the far-off land. 

5 The mistakes of my life are many, 

And my soul is sick with sin ; 

And I scarce can see for weeping, 

But the Lord will let me in. 






UXA LOCKE BAILEY. 



SEEKING FOR REST. 

1 All weary with the cares of life, 

And sore distrest, 
Bending beneath thy daily toil, 

Seeking for rest, 
Open, my soul, to Him who fain 

Would be Thy guest. 

2 Ah ! He will bring thee calm relief 

From every pain ; 
He knows each grief — each sin He calls 

By its true name ; 
And He alone can point the path 

His peace to gain. 

3 And, ever thus, He waiteth now 

Thy friend to be, 
If thou but lift thy heart in faith, 

His face thou'lt see, 
Fuller of love than mother's smile 

E'er beamed on thee. 

MARY TOWNLEY. 1880. 



1 Tired, so tired of waiting 

For peace that still delays ; 
Tired, so tired of halting 

Between the two pathways, 
Tired, so tired, O Saviour ! 

Teach me to walk Thy ways. 

2 Tired, so tired of treading 

The dark, rough path of sin; 
Tired, so tired of having 

This restless heart within. 
Tired, so tired, O Saviour ! 

Thy peace I fain would win. 



526 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



3 Tired, so tired of wandering 
Hungry and faint and sore ; 

Tired, so tired of standing 
Outside the blessed door. 

Tired, so tired, O Saviour ! 
Keep me from straying more. 



ELLEN OLIVER. 

Troy, Penn. 1882. 



I'LL GO. 

1 Why perish with cold and with hunger ? 

There's plenty for all and to spare 

In the beautiful home of my Father, 

And a welcome awaiting me there. 

2 I'll go, and I'll say to my Father, 

" I've sinned against heaven and Thee ; 
I'm not worthy a place 'mong Thy children; 
Thy servant I gladly would be." 

3 My Father is waiting to greet me 

With tender and loving caress ; 
He will see me afar, and will meet me, 
Forgive, and restore me, and bless. 



Set to Music in " Song Herald.' 



MISS M. A. BAKER. 
PALMER, and used by per. 



COME. 

le unto me all ye that labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give 
you rest." - Matt, xi : 28. 

1 O word of words, the sweetest, 

O word, in which there lie 
All promise, all fulfillment, 

And end of mystery ; 
Lamenting, or rejoicing, 

With doubt or terror nigh, 
I hear the " Come " of Jesus, 

And to His cross I fly. x 

2 soul ! why shouldst thou wander 

From such a loving Friend? 
Cling closer, closer to Him, 

Stay with Him to the end. 
Alas ! I am so helpless, 

So very full of sin, 
For I am ever waud'ring, 

And coming back again. 

3 Oh ! each time draw me nearer, 

That soon the " Come " may be 
Naught but a gentle whisper, 

To one close, close to Thee ; 
Then, over sea and mountain, 

Far from, or near my home, 
I'll take Thy hand and follow, 

At that sweet whisper " Come ! " 

MRS. JAMES GIBSON JOHNSON. 

R t to Miisic by james m'oranaean. 



MAKE THY WILL MINE. 



1 Prince of peace ! control my will, 
Bid this struggling heart be still ; 
Bid my fears and doubtings cease, 
Hush my spirit into peace. 

2 Thou hast bought me with Thy blood, 
Opened wide the gates of God ; 
Peace I ask, but peace must be, 
Lord, in being one with Thee. 

3 May Thy will, not mine, be done ; 
May Thy will and mine be one ; 
Chase these doubtings from my heart, 
Now Thy perfect peace impart. 

4 Saviour, at Thy feet I fall, 
There my life, my God, my all ; 
Let Thy happy servant be 
One forevermore with Thee. 



MARY A. S. BARBER. 



YIELDED TO GOD. 



1 Yielded to God in body, soul and spirit, 

I rest upon His promised truth alone,— 
Promise that all things I shall yet inherit, 
My heart His altar consecrate, — His throne. 

2 Yielded to God ! and self no longer weareth 

The tyrant and usurper's regal crown ; 
He who my sorrow, sins and frailties beareth, 
Doth at His feet cast every idol down. 

3 Yielded to God ! No shaded chambers linger 

Where foul imaginings in ambush hide ; 
The light which entered with His cleansing finger 
Has brought His love forever to abide. 

4 Yielded to God ! For service, or for bearing 

What burden love upon my life may lay ; 
His cross, His toil, His hallowed tear-drops sharing, 
His cloud-wreathed path up to His perfect day. 

5 Yielded to God ! From mine own wisdom turning, 

His guidance sure my onward footstep leads 
In cloud by day, by night in fiery burning 
Across the desert sands, or o'er the meads. 

6 Yielded to God ! No care awaits the morrow, 

No sleepless nights, no toilsome days have I ; 
Need is supplied and sunshine kisses sorrow, 
As in His arms encircled safe I lie. 

7 Soul ! that in uncertainty and sighing 

Hast all thy pilgrim journey thus far trod, 
Peace, rest and constant joy await thee, lying 
Yielded and wholly yielded unto God. 

MARGARET E. WINSLOT*. 

Saugerties, N. Y. 1881. 



GOSPEL TEMPERANCE. REPENTANCE. ACCEPTING CHRIST. 

JESUS, I WILL TRUST THEE. 



327 



' I will trust in Thee." Psa. lv 
Tune—" Hermas" 



Music by FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL. 




Je- sus, 
Je -sus, 
Je - sus, 
Je -sus, 
Je-sus, .. 



will trust 
ma}' trust 
must trust 
can trust 
do trust 



Thee, trust Thee with my soul; Guilt - y, lost, and help 
Thee, name of match-less worth, Spoken by the an 
Thee, pon -der - ing Thy ways, Full of love and mer 
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less,Thou canst make nie 
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cy, all Thy earth - ly 
y I have nev - er 
eth, Thou wilt not cast 



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birth; 

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There is none in hea - ven or on earth like Thee: Thou hast died for sin - ners— therefore, Lord, for me. 
Writ - ten, and for - ev - er, on Thy cross of shame.Sin -ners read and wor-ship, trust-ing in Thy name. 
Sin -ners gath- ered round Thee, lep-ers sought Thy face; None too vile or loath-some for a Saviour's grace. 
When Thy Spir - it teach -eth, to my taste how' sweet -On - lv may I heark - en, sit - ting at Thy feet. 
Faith - ful is Thy prom - ise, precious is Thy blood— These my soul's sal - va - tion, Thou my Sav- iour God! 



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HYMN ANTHEM. I TRUST IN THEE. 



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WOMAN IN SACRED SONG, 
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o'er and o'er; At last convinced, to Thee I flee, My on - ly hope is trust in Thee. 




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GOSPEL TEMPERANCE. REPENTANCE. ACCEPTING CHRIST. 



529 



I give up all, for Thou hast died, No friend has lov'dme thus beside. Owning my sin, to Thee I flee, Have 



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o30 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



HYMN OF REJOICING. 



TRUST. 



1 Blessed be the Lord of nations, 

Strong to help and strong to shield. 
He hath heard our supplications, 
And to us His power revealed. 

2 In His care rejoicing ever, 

Love shall overcome all wrong; 
Peace will follow your endeavor, 
Holy lives will sweeten song. 

3 In His promises abiding, 

We may trust and fear no ill, 
All our interests confiding 

To the Love that guards us still. 

4 O Thou wanderer ! benighted, 

In the paths of sin astray, 
Look to where that love hath lighted 
Precious beacons for thy way. 

5 Blessed be the Lord forever ! 

Shout hosannas to His name ; 
Thrones may fall, and kingdoms sever, 
But His power is still the same. 

CAROLINE DANA HOWE. 

Portland. Maine. March, 1885. 



CHRIST HEALETH ME. 

' "Jesus Christ maketh thee whole."— Acts ix : 34. 

Tune— "Saviour, like a shepherd lead us." 

1 If Thou wilt, my loving Saviour, 

Thou canst heal me, this I know; 
Only touch me, I will trust Thee, 

Save me from my pain and woe. 
None can heal my sore affliction, 

Blessed Jesus, none but Thee, 
Humbly now I come before Thee, 

If Thou wilt, I shall be free. 

2 Unto Thee the power is given, 

Now, as in the olden time, 
To restore the weary sufferer, 

Raise him by Thy hand divine. 
When Thou wilt, will flee the darkness, 

Cease the foaming billows' roll ; 
If Thou wilt, will cease my anguish, 

Still the tempest in my soul. 

3 Of Thy power and mercy tender, 

Oft with gladness I have heard ; 
Now I come to claim the healing, 

Take Thee, Saviour, at Thy word. 
Ah, Thou wilt ; I own the blessing, 

Surely 'tis the Lord who heals ; 
Praises, praises for Thy goodness, 

For the joy Thy love reveals. 

MARIA STRAUB. 



By permission David C. Cook. 



1 Father, we know Thy tender hand 

Doth guard Thy children here : 
Then may we cast on Thee our care, 
And conquer every fear. 
Chorus — Give us, Lord, a perfect trust, 
Whatever life may be ; 
Safe 'neath the shadow of Thy wing, 
We'll trust our all to Thee. 

2 When in the ages of the past 

Thy people trusted Thee, 
Thou heardst their cry, and Thou alone 
Didst set the captive free. 

3 Oh ! then, when care and sorrow come, 

And death seems very near, 
Call thou with faith upon thy God, 
And He will surely hear. 

LANTA WILSON. 
By permission D. C. Cook. 1883. 



CHRISTIAN WARFARE. 

1 Alas ! what hourly dangers rise, 

What snares beset my way ; 
To heaven I fain would lift my eyes, 
And hourly watch and pray, 

2 O gracious God, in whom I live, 

My feeble efforts aid ; 
Help me to watch, and pray, and strive, 
Nor let me be dismayed. 

3 Do Thou increase my faith and hope, 

When fears and foes prevail; 

And bear my fainting spirit up, 

Or soon my strength will fail. 

4 Oh ! keep me in Thy heavenly way, 

And bid the tempter flee ; 

And never, never let me stray 

From happiness and Thee. 

ANNE STEELE. 



PERFECT TRUST. 

L. M. 

" Though he slay me, yet will I trust in Him." 

1 Trust Thee ! though all life's hopes Thou slay, 
I'll trust, I'll love Thee ! yea, alway ! 
Through storm and sunshine, sickness, health, 
In direst poverty or wealth. 

2 To whom else, Jesus, can I flee ? 
There is no peace except in Thee. 
All human help, like broken reed, 
Doth fail us in our greatest need. 



GOSPEL TEMPERANCE. COMING TO CHRIST. PERFECT TRUST. 



3 Looking to Thee from hour to hour, 
Endued with superhuman power, 
Mountains are levelled by the way, 
As we fight on from day to day. 

4 Armed with the panoply of prayer, 
What may we not, or do or dare ? 
The worst that life can offer me, 
Shall draw me closer unto Thee. 

5 As ocean to a shallow stream, 
Thine to all human love doth seem ; 
Thy love alone can satisfy, 
Possess me, Saviour, or I die. 

6 Encompassed, held, by love divine, 

" All things in heaven and earth are mine ; 
What more can death do unto me, 
Then draw me closer unto Thee ? 



GOD'S PROMISES. 



Tune — " happy day that fixed my choice." 

1 That He will always us befriend, 
His loving language doth portend ; 
Then, who can willingly mistrust 
The only faithful Friend and just ? 

2 His promises are ever sure, 

His love will to the end endure ; 
Though doubts distress, and fears assail, 
His gracious words will never fail. 

3 Where is the earthly friend who would 
Have patiently our sins withstood, — 
In all our own ungratefulness, 

With gentle arms again caress ? 

4 Not wholly pure can we e'er be ; 
While on the earth, His blood will free 
All earnest souls from sin and stain, 
Making them fit with Him to reign. 

5 If to His promises we cling, 

Safe refuge 'neath His sheltering wing 
Will He vouchsafe, our journey through. 
As we the rugged path pursue. 

6 Oh ! is it not well worth our while 
To teach our hearts to war with guile, 
That, when the joys of earth be past, 
Those greet us which forever last ? 

7 With graciousness He often pleads, 
Supplieth all our daily needs ; 

If then our conduct is amiss, 
He's not discouraged e'en at this ; 

8 But o'er and o'er extends His love, 
To draw our hearts to Him above ; 
Oh ! how can hearts such love refuse ? 
Such kind entreaties, too, abuse ? 



9 It is by cherishing their sin, 

Neglecting careful watch within, 
' Which makes all evil habits strong, 
So hard the strife to conquer wrong. 
10 Oh ! cause us, cause us, Saviour dear, 
Each faithful promise to revere ; 
Cause all Thy children grace to seek, 
To imitate Thy spirit meek. 

HAZEL WILDE. 1883. 



FAITH IN JESUS. 

Tune— "Memories of Earth." Gospel Hymns. 

1 When my faith lays hold of Jesus, 

With confiding trust in Him, 
He my groaning heart releases, 
From the guilt and power of sin. 

2 When my faith lays hold of Jesus, 

Waiting long with anxious fears, 
And my trembling soul approaches 
Calvary, He dries my tears. 

3 When my faith lays hold of Jesus, 

Then His righteousness is mine ; 
For He died the death to save us, 
Give us peace and life divine. 

4 Yes, when faith laid hold on Jesus, 

Then came with it life and joy, 
And the song of love He teaches 
Does my heart and tongue employ. 

5 As my heart lays hold of Jesus, 

I am justified by faith, 
For His blood awaits and cleanses, — 
Life springs freely from His death. 

KATE R. ODEN. 



THE NAME OF JESUS. 






1 O name of Jesus, blessed name ! 

Highest in earth or heaven, 
Foundation of our faith, for which 
No other name is given ; 

2 Name sung by saints and angel host 

In all the realms above, 
Prevailing plea of sinners lost, 
Blest synonym of love. 

3 Solace of every sorrowing soul ; 

Our refuge from despair ; 
Sure anchor when strong billows roll ; 
Our pledge of answered prayer. 

4 Unending praise to Him who came 

To save from guilt and fear • 
O Jesus, let no other name 
Be to our hearts so dear. 

LUELLA CLARK. 1881 



532 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

ALL WILL BE WELL. 



Mrs. MARY PETERS. Andover, Mass. 



Bass Solo. 



Mrs. C H. SCOTT. 



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1. Thro' the love of God our Saviour,All will be well ; Free and changeless is His fa- vor, All, all is well! 

2. Tko' we pass thro' trib-u - la-tion, All will be well; Ours is such a free sal-va-tion.All, all is well! 

3. We ex - pect a bright to-morrow, All will be well; Faith can sing thro' days of sorrow, All, all is well! 



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From " Royal Anthem Book," by per. 



OOSPEL TEMPERANCE. AFTER CONVERSION. 



533 



HE MAKETH ALL THINGS NEW. 

Old sorrows that sat at the heart's sealed gate, 

Like sentinels grim and sad, 
While, out in the night damp, weary and late, 
The King, with a gift divinely great, 

Waited to make me glad ; 
Old fears that hung like a changing cloud 

Over a sunless day ; 
Old burdens that kept the spirit bowed, 
Old wrongs that rankled and clamored loud — 

They have passed like a dream away. 
In the world without and the world within 

He maketh the old things new ; 
The touch of sorrow, the stain of sin, 
Have hed from the gate where the King came in, 

From the chill night's damp and dew. 
Anew in the heavens the sweet stars shine, 

On earth new blossoms spring ; 
The old life lost in the Life divine, 
" Thy will be mine, my will is Thine," 

Is the new song which the new hearts sing. 

MARY LOWE DICKINSON. 
New York, 1885. 



Pm $tnrae |. gabies 

was born in Athens, Bradford Co., Pa., Feb. 27, 1831, and in 1859 was 
married to Mr. A. O. Snell, in the same house where she first drew breath. 
Very early in life she gave her heart to the Saviour, and united with the 
Presbyterian Church. Naturally of a bright, sunny disposition, shesoon 
displayed poetical and musical talents, and from childhood, was wont to 
fill the air with song, composing both words and music as she went along, 
seemingly as readily as she breathed. Some of her hymns have been set 
to music by Mr. Bierly in "Great Joy," A ".Christmas Carol " is among 
her best gems of poetical expression. Her prose articles have also appeared 
in various papers and periodicals. When she married and left home, 
her father exclaimed, "The sunshine is gone away." 

SWEET INCENSE OF PRAYER. 

1 On the altar of love, 
Lit with fire from above, 

I will offer the incense of prayer ; 

To Jesus my King 

I'll my sacrifice bring, 
Ever trusting His mercy and care. 

2 For gleaming afar 

Is the bright Morning Star, 
Through the cloud-rifts it ever shines fair. 

In reverence sweet 

I fall at His feet, 
And offer the incense of prayer. 

3 Oh ! how holy the place 
Where we see Thy dear face, 

As we offer the incense of prayer ! 

Where His Spirit Divine 

Leaves its impress on mine, 
To be moulded alike in sweet prayer. 



4 In the darkness of grief 
I will find sweet relief, 

When I offer the incense of prayer ; 

With this blessing is given 

A foretaste of heaven, 
To feel the sweet spirit of prayer. 

5 Keep me ever, dear Lord I 
A child of Thy Word, 

Upheld by Thy wisdom and care. 
Each moment this theme 
To the Saviour supreme, 

Shall be the sweet incense of prayer. 



MBS. JENNIE F. 



Seven Oaks, 1884. 



itw. $mat\ HooMtara iafas, 



wife of Thomas E. Davies, Esq., of Athens, Penn., was one of the 
sweet spirits of earth. Her Gospel hymns are numerous, and some of 
them are set to music in " Great Joy " andother collections. As early as 
the age of three years, she evinced a deeply pious turn of mind. A little 
testament was given her, and every time she found the name Jesus, she 
would kiss it, for said she—" I love Jesus." 

In 1883 she died at the ripe old age of upwards of 80 years, leaving among 
her six daughters and one son, one gif t<»d in sacred song— Mrs. Jennie P. 
Snell, several of whose hymns appear in this volume. Her husband fol- 
lowed her to the better land in seven months after her demise. 



VICTORY. 

1 Be one with " Our Father " who loves you, 

Be one with the friends that you love ; 
Be one with Humanity 'round you, 
And one with the angels above. 

2 One fault at a time you must conquer, 

One by one your passions subdue, 
One by one weed out the old errors, 

One by one plant Truths that are " new." 

3 " The kingdom of heaven is within you," 

If the victory over self you have won ; 
While laboring in kindness for others, 
Your life-work is faithfully done. 

4 Then one with " Our Father " who loves you, 

Then one with the friends that you love ; 
And one with Humanity 'round you, 
And one with the angels above. 

MRS. THOS. R. DAVIES. 

Athens, Penn. , May, 1878. 

HEAR THE VOWS WE MAKE TO THEE 

Tune — "Greenville." 

1 Tell me, O ye gentle zephyrs, 

Sighing through the lonely vale, 
Tell me now where sleep the echoes 

Sounding once o'er hill and dale ; 
Voice of prayer, all music-laden, 

Childish laughter, gladsome tread; 
Hopes, fond hopes so rudely severed; 

All your bloom and beauty fled. 



534 



WOMAN JN SACRED SONG. 



2 Many are the sad hearts mourning 

For the erring ones to-night, 
Many are the hearth-stones lonely, 

In the shadow's misty light ; 
God in heaven, God our Father, 

Hear the vows we make to Thee, 
Ne'er to cease our cries and pleading 

Till our rum-cursed land is free. 

3 Free ! weeping wives and mothers ; 

Free ! ye children born to shame ; 
Free ! ye husbands, sons and brothers, 

From the tyrant's galling chains ; 
O ye winds and waves of ocean, 

Waft the tidings o'er the sea, 
God, our God has heard our pleading, 

All the world shall yet be free. 

HAITI E SHEPHERD, 1*84. 

THE DRUNKARD'S PRAYER. 

Tune — "A merica." 

1 My Saviour, if to Thee 
With all my strength I flee, 

Will danger die ? 
Thou didst for Peter pray, 
While fiends around his way 
Like vultures o'er their prey 

Exulting cry. 

2 Each day I seem beset 
With bristling bayonet, 

And strength is fled ; 
My foes without, within, 
Like giants armed to win, 
And goading on to sin, 

And hope is dead. 

3 O Christ ! O help divine ! 
Stronger than strength of wine, 

Help me to win ! 
To win my manhood back, 
Give all the force I lack 
To drive from off the track 

This vampire, Sin. 

4 And if this trembling form 
Can stand beyond the storm, 

Close by the throne, 
I'll sing of love divine, 
Stronger than love of wine, 
Which saved this soul of mine, 

By grace divine. 

MRS. H. A. DUBOIS, 188*. 

OH I SPEAK TO ME, DEAR JESUS. 
1 Oh ! speak to me, dear Jesus, 
This world is wide and cold, 
And something in its weary round 

Makes sad the heart and old ; 
Then speak to me, dear Jesus, 
Some tender word of Thine, 
Till all the soul within me, 
Leaps up with Life divine. 



2 Oh ! speak to me, dear Jesus, 

When wild temptations rise ; 
Tear from my heart each idle hope, 

These refuges of lies ; 
Build me upon Thee, Jesus, 

Lest slipping I should fall ; 
I shiver 'mid the darkness, 

Be Thou my all in all. 

3 Speak Thou to me, dear Jesus, 

As once, in olden times, 
Thou didst in lonely Patmos isle 

In visioned brightness shine 
Before the loved Apostle, 

Till all his sadness fled, 
As standing there in glory, 

In spirit he was led. 

4 Then whisper to me, Jesus, 

Deep, deep within my soul ; 
And thus, the actions visible, 

By hidden springs control. 
Each day must have an ending, 

Each day however long ; 
Time's notes e'en now are blending 

With heaven's eternal song. 

MRS. ,T. STREET, 

Set to Music by j. w pratt, 
In " Good Will. " Pub. by S. W. Straub. 

THE CHRISTIAN ARMOR. 

Dedicated to Mrs. Wm. H. Simmons, Homesvffle, N". Y. 
"Wherefore, take unto you the whole annor of God, that ye may be able to 
withstand in the evil day, and bavins; done all to stand."— Eph. vi : 13. 

1 Standing in the fiercest battle 

Girt with Truth, in God our trust, 
We shall never, never falter, 
For our God will fight for us. 
Chorus — Having on the Christian armor, 
Israel's God will fight for us. 

2 Righteousness shall be our breast-plate, 

Jewels, set with deeds of love ; 
Gleaming brighter, ever brighter, 
Till we reach the courts above. 
Chorus — Having on the Christian's armor, 
Israel's God will fight for us. 

3 Shield of Faith, to quench forever 

Fiery darts by Satan hurled ; 
Keep us, safely, blessed Saviour 
From the evil of the world. 
Chorus — Having on the Christian's armor, 
Israel's God will fight for us. 

4 Let the helmet of Salvation, 

Christ, the light, the living way, 
Guard us, guide us, and sustain us, 
While we watch, and wait, and pray. 
Chorus — Having on the Christian's armor 
.We can never go astray. 

MRS. JENNIE F. SNEIX. 
Milan, Feb. 3. 1879. 






OOSPEL TEMPERANCE. REPENTANCE. ACCEPTING CHRIST. 

HE HAS COME. 



'Rejoice greatly, daughter of Zion ; # # # behold, thy King cometh unto thee."— Zech 



535 



F. KNAPP. 




1. He has come! He has come! my Ee - deem- er has come, He has ta - ken my heart as His 

2. He has come! He has come! My.... Love and my Lord, Ev - 'ry tho't of my be -ing is 

3! He has come! He has come! O hap- pi- est heart, He has giv - en His word that He 

4. He has come to a - bide, and ho - ly must be The place where my Lord deigns to 




own chos-en home; At last I have giv - en the wel-come He sought,He has come and His coming all glad - ness has bro't. 
sway'd by His word; He has come! and He'rules in the realms of my soul, And His scep-ter is love, Oh! bless - ed con-trol. 
will not de-part; No trou - ble can en - ter, no e - vil can come, To the heart where the God of peace has His home, 
ban-quet with me; And this is my pray - er,Lord,since Thou art come,Make meet for Thy presence my heart as Thy home. 




Joy! joy is mine, My Sav - iour di-vine 



Comes to a - bide with me, with me ; 




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Copyrighted, 1882, by . 

THE NINETY AND NINE. 

" Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost."— 

1 There were ninety and nine that safely lay 

In the shelter of the fold, 
But one was out on the hills away, 

Far off from the gates of gold — 
Away on the mountains wild and bare, 
Away from the tender Shepherd's care. 

2 " Lord, thou hast here thy ninety and nine : 

Are they not enough for Thee ? " 
But the Shepherd made answer : This of mine 

Has wandered away from me : 
And although the road be rough and steep 
I go to the desert to find my sheep." 



1 F. Knapp. By per. 

3 But none of the ransomed ever knew 

How deep were the waters crossed ; 
Nor how dark was the night that the Lord passed 
through 

Ere He found His sheep that was lost ; 
Out in the desert He heard its cry — 
'Twas helpless and sick, and ready to die. 

4 But all through the mountains, thunder-riven, 

And up from the rocky steep, 
There rose a cry to the gate of heaven, 

" Rejoice ! I have found my sheep ! " 
And the angels echoed around the throne, 
" Rejoice, for the Lord brings back His own ! " 



Set to Music by Ira D. Panfcey. 



536 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



I'VE A JOY IN MY HEART. 




1. I've a joy in 

2. A dear, gen 

3. There's a foun-tain 

4. Oh! touched be 

-m- 



my heart that I'm long - ing to tell, For a spir - it of Ibeau - ty has 

tie stran-ger once knocked at my door, I had heard of His mer - cy tul 

of love S-pened clear as the day, In the depths of my bo - som smc 

I may re-peat This mer - cy so bound-less, so 

.*-* ^---h* — m . *r - *-*-* 




come there to dwell; 'Tis 
oft - en be - fore; But 
He came to stay; And 
cious, so sweet; And 



Jf rap - lure I feel, as I know day by day, That 

a cold, stub-born heart had re - ject - ed the call, But 

it bright - ens and deep - ens the Ion - ger the flow. Oh 

down to the dim, qui- et eve - mng of days, 1 will 

_- — -— — ~ *^-* — * m-^-m—m^ <*■ 




Je -sus hasta - ken my sins all a - way. There s a joy 

now He's my Sav - iour,my Mas - ter, my all. 

would that all peo - pie this heal - ing might know. 

ut - ter Thy love to the world in sweet praise. 



in my heart, 



That I 



There's a joy 



in my heart, 




V *— \ 

not con - ceal 



1 r 

the bliss that I feel, 

By per. Messrs. J. Church & Co. Cincinnati. 



GOSPEL TEMPERANCE. AFTER CONVERSION. 



537 



ANGELS ROLLED THE STONE AWAY. 

Tune — "Lyons." 

1 We're happy, dear Saviour, and shall we not sing 
A song of thanksgiving to Jesus our King ? 

We sought for His presence through sorrow's dark 

way, 

And angels of glory the stone rolled away. 

Chorus — We're happy in Jesus, we're happy to-day, 

For angels of glory the stone rolled away. 

We're happy in Jesus, we're happy to-day, 

For angels of glory the stone rolled away. 

2 The grave could not hold Him ; on pinions of love 
The .bright seraphs bore Him in triumph above; 

A conquering Saviour, heaven crowned Him that 

day, 
For angels of glory the stone rolled away. 

3 Rejoicing in Jesus our union is sweet ; 

As heirs of His kingdom each other we greet. 
Together we love Him, together we pray, 
For angels of glory the stone rolled away. 

4 We'll sing of salvation through Jesus the Lamb, 
Till we on Mount Zion before Him shall stand ; 
Forever with Jesus, forever to stay, 

For angels of glory the stone rolled away. 

MRS. LYDIA BAXTER. 1863. 

get to Music by w. H. doanx. 

By per. Biglow & Main. 

ACCEPTED. 

1 Accepted, Perfect and Complete, 
For God's inheritance made meet ! 
How true, how glorious, and how sweet! 

2 In the Beloved, by the King 
Accepted, though not anything 
But forfeit lives had we to bring. 

3 And Perfect in Christ Jesus made, 
On Him our great transgression laid, 
We in His righteousness arrayed. 

4 Complete in Him, our glorious Head, 
With Jesus raised from the dead, 
And by His mighty spirit led. 

5 O blessed Lord, is this for me ? 
Then let my whole life henceforth be 
One Alleluia song to Thee ! 

FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL. 

THE SONG MESSAGE. 

1 Sing it out ! sing it out ! with a shout ! 
The Lord is upon our side, 

Send it forth on the air, 
Breathe it low as a prayer — 
That Jesus, the Saviour, has died. 

2 Sing it out ! sing it out ! that to-day 
As Redeemer and Helper He lives : 

That all sin with its stain, 
And all grief with its pain, 
Are slain by the power which He gives. 



3 Sing it low, in a hymn to the heart, 
That the Saviour forever is nigh ; 

That He stands at the side 
Of the sinful and tried, 
And waits for the penitent's cry. 

4 Sing it softly at eve to the soul 
That is seeking and longing for rest — 

How that Christ will abide 
Through the storm and the tide, 
Till the heart with His peace shall be blest. 

5 Sing it gladly and freely to all, 
That Jesus is waiting to save — 

That the sinful and lost 
Have been bought at the cost 
Of His blood, which has vanquished the grave. 

6 Sing it out ! sing it out with a shout ! 
That the Word of our God is true ! 

That Christ is the way 
Leading into the Day 
When the old shall be lost in the new. 



SATISFIED. 

Psalms xxxvi : 38. 

1 All my life long I had panted 

For a draught from some cool spring, 
That I hoped would quench the burning 
Of the thirst I felt within. 
Cho. — Hallelujah ! I have found it — 

What my soul so long has craved ! 

Jesus satisfies my longings ; 

Through His blood I now am saved. 

2 Feeding on the husks around me, 
Till my strength was almost gone, 
Longed my soul for something better, 
Only still to hunger on. 

3 Poor I was, and sought for riches, 
Something that would satisfy, 
But the dust I gathered round me 
Only mocked my soul's sad cry. 

4 Well of water, ever springing, 
Bread of life so rich and free, 
Untold wealth that never faileth, 
My Redeemer is to me. 

MISS CLARA TEARE. 
Set to Music by R. E. HUDSON. 

ALL TO CHRIST I OWE. 

" Who His own self bare our sins."— I Peter ii : 24. 

1 I hear the Saviour say, 

Thy strength indeed is small ; 
Child of weakness, watch and pray, 
Find in Me thine all in all. 
Chorus — Jesus paid it all, 

All to Him I owe ; 

Sin had left a crimson stain : 

He washed it white as snow. 



538 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



2 Lord, now indeed I find 

Thy power, and Thine alone, 
Can change the leper's spots, 
And melt the heart of stone. 

3 For nothing good have I 

Whereby Thy grace to claim — 
I'll wash my garments white 
In the blood of Calvary's Lamb. 

4 When from my dying bed 

My ransomed soul shall rise, 
Then "Jesus paid it all " 
Shall rend the vaulted skies. 

5 And when before the throne 

I stand in Him complete, 
I'll lay my trophies down, 
All down at Jesus' feet. 



LOST BUT FOUND. 



" Was lost and is found."— Luke sv : 32. , 

1 Oh ! the joy that fills my heart ! 
Oh ! the grateful tears that start, 
When I think of Jesus' love, 
How He came that He might bear 
All my weight of sin and care, 
How He came from heaven above. 

Cho. — Endless praise, endless praise 

To the Lord my soul shall raise ; 
Lost but found, O happy strain l 
Dead but now I live again. 

2 Lost but found, oh ! wondrous thought ! 
To His fold in mercy brought ; 

Saved by grace, His grace divine ; 
Heir with Him of bliss untold, 
Soon His glory I'll behold, 
What a blessed hope is mine. 

3 Lost but found ! I now can sing 
Victory through my Saviour King, 
Victory every day and hour ; 
Victory still will be my song 
When I join the ransomed throng, 
Victory o'er the tempter's power. 

4 Oh ! that all the world would prove 
How a pardoning God can love, 
How He waits for all who come ! 
Oh ! that all the world might see 
What His grace hath done for me ! 
How He welcomes wanderers home. 

FANNY J. CROSBY. 
Set to Music by JNO. K. sweeny, hi "Quirer." 



It said that Susan Ojolidge, whose real name is Miss Woolsey, has 
never had a manuscript returned to her. All are accepted by the pub- 
lishers to whom they are sent. 



ARISE, SHINE, FOR THY LIGHT HAS COME. 

Tune- "Arise and Shine." (Gospel Hymns.) 

1 Long time in sloth, long time in sin, 

Contented with thy dark estate, 
Hast thou a boat, O soul of mine ; 
Now dawns the morning, fair though late ; 

Her sunny tides are sweeping in ; 
Thy light has come, arise and shine ! 

2 The sheathed bud which all night long 

Has folded close its purple up 
Upon the morning-glory vine, 
At the first rose-flush, the first song, 
Unrolls its petals, rears its cup, 

And, light being come, makes haste to shine 

3 It cannot clasp the whole bright day, 

Nor the wide-brimming sea of dew 
Within its curve exact and fine ; 
Of countless beams a single ray, 

One little freshening sip or two 
It takes, and so is glad to shine. 

4 Make ready likewise, O my soul, 

God's blessed day has dawned, partake ! 

Anoint thy head with oil and wine ; 
From the great sum, the mighty whole, 
Thy little crumb and portion break, 

And, giving thanks, arise and shine ! 

SUSAN COOLIDGE. 1883, 



VIA CRUCIS. 



Without, life's shadows darkly fall, 

Gloomy, and gray, and chill : 
Within, the air is all aglow — 
Within, my spirit's ill 
Is healed by Holy will : 
Without, I ne'er could find a balm 

To heal the wounds it bears ; 
Within a Heavenly strength and calm 
Heals all my grief and fears. 

And yet I know that praise and prayer 

Are not the whole of life : 
The soul must gird its armor on 
And go amid the strife 
With fiery dangers rife ; 
Be strong to meet life's common fate 

Of sorrow, pain and loss ; 
Must fight its way to Heaven's gate, 
A soldier of the Cross. 

MRS. E. S. EATON LOOMIS. 
In the "Weekly Magazine," Chicago, 111. 1884. 



GOSPEL TEMPERANCE. AFTER CONVERSION. 



539 



O CHRISTIAN, AWAKE. 

"Stand therefore, having your loins girt about with truth, and having 

the breastplate of righteousness." 

Tune— "Lyons " or " Some, Sweet, Home." 

Christian, awake ! for the strife is at hand, 
With helmet and shield, and a sword in thy haDd ; 
To meet the bold tempter, so fearlessly go ! 

And stand like a brave with thy face to the foe. 
' Whatever thy danger, take heed and beware ; 

And turn not thy back, for no armor is there ; 

The legions of darkness, if thou wouklst overthrow, 

Then stand like the brave with thy face to the foe. 
! The cause of thy Master with vigor defend, 

Be watchful, be zealous, and fight to the end ; 

Wherever He leads thee, go, valiantly go, 

And stand like the brave with thy face to the foe. 
: Press on never doubting, thy Captain is near, 

With grace to supply, and with comfort to cheer ; 

His love, like a stream, in the desert will flow. 

Then stand like a brave with thy face to the foe. 

FANNY CROSBY. 

From " Singing Pilgrim" by per. Philip Phillips, 
Set to Music by him. 

GOD OF MERCY. 

" Out of the depths have I cried unto Thee, O Lord." 
Tune— "Martin." 

1 From the depths, O God of mercy ! 

Up to Thee I sent my cry ; 
Thou didst bend Thine ear in pity, 

Thou didst hear me from on high. 
Through the awful shade of darkness, 

Circling round Thy matchless form, 
Thou didst make the wind to guide me, 

Thou didst ride upon the storm, 

2 From the depths Thy hand hath brought me 

To a bright and living way ; 
Crowned my head with richest blessing, 

Turned my darkness into day. 
Safely on the " Rock of Ages," 

Still to Thee my voice I '11 raise ; 
Thou didst give me joy for sadness, 

And for mourning songs of praise. 

FANNY CROSBY. 
From '■ Singing Pilgrim." Set to Music by Philip philips. 
By per. 

FIGHT THE GOOD FIGHT. 
1 Fight the good fight, Christian soldier, 
'Gainst hatred, oppression and wrong; 
With faith for a shield and a breast-plate, 
Go forth in God's might and be strong. 
Go forth at the first call of battle ; 

Meet bravely the giant of sin ; 
But not in thine own strength or valor, 
For faith, and faith only can win. 
Chorus — Fight the good fight, Christian soldier ; 
The foe hath come forth in his might ; 
But thine is the sword of the Spirit ; 
Go bravely and strive for the right. 



2 Fight the good fight, Christian soldier; 

Enlist in God's army for life ; 
And under God's loving protection, 

Like David, go forth to the strife ; 
And He who hath called thee to battle 

Will strengthen thy hand for the fray ; 
For wrong by the right must be conquered— 

The spirit of truth win the day. 

3 Victory is thine, Christian soldier, 

If thou but endure to the end ; 
For God will direct thee and keep thee, 

His angels thy steps will attend ; 
And ujj in the glory eternal, 

Beyond heaven's pearly white gates, 
Where dwelleth thy King and Commander, 

Thy crown of rejoicing awaits. 

MISS m. e. servoss. 

From " Crowning Triumph," 

By per. F. A. North & Co. 



THREE TIMES THE SAME WORDS, 



Too weak, I cried, am I to bear life's pain ! 

Its troubled waters so against me beat, 

With refluent, maddened waves, I feel my feet 

Lose hold of Faith's firm rock ; useless again 

To struggle, crying forth to God, " Sustain ! " 

It is a breath-worn cry, and is it meet 

To mock His patience ? Wherefore now entreat 

New strength, as surely to be spent in vain 

As that last given ? But to my failing heart 

Sounded a sweet voice, with instrength'ning thrill: 

" Knowest thou not what conflict was thy Lord's ? 

He in thine every struggle hath borne part ; 

Though oft thou fall, He will uphold thee still. 

Lo ! three times prayed He, saying the same words. 1 



SUSAN C. STAKRETT. 

In "The Independent," 



OH! SAY, SHALL WE MEET YOU 
THERE? 



ALL 



Where do you journey, my brother, 

Oh ! where do you journey, I pray ? 
Where do you journey, my sister ? 

For stormy and dark is the way. 
We're journeying onward to Canaan, 

Through suff 'ring, and trial and care, 
And when we get safely to glory, 

Oh ! say, shall we meet you all there ? 



540 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



What is your mission, my brother ? 

What is your mission below ? 
What is your mission, my sister, 

As journeying onward you go ? 
Our mission is practicing mercy, 

Sweet charity, patience and love, 
And following the footsteps of Jesus, 

That lead to the mansions above. 
Oh ! yes, you will meet us, my brother, 

God helping our weakness and sin ; 
Bearing the cross, we, my sister, 

The crown will endeavor to win. 
We'll walk through the vale and the shadow, 

Through suff 'rings, and trials and care, 
And when you get safely to glory, 

You'll meet, yes, you'll meet us all there ! 

MINNIE WATERS, 1863. 

Set to Music by silas j. vail. 
Used by per. Philip Phillips. 

TRUE SERVICE. 



kte me, O thou great Jehovah." 

1 Whatsoever be our danger. 

Still to God we must be true : 
We must brave the rage of rulers, 

If the Master's work we do. 
"Faithful unto death," be bids us, 

Promises the crown of life 
If we waver not, nor fail Him, 

In the fierce and bitter strife. 

2 Steadfast must we be as Stephen, 

Speaking truth unto the death ; 
And like him with pure forgiving 

Pray for foes with wasting breath. 
Suff 'ring pain and condemnation, 

Without murmuring or moan, 
Keeping bright, through persecution, 

Visions of the heavenly throne. 

3 May we not be found consenting, 

Like impetuous, erring Saul, 
When the world condemns the righteous, 

For their faith and zeal to fall ? 
Give us, Saviour, strength and courage, 

Through all ills, thy law to keep ; 
And may we, when life is ending, 

In thy service fall asleep. 

ELLEN OLIVER. 

By per. D. C. Cook. 

'TIS JESUS, ONLY JESUS. 

Tune— "Ho, reapers of Life's Harvest." 

1 Not for its walls of jasper, 

Nor for its golden street, 
Nor for its pearly gateways, 

Is heaven to me so sweet ; 
Nor for its garnished towers, 

Its cle_ar and crystal sea, 
Nor for its sure foundations, 

Is it so dear to me. 



Chorus — 'T is Jesus, only Jesus, 

O purest, sweetest bliss 
We then shall look on 
And see Him as He is. 

2 Within the holy city, 

There's never any night ; 
No need of sun or candle, 

For Jesus is its light. 
Then with His saved and ransomed, 

He'll make His own abode, 
And we will be His people, 

And He will be our God. 

3 And naught impure can enter, 

Nothing defiled therein ; 
Nothing that leads to folly, 

Nothing that tempts to sin. 
O pure and holy city, 

Abode of Christ my Lord, 
This is the strong attraction 

That draws me thitherward. 

ANNIE CUMMINGS, 

Set to Music by j. m. stiixman, in D. C. Cook's "Manual." 



THE CROWN OF GLORY. 



"Ye shall receive a crown of glory." -I Pet. v : 4. 

C. M. 

Tune — " Christmas," 

1 Go forth ! young soldiers of the cross, the battle-hour 

is nigh, 
And ye have bound the armor on, for Christ to live> 

or die ; 
Our bugle ne'er shall sound retreat, while Jesus leads 

us on, 
We will not lay our weapons by, until we wear the 

crown. 

2 Be watchful ! army of the cross, the foe is lurking 

nigh; 
A soul must be the mighty loss, if but one soldier die ; 
Whene'er you dare the hostile ranks, forget not that 

within 
There hides a most terrific foe, the wily inbred sin. 

3 Rejoice ! young soldiers of the cross, the victory is 

sure ; 
The harp, the palm, are waiting all who to the end 

endure ; 
Your weary feet shall walk the street, all paved with 

gold on high, 
And He who wore a crown of thorns will crown you 

in the sky. 

MRS. E. M. SANGSTER. 
Copyright, 1862, in " Golden Shore." Used by per. Biglow k Main. 



GOSPEL TEMPERANCE. AFTER CONVERSION. 



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GOSPEL TEMPERANCE. AFTER CONVERSION. 



543 



THE CROSS-BEARER. 



1 When I set out to follow Jesus, 

My Lord a cross held out to me, 
Which I must take, and bear it onward, 

If I would His disciple be. 
I turned my head another way, 
And said, Not this, my Lord, I pray ! 

2 Yet, as I could not quite refuse Him, 

I sought out many another kind, 
And tried among those painted crosses 

The smallest of them all to find. 
But still the Lord held forth my own ; 
This must thou bear, and this alone. 

3 Unheeding then my dear Lord's offer 

My burdens all on Him to lay, 
I tried myself my cross to lighten, 

By cutting part of it away. 
And still the more I tried to do, 
The rest of it more heavy grew. 

4 Well, if I cannot go without it, 

I'll make of it the most I may ; 
And so I held my cross uplifted, 

In sight of all who came that way. 
Alas ! my pride found bitterly, 
My cross looked small to all but me ! 

5 And then I was ashamed to bear it, 

Where others walked so free and light, 
And trailed it in the dust behind me, 

And tried to keep it out of sight, 
Till Jesus said, Art thou indeed 
Ashamed to follow as I lead ? 

6 No ! no ! Why this shall be my glory — 

All other things I'll count but loss ; ■ 
And so I even fashioned garlands, 

And hung them round about my cross. 
Ah, foolish one ! such works are dead, 
Bear it for me, the Master said. 

7 And still I was not prompt to mind Him, 

But let my self-will choose the way ; 
And sought me out new forms of service, 

And would do all things but obey. 
My Lord ! I bless Thee for the pain 
That drove my heart to Thee again. 

8 I bore it then, with Him before me, 

Right onward through the day's white heat ; 
Till with the toil and pain o'ermastered, 

I fainting fell down at His feet. 
But for His matchless care that day, 
I should have perished where I lay. 

9 But Oh! I grew so very weary 

When life and sense crept back once more ! 
The whole horizon hung with darkness, 

And grief where joy had been before ; 
Better to die, I said, and rest, 
Than live with such a burden pressed. 



10 Then Jesus spoke : Bring here thy burden, 

And find in me a full release ; 
■Bring all thy sorrows, all thy longings, 

And take instead My perfect peace. 
Trying to bear thy cross alone ! 
Child, the mistake is all thine own. 

11 And now my cross is all supported, — 

Part on my Lord, and part on me : 
But as He is so much the stronger, 

He seems to bear it — I go free. 
I touch its weight just here and here, — 
Weight that would crush were He not near. 

12 Or if at times it seemeth heavy, 

And if I droop along the road, 
The Master lays His own sweet promise 

Between my shoulder and the load : 
Bidding my heart look up, not down, 
Till the cross fades before the crown. 

Author of "Wide, Wide World," sister < 

RECEIVE ME TO GLORY. 

1 Receive me to glory ! 

That beautiful land ! 
Shall I in that kingdom 

All glorified stand, 
And sing with the ransomed 

At Jesus' right hand ! 

2 Receive me to glory ! 

No angel can know 
The height of my rapture 

As onward I go, 
Redeemed for His kingdom ! 

Washed whiter than snow! 

3 Reeeive me to glory ! 

beautiful thought ! 
The blessed redemption 

That Jesus hath wrought 
To glory, bright glory, 

My soul shall be brought. 

4 Receive me to glory ! 

Jesus, my Lord, 

I cling to Thy promise, 

1 trust in Thy word. 
On earth and in heaven 

Thy name be adored. 

MRS. F. A. V. WOOD-WHITE. NoT, 21, 1875. 

AT EVENTIDE. 

L. M. 

1 My flesh is weary ; but the way 

Lies nearer to the vales of rest, 
And slowly, slo*wly creeps the day 
Down to the threshold of the west. 

2 Dear Father ! if Thy love should send 

Some angel full of pity sweet 
To nerve me for the coming end, 
He'll track me by my bleeding feet. 



544 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



3 I think, Father ! though my sight 

Discern no sign of help around, 

Thou wilt not hold my striving light, 

Nor give me any needless wound. 

4 Thou wilt not blame the trusting heart 

That witless, blindly reaching out, 
No blossom from its thorn could part 

When thorns were set with flowers about. 

5 Thou'lt lead me from this evening land, 

And with a morning crown my night, 
What time my victor soul shall stand 
Erect, transfigured in Thy sight ! 

MRS. LAURA REDDEN SEARING. (HOWARD GLYNDON.J By per. 

From "Sweet Bells Jangled." 



SONG OF THE CONVERTED 
BLUE RIBBON ARMY. 

Tune— "Battle Hymn of the Republic." 

1 We are here a band of pilgrims marching on to heaven 

above, 
'Neath the broad and starry banner of a Saviour's 

deathless love ; 
We have joined Immanuel's army, and from Him 
we'll never rove, 

With hope we're marching on ! 
Cho. — Glory, glory hallelujah ! 
Glory, glory hallelujah ! 
In hope we're marching on. 

2 O Thou Christ, our blest Redeemer ! Thou the risen 

crucified ! 
Who once, in meek humility, didst on earth in flesh 

abide ! 
From tempting sin to save us, keep us ever near Thy 
side, 

As we go marching on. 
Cho. — Glory, glory hallelujah ! 
Glory, glory hallelujah ! 
In meekness marching on. 

3 With the helmet of salvation, may our heads be ever 

crowned, 
And the shield of faith encompass every waiting heart 

around ; 
Feet white-sandalled with the Gospel, thus equipped, 
may we be found ; 

As we go marching on. 
Cho. — Glory, glory hallelujah ! 
Glory, glory hallelujah ! 
In faith we're marching on ! 

4 Lead us on to bloodless vict'ry, over sin and every 

snare, 
By the cross and love-starred banner, by the might 
of fervent prayer ; 



Till we reach the land of promise, till our feet shall 
enter there, 

With courage marching on. 
Cho. — Glory, glory hallelujah ! 
Glory, glory hallelujah ! 
With courage marching on ! 

5 Shed abroad Thy holy Spirit, O Thou blessed Prince 
of Peace! 
Bidding man's wild warring passions and his deadly 

hatred cease ; 
So may all the tender virtues and sweet charities in. 
crease, 

And joy go marching on. 

Cho. — Glory, glory hallelujah ! 
Glory, glory hallelujah ! 
With joy we're marching on ! 

5 Speed the day, we pray, good Father, when the na- 
tions of the world 
Nevermore in shock of battle shall each to each be' 

hurled ; 
When the olive branch shall flourish, and the flag of 
war be furled, 

And love go marching on. 

Cho. — Glory, glory hallelujah ! 
Glory, glory hallelujah ! 
With love we're marching on ! 

MARY C. WEBSTER. 

Rocky Hill, Conn. 1884. 



MY CUP RUNNETH OVER. 



FOR A READING. 

Wherefore drink with me, friends ! It is no draught 
Of red intoxication ; at its brim 
No vine-wreathed head of Bacchus ever laughed — 
This pilgrim-cup of mine, now worn and dim 
With time's rough usage ; no bright bubbles swim, 
Or foam beads sparkling over. Have ye quaffed 
The waters clear that through green pastures glide, 
Where they who love the Shepherd follow Him ? 
Brimmed with His peace, my soul is satisfied ; 
Cooler are my feverish fancies, calmed the stir 
Of dreams whose end was only bitterness. 
Healed at this fount our inmost ail would be. 
Did we but health above disease prefer. 
My cup is filled at wells whose blessedness 
A world's thirst cannot drain. Friends, drink with me. 



GOSPEL TEMPERANCE. AFTER CONVERSION JESUS OUR REFUGE AND DEFENCE. 



545 



ONWARD. 



BELLE MONTICELLO. 

Con anima. 



Psa. xxvi: 1— 6; xxviii : 7. 



Mrs. S. W. SPENCEK. 




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546 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



THE SHADOW OF THE ALMIGHTY. 

"Because Thou Lord, hast been my help, therefore in the shadow i 
Thy wings will I rejoice." Ps. lxiii : 7. 

Tune— "Manoah". 

1 Because Thou, Lord, hast been my help, 

I wiil rejoice and sing ; 
Retreating to my refuge sweet — 
The shadow of Thy wing. 

2 How safe I am from Satan's power ; 

He cannot here alarm ; 
And if he hurl his fiery dart, 
Thy wing protects from harm. 

3 When weary in the way, dear Lord, . 

I here refreshment find, 
Thy word my shield and buckler is, 
Yea, rest for heart and mind. 

4 Here would I ever sing Thy praise 

With all my heart and voice, 
And though the fiery trial glow, 
I can — I do rejoice. 

5 I would abide while life shall last 

Beneath Thy wings, my Lord, 
And trust in Thy Almighty grace 
This " covert " doth afford. 

6 And when I come where death's low vale 

Its shadow o'er me flings, 
'T will be the shadow to me dear, 
" The shadow of Thy wings." 

ELIZEBETH C. GREEN. 

Brooklyn N, Y. 1881. Born in Foxboro, Mass. 

June 20th 1824. 



PRAY WITHOUT CEASING.* 

" The Angel of the Lord encampeth around about them that fear ] 
Ps. xxxiv : 8. 
Tune -"Contrition." 

1 Praying, always praying, 

Father, I should be, 
Drawing daily, hourly, 

Needful strength from Thee, 
Holy Father, help me 
Ev'ry task to greet. 
Safely from all danger 
Guide my wand'ring feet, 
Chorus — Praying, always praying, 
Humble though I be ; 
Even while I'm calling, 
Thou dost answer me. 

2 Praying, always praying ; 

There are darksome ways, 
Where a tempted brother 

Sometimes thoughtless strays ; 
I would come then quickly, 

And with trust complete 
Lay his cause before Thee, 

At Thy mercy-seat. 

* Miss Barnett i 
ference as long ago as 1814. 
Danville. 111. 



Praying, always praying. 

'T is no matter where : 
Thou, O God, wilt meet 

Thou art ev'rywhere. 
I can never wander 

From Thy watchful eye 
Thou wilt ever hear me 

When to Thee I cry. 



MATTIE PEARSON SMITH. 



Irs. S. & Wnx 



Who has written so acceptably for more than twenty years, lost her 
husband Ellis IT. Kidder in the service of his country, during the late 
civil war. She resides in New York, and still writes many beautiful 
hymns that are doubtless productive of much good. 

DID YOU THINK TO PRAY?. 

1 Ere you left your room this morning 

Did you think to pray ? 
In the name of Christ, our Saviour, 
Did you sue for loving favor, 

As a shield to-day ? 

2 When you met with great temptation 

Did you think to pray ? 
By His dying love and merit, 
Did you claim the Holy Spirit 

As your guide and stay ? 

3 When your heart was fill'd with anger, 

Did you think to pray ? 
Did you plead for grace, my brother, 
That you might forgive another 

Who had crossed your way ? 

4 When sore trials came upon you, 

Did you think to pray ? 
When your soul was bowed in sorrow, 
Balm of Gilead did you borrow 

At the gates of day ? 



A PRAYER. 

Tune— "Martyn," or "Refuge." 

1 Jesus, when my barque is sailing 

Lightly o'er the sea of life, 
When the joyous is prevailing 

Of life's mingled joy and strife ; 
Let me, faithful to my mission, 

Still pursue the heavenward way, 
Till I reach its full fruition, 

'Mid the port of endless day. 
1 Jesus, when the storm-cloud, pending, 

Spreads afar in sullen gloom, 
When the joys that seemed unending 

Find, alas ! an early tomb : 
Let my sad heart fondly cherish 

Hopes of joys that ne'er shall end ; 
And, though earthly friendships perish, 

Be Thou my eternal Friend. 









^ 



GOSPEL TEMPERANCE. AFTER CONVERSION. JESUS OUR REFUGE AND DEFENCE. 



547 



NEED OF JESUS. 



1 I could not do without Thee, 

Saviour of the lost, 

"Whose precious blood redeemed mi 
At such tremendous cost. 

Thy righteousness, Thy pardon, 
Thy precious blood must be 

My only hope and comfort, 
My glory and my plea. 

2 I could not do without Thee, 

1 cannot stand alone ; 

I have no strength or goodness, 
JNo wisaom ot my own. 

But Thou, beloved Saviour, 
Art all in all to me ; 

And weakness will be power, 
If leaning hard on Thee. 

3 I could not do without Thee ; 

For Oh ! the way is long, 
And I am often weary, 

And sigh replaces song. 
How could I do without Thee ? 

I do not know the way ; 
Thou knowest and Thou leadest, 

And wilt not let me stray. 

4 I could not do without Thee ; 

For years are fleeting fast, 
And soon, in solemn loneliness, 

The river must be passed. 
But Thou wilt never leave me ; 

And though the waves roll high, 
I know Thou wilt be near me, 

And whisper, " It is I." 



(The day that the mother of Mrs. Howe was borne to her last 
resting place, she (Mrs. H.) took up the well-worn Bible the dear old 
lady had loved so much, and studied so faithfully, to see if some word 
of comfort in her loneliness could not be found, —some word of life to 
help her to live. It opened at the fiftieth Psalm. The fifteenth verse 
was marked with a cross— "Call upon me in the day of trouble." It was 
the only verse marked anywhere, and was as if she had spoken to her 
bereaved daughter, who now felt calmed and comforted. That indeii- 
cal cross, intensified the promise, and pointed deeper meaning for her. 
Out of this episode grew the following tender song, which has a sacred- 
ness to the author that no other of her compositions can claim.) 



IN THE DAY OF TROUBLE. 

1 Call upon me, saith the Lord, 

In the clay of trouble, call ; 
When fierce tempests are abroad, 

When loud thunder-tones appall ! 
Then will I deliver thee, 

Walking closely by thy side, 
Calming life's most troubled sea, 

Holding back its angry tide. 

2 Lord, we hear Thee and obey ; 

We are weak, but Thou art strong; 
Shine Thou, star-like, on our way, 

Safely guiding us along. 
Never, Lord, wilt Thou forsake 

Any soul that trusts in Thee ; 
Every fetter come and break, 

Set our sin-sick spirits free. 
S Upward lift we pleading hands, 

For Thy blessing, hour by hour; 
On each soul that waiting stands 

Let Thy love descend with power. 
Trusting Thee our hope revives, 

While we lean upon Thy word, 
In our hearts, and in our lives, 

Glorifying Thee our Lord. 

CAROLINE DANA HOWK, 

Portland, Maine. 



KEEP ME SECURE. 



HE'LL GUIDE ME STILL. 



Tune— "Rotin Adair." 

1 Lead Thou my heart aright, O Saviour true! 
Let ev'ry morning light my strength renew, 

And Thy deep peace descend with early evening dew. 
Guide Thou my heart aright, O Saviour true ! 

2 Keep Thou my spirit pure, O Saviour dear ! 
The flesh draws sharp and hard, the earth is near, 
And heaven seems often far to those who are sincere. 
Keep Thou my spirit pure, O Saviour dear ! 

3 Save Thou my soul secure, O Saviour strong ! 
Close press, when least bethought, dark powers of 

wrong ; 
I yield not, let me hear the heavenly seraphs' song ; 
Hold Thou my soul secure, Saviour strong ! 



Cottage Gr 



AUEILLA FURBER. 
e, Minn., Aug., 1883. 



Tune— "Nearer, My God, to Thee." 

1 My Saviour feels for me ; 

He knows my heart — 
He'll bid temptations flee, 

Satan depart. 
He trials did endure, 
Tempted and yet was pure ; 

He'll keep me from all ill — 

He'll guide me still. 

2 Though fierce temptations rise, 

Gloom and dismay ; 
Though clouds o'erspread the skies, 

And dark the way, 
Jesus will near me stay, 
Drive all the clouds away ; 

With love my heart He'll fill — 

He'll guide me still. 



548 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



He'll lead me day by day 

"Where'er I go ; 
From Him I need not stray 

To siu and woe, 
If I but trust His power, 
In dark temptation's hour, 

He'll help me do His will— 

He'll guide me still. 



Jmm Jjfllpk (Ms, 



Set to Music by tv. s. marshali 
C. Cook. 



MORNING AND EVENING PRAYER. 

Tuue— "A merica." 

1 With morning light I say, 
" I will be strong to-day, 

God helping me ; 
Strong in the true and right, 
Striving with all my might 
To follow Christ aright, 

And faithful be." 

2 At evening time I pray, 

" For all my sins this day, 

Dear Lord, forgive : 
Weak where I should be strong, 
So weak 'gainst sin and wrong, 
How long, O Lord, how long, 

Shall I so live ? " 

3 Lord, let Thy perfect strength 
Make morning joy at length, 

Touch even night ; 
Oh ! hasten Thou the day 
When perfect love shall sway , 
This heart of mine alway 

Towards truth and right. 



DO HIS WILL. 

Tune — " Precious Promise." 

1 When the morn awakes in beauty, 

May the tempter's voice be still 
Let us wake to trust and duty, 
Strive to do our Father's will. 
Cho. — Shun the tempter, shun the tempter, 
From his dark devices flee, 
If thou turn from sin to duty, 
God thy strong defence will be. 

2 Sorrow, anguish, woe and sadness 

In the wine-cup hidden lie ; 
We will take the cup of gladness 
From the brooklet rippling by. 

3 Let us keep His precepts holy, 

Then from evil we'll be free, 
Walk with Him! the meek and lowly, 
Who will bid the tempter flee. 

MARIA 8TRAUB. 
Set to Music by rev. samuei alman. 



Daughter of Hon. Hampden Cutts, was born in North Hartland, Tt., 
June 17, 1835. In Aug, 1861, she married A. T. Howard. Much of her 
life she has been a teacher, being with her husband, principal of aboard- 
iug school near New York for several years. From an early age she has 
written prose, poetry and music, contributing most acceptably to various 
periodicals. She is one of the most zealous workers of to-day, in the 
temperance cause and all charitable works. 

Mrs. Howard is at the present time one of the most brilliant contributors 
to Mrs. E. T. Housh's excellent journal "The Woman's Magazine," 
Brattleboro, Vt. 

Her father and mother were both fine prose writers. The latter published 
a volume entitled "Life and Times of William Jarvis"— her father. 
He (Mrs. Howard's grandfather) was noted in his day for his patriotism, 
honesty and other sterling qualities. He was a personal friend of Jef- 
ferson, and during his administration was minister to Portugal, and 
consul to Lisbon. It was characteristic of him that he never would 
consent to receive any remuneration from Government for the valuable 
services he rendered,.saying, " The Government needs itmore than I do." 
Mrs. Howard's children are all gifted, and her eldest son bids fair to 
become prominent as a writer and a poet, thus doing credit and honor to 
his accomplished, Christian mother, so active in all good works. 



THE SURE REFUGE. 

John xiv : 23. Ps. xlvi : 1-2— lxi : i.— cxliv : 2. 

1 Jesus ! dear Saviour, come, dwell in my breast ; 
When Thou art with me I'm ever at rest ; 

In trouble and sorrow be Thou ever near, 

If Thou art my helper what harm need I fear ? 

If darkness distrust and temptation assail, 

The Lord is my refuge, His strength shall prevail ; 

I'll ask for His blessing and trust in His grace, 

And He'll show me the light of His glorious face. 

2 If poverty pinches, with hunger and cold, 
Remember the lot of our Saviour of old ; 

The foxes have holes — e'en the bird hath its nest ; 

But never a home had our Saviour for rest. 

The glorious Redeemer and Saviour of all, 

Yet He stoopeth to listen whenever we call ; 

Our strength and salvation, our guide and our friend, 

Who'll be with us to help us and love to the end. 

3 When clouds gather round us He makes the 

bright, 
He fills us with joy, with love and with light ; 
Oh ! whatever befalls us we never need fear, 
Since in joy or in sorrow He ever is near. 
Jesus ! dear Saviour, come, dwell in my breast, 
When Thou art with me I'm ever at rest, 
In trouble and sorrow be Thou ever near, 
If Thou art my helper what harm need I fear ? 



way 



ANNA HOLYOKE HOWARD. 



A PRAYER. 

L. M. 

O Son of God ! Redeemer Thou, 

Ascended to Thy glorious throne ; 
Subjected unto Him alone, 

Before whom all with all shall bow. 
Be ours to follow, ours to love 

The pure example Thou hast given, 
To lead us to that blessed heaven, 

Begun below, complete above. 



GOSPEL TEMPERANCE. AFTER CONVERSION. JESUS OUR REFUGE AND DEFENCE. 



549 



3 Keep us, we ask, from placing trust 

In aught save that Thou dost reveal ; 
Believing Thou would naught conceal, 
That we shall know, children of dust. 

4 When life's great mysteries appall, 

And darkling doubts come sweeping o'er, 
Our sky, above this mortal shore, 

Till blind we grope, or stagg'ring fall ; 

5 Thine be the arm our souls to raise ; 

Thine be the power to heal our sight ; 
And lead by pleasant paths of light, 

Thro' earth's oft-shadow'd, 'wild'ring maze. 

6 When heavily the hand of grief 

Upon our quiv'ring heart-chords lie, — 
As with the loved, our spirits die, 
And nothing human yields relief ; — 

7 Shine Thou serenely on our sight, — ■ 

A star unfurling, — o'er the tomb ; 
Dispelling all its sad'ning gloom, 
Flooding its portal drear, with light ! 

8 Thy Spirit ever be our guide ; 

Through Thee to learn the Father's love ; 
Through Thee, Oh ! may the Holy Dove 
Within our souls fore'er abid ! 



Rocky HiU, Conn, 1883. 

THE ROCK THAT IS HIGHER. 

1 Oh ! sometimes the shadows are deep, 

And rough seems the path to the goal, 
And sorrows, sometimes how they sweep 
Like tempests down over the soul. 
Chorus — Oh ! then, to the Rock let me fly, 
To the Rock that is higher than I. 

2 Oh ! sometimes how long seems the day, 

And sometimes how weary my feet ; 
But toiling in life's dusty way, 

The Rock's blessed shadow how sweet ! 

3 Oh ! near to the Rock let me keep, 

If blessings or sorrows prevail ; 
Or climbing the mountain way steep, 
Or walking the shadowy vale ; 
Then quick to the Rock I can fly, 
To the Rock that is higher than I. 

Set to Music by w. g. fischer, 

LO I I AM WITH YOU ALWAY. 

Matt, xxviii : 20. 

Tune — "How firm a Foundation." 

1 Jesus ! my Saviour ! I know Thou art near us, 
Watching Thy children with tenderest care, 
Waiting to bless us, and ready to save us 

From sin and from harm, if we seek Thee in 
prayer. 
Cho. — Jesus is watching us ! Jesus is loving us ! 

When we remember this can we do wrong ? 
Jesus is watching us ! Jesus is loving us ! 
Jesus is. near to us all the day long ! 



Spirits of evil are round us to tempt us, 

Trying to lure us from virtue and peace ; 
Say,' shall we yield? No ! for Jesus is near us, 

Speak but His name and temptation will cease. 
Powers of hell vainly lure us to evil, 

Trusting in Jesus alone we are strong ; 
Satan is strong, but our Jesus is stronger, 

And He is near to us all the day long. 



ANNA HOLYOKE HOWARD. 



RENUNCIATION. 

Tune— "Jesus Loves Me."— omitting Chorus. 

1 Angel beautiful, yet stern, 
Evermore of thee I learn ; 

I have placed my hand in thine : 
Sign my forehead with thy sign ! 

2 Lead me onward : fearlessly 
I am vowed to follow thee 
O'er the desert — to the strife, 
Waving back the joys of life. 

3 Love-wreathed blossoms, from each stem 
See I pluck and scatter them ! 

Buds my heart hath cherished much ; 
Let them wither at thy touch ! 

4 Phantoms that before me glide 
In thy presence are defied — 
What can cloud the soul, or chill, 
Learned by thee to conquer ill I 

5 Go before me mutely calm, 
In thy hand the victor-palm, 
And with lips of still disdain 
Smiling on the spectre pain. 

6 So my soul must learn to smile, 
Struggling on through Life's defile, 
Ere I gain the higher steeps 
Where eternal starlight sleeps. 

MES. M. A. M. CRAMER, 1881. 



LORD, HELP ME WATCH. 

Tune— "Just as I am." (E flat.) 

1 Lord, help me watch with constant care, 

Lest thoughts of hate and envy start, 
For he that hateth must beware 

Lest guilt of murder stain his heart. 

2 Lord, make my heart so much like Thine, 

There shall be room for love alone ; 
May I not grieve when Thou hast blest 
My brother's life above my own. 

3 Thy home, dear Lord, is one of peace, 

No sound of strife, no stain of sin ; 
And none that envy, none that hate, 
And none that kill can enter in. 



550 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



ONLY ASK ARIGHT. 



" Ask and it shall be given yon." 



EMMA PITT. 




fc£ 



m 



==£ 



a - right; 
a - right; 
a - right ; 



zj=-2i 



to go with you, 
sav - ing pow - er, 
give you vie - fry, 



On - ly ask 
On - ly ask 
On - ly ask 



Stei 



Ask Him hum - bly, He will grant it, 
Ask for strength your foes to con - quer, 
When your heart is weak and wav-'ring, 



=5=F^ 



k=E 



*=: 




I I I 

Free - dom from all sin and strife; By His pard'niug love He'll give you Light thro' all your life. 
In the hat-tie's rage and strife ; By His ten -der love He'll give you Light thro' all your life. 
With its wea - ry bur-dens rife, By His mer-cy He will give you Light thro' all your life. 



Copyright, 1883, in " Gospel Light.' 



THE MOUNT. 

1 "When anxious cares corrode the breast, 
And sad forebodings rise ; 

When sore temptations me molest, 
And sorrow robs me of my rest ; 
Jesus ! I trembling look to Thee, 
And tearful turn to Calvary. 

2 When griefs assail and trials come, 
When anguish aims its dart ; 

When earthly hopes have found a tomb — 
Sweet thoughts of heaven dispel my gloom- 
For, Jesus ! then I look to Thee, 
And prayerful turn to Calvary. 

3 When foes are fierce, friends found untrue, 
When all is dark and drear, 

I think on grace, and glory, too — 
How conquest out of conflict grew, 
And, Jesus ! then I look to Thee, 
And prayerful turn to Calvary. 



4 When feeble pulses, beating slow, 
Warn of life's waning hour ; 
Then, Jesus ! may I joyful know, 
That Thou canst dying grace bestow ; 
That not in vain I've looked to Thee, 
And turned in faith to Calvary. 

5 What rapture o'er the soul will steal, 
When through eternity 

This Jesus shall His love reveal, 
Who died the heart's deep wounds to heal ! 
Salvation's stream still flows from Thee, 
O sacred, blood-stained Calvary ! 

6 Thou Holy Mount ! from thee we learn 
Our daily cross to bear ; 

When burdens press to Thee we turn, 
And find new zeal within us burn ; 
Then never let forgotten be 
The debt we owe to Calvary. 

MRS. ANNIE LANKAN ANOI1 



GOSPEL TEMPERANCE. AFTER CONVERSION. JESUS OUR REFUGE AND DEFENCE. 551 

IS IT FOR ME, DEAR SAVIOUR? 



Miss FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL 

Gently. 



Mrs. ELATE J. BRAINARD. 



S=t= 



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i — k i — k ±t 



Lis it forme, dear Sav-iour, Thy glo - ry and Thy rest? For me, so weak and sin - ful, Oh! 



*=^^^^F^g^^=* 



1 fi e 



2. O Sav-iour, prec - ious Sav-iour, My heart is at Thy feet, I bless Thee,and I love Thee, And 



P 



Solo. Tenor or Soprano. With Feeling. 



shall I thus be blest ? Is it for me to see Thee In all Thy glo - rious grace, And 

A thrill of sol - emn glad - ness Has hush - ed my very heart, To 



m 



*S=*=X 



Thee I long to meet. 



3E3^EE^Ei 



mi 



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4=^= 



3= 



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gaze in end - less rap - ture On Thy be - lov - ed face ? And be with Thee for-ev - er, And 

think that I. .. shall real - ly Be-hold Thee as Thou art 



^ - ^==^ : 



^r^tng^ mm 




From "Royal Anthem Book." by per. Mrs. C. H. SCOTT. 



552 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



nev - er grieve Thee more! Dear Sav - iour, I must praise Thee, And lov - ing-ly a - dore. 



nev - er, nev - er grieve Thee more, 




CALVARY. 



' Mercy's Free." Gospel Hymns, No. 3. 



'T is finished ! " sinful man is free ; 
Hark ! hark ! those words from Calvary, 
The Son of God has died for me, 
Even me, even me. 



1 Methinks I can my Saviour see 

Bearing His own heavy cross ; 
Bearing that shameful cross for me ; 

All for me, all for me. 
Now weeping o'er a guilty race, 
With tender pity in His face ; 
Struggling up Mount Calvary, 

All for me, all for me. 

2 I see that bruised thorn-clad bro\r, 

All for me, all for me ; 
I see the giddy rabble now ; 

All for me, all for me. 
I see the Prince of glory die 
For all the race of sinners vile ; 
Creation trembles at the view, 

All for me, all for me. 

3 The sun withdraws herself from sight ; 

All for me, all for me. 
Earth clothes herself in blackest night, 

Drearily, drearily. 
I hear a voice from Calvary, 
The Son of God in agony, — 
".Hast Thou, my God, forsaken me?" 

All for me, all for me. 

4 Many the blessed words He spoke, 

Ail for me, all for me. 
The chains of death and hell He broke, 
All for me, all for me. 



5 Stripped of sin's galling chains and strength, 

Can it be, can it be ? 
The sons of earth are freed at length, 

Even me, even me. 
All heaven rejoices, now, to know 
That God's own Son did love us so, 
Ransomed us on Mount Calvary ; 

Praise to Thee ! praise to Thee ! 

MRS. M. L. WRIGHTMAN. 
Harper City, Kas. 1882. 



WHAT CLAIM HAVE I? 



1 With such a groveling heart how shall I dare 
Ask Thee, my Lord, to make Thy dwelling there ? 
Because the Bethlehem stable Thou didst share. 



2 With restless passions surging like a sea, 
How can I think to find repose for Thee ? 
Because Thy voice hushed stormy Galilee. 

I 

3 With guilt's defilement stained without, within, 
How may I hope Thy cleansing grace to win ? 
Because Thou saidst, " I have forgiven thy sin." 

4 With soul-affections stony-cold and dead, 
What claim have I to plead for life instead ? 
Because in Joseph's tomb was laid thy head. 

MAROARIT J. PRESTON. 



OOSPEL TEMPERANCE. AFTER CONVERSION. JESUS OUR REFUGE AND DEFENCE. 



553 



OPPRESSED WITH SIN. 

1 Oppressed with sin and woe, 

A burdened heart I bear ; 
Opposed by many a mighty foe, 
Yet will I not despair. 

2 I feel that I am weak, 

And prone to every sin ; 
But Thou who giv'st to those who seek, 
Wilt give me strength within. 

3 I need not fear my foes, 

I need not yield to care, 
I need not sink beneath the woes, 
For Thou wilt answer prayer. 

4 In my Redeemer's name 

I give myself to Thee, 
And all unworthy as I am 
My God will welcome me. 

CHARLOTTE BRONTK. 



SOUGHT OUT. 

Isaiah Mi: 12. 
Tune—" Martyn" or "Refuge." 

1 Can it be that Jesus sought me ? 

Yes ; His word I must believe. 
Loved me, chose me ere I knew Him. 

Sought that I might Him receive. 
Chose me, sought me, called me to Him, 

When a child, His voice I heard . 
In my youth He found and saved me, 

Through His blessed, gracious word. 

2 But how sad the truthful story ! 

I from Him did turn away ; 
Sought in human love my pleasures ; 

From His heart I thus did stray, 
Yet, O wondrous, truthful story, 

Faithful still He followed me, 
Sought to win me — loving Shepherd, 

Called me in His fold to flee. 

3 Praise His name ! again He found me, 

Held me closely — kept me near, 
More and more His grace bestowing, 

While He grew to me more dear. 
Then there came a time so precious, 

When He gave Himself to me, 
Whispering, I have ever loved Thee 

Now betrothed Thou shalt be. 

4 It was months He had been waiting 

For this blessed, glorious hour, 
Moving me to wholly meet Him, 

Yield to Him my every power. 
Oh ! the bliss of that one moment 

When He whispered, " Thou art mine ! ' 
Spirit, soul and body, gladly 

I to Him did there resign. 



5 Then He made me His forever, 

With His Spirit set the seal ; 
Love and faithfulness effulgent, 

While Himself He did reveal ; 
From that hour He has been seeking 

How to fill me with His love, 
Like His image to conform me, 

Fit me for His home above. 

6 As I think of all, I marvel. 

Oh ! how patiently He sought 
To bestow His grace upon me, 

Through the ransom He had wrought ! 
If I look at all my stumbling, 

All the failures I have made, 
At the poor, imperfect lessons, 

And the debt of love unpaid, 

7 I should sink with shame and sorrow ; 

But I'll lift my eyes to Him 
Who has bought me, owns me wholly, 

(Jesus, let them ne'er grow dim,) 
And I cry, with heart o'erflowing, 

Unto Him be all the praise, 
Who redeemed me soul and body, 

And has sought me all my days. 

ELIZABETH c, green. March, 1881 



SEEN OF GOD. 

1 When in Life's most sunny path 
Blessings rich my spirit hath, 
And my cup o'erflows with joy 
Pure and sweet, without alloy, 

Thou, God, seest me. 

2 When in buoyant health I go 
With firm footstep to and fro, 
And no pain or suffering bear, 
Shielded by my Shepherd's care, 

Thou, God, seest me. 

3 When my faltering footsteps press 
On the thorns of sharp distress, 
And, o'erwhelmed with grief, I cry, 
" Help me, Saviour, or I die ! " 

Thou, God, seest me. 

4 When I shall have passed the vale 
Where earth's fondest helpers fail, 
And within the Glory-Land 

Saved, before Thy throne shall stand, 
Blessed Lord, see me. 

5 Bid me serve Thee there alway, 
Through Eternity's glad day ; 
Thee, whom now I love unseen, 
Thee, without a cloud between 

Thy bright face and me. 

FRANCES E. TOWNSLET, 

Maywood, 111., 1880. 



554: 



WOMAJV IN SACRED SONG. 



ORDERED IN ALL THINGS, AND SURE. 

II Sam. xxiii : 5. 

1 " Ordered " — ah ! just what I am wanting ; 

So weak and dark my mind, 
That in my wavering and my wandering, 
What's best I fail to find. 

2 " In all things " — this will give me resting 

In body and in soul, 
For there's no counting things perplexing 
In life's mysterious whole. 

3 " And sure." This crowns and seals the blessing, 

Now need I only faith 
To still all gloom, all sad suggesting, 
"With — " thus my Saviour saith." 



THE OPEN DOOR. 



1 A little child, with garments thin and old, 

Stands shivering by the rich man's stately door ; 
His lips are blue, and numb his hands with cold, 
His eyes with bitter tears are brimming o'er. 

2 He sees within the comfort and the light, 

He thinks it must be heaven to be there. 
Can he not enter ? Oh ! to have the right ! 

To breathe but once that warm and perfumed air ! 

3 His timid summons opes the massive door, 

A moment he is wrapped in warmth and light ; 
He stands within the glow ! — a moment more 
It shuts, and leaves him in the bitter night ! 

4 Father, when cold and darkness wrap me round, 

And earthly sorrows crowd upon my sight, 
I turn my gaze beyond this finite bound, 

And stretch out hands of- longing towards Thy light. 

5 I stand beside Thy portal, weak and poor, 

And hear Thy sweet voice say to me, " Behold, 
I set before thee now an open door, 

Come in, my child, and shelter from the cold." 

6 " An open door ! " It is the door of grace, — 

" No man can shut it," says the heavenly voice, 
There stands no warder stern, with frowning face, — 
"We only have to enter and rejoice. 

7 Surely our " little strength " may serve for this, 

To bear us through the portal open wide, 
Where just before us is unending bliss, 

And entering brings us to our Father's side. 

8 O tempted brother, out in sin's dark night, 

O weary mourner, tossed in grief 's cold storm, 

Look up to where the beams of heaven's own light 

Stream from the open portal bright and warm. 

9 " No man can shut " the door God's love holds wide? 

No voice "forbid " those whom he bids to " come "; 
The veil was rent in twain when Jesus died ; 
" He is the door," enter and find thy home. 

MISS J. E. GARDNER. 



SAINT STEPHEN. 



1 O blessed martyr, dying for the Lord ! 

"We envy him the glory of his fate, 
Though all that men most shrink from (burning wood 

Of bitterest slander, hiss of scorn and hate, 
More cruel than the heavy stones they cast,) 
Made storm about him as his spirit passed. 

2 We envy him the peace that kept his heart 

In all the shock of that mad passion-war, — 
"We, whose watched doors of patience fly apart 

So often at temptation's lightest jar ; — 
The peace that made his countenance to shine 
Like Moses', hearing mysteries divine. 

3 Full of perfect love he knelt to die ! 

He prayed his enemies might be forgiven, 
And from the height of that great ecstacy 

He looked in through the open gates of heaven ! 
He saw the Lord ! Pain o'er him had no power, 
Entering to be with Christ forevermore. 

4 The first to die for Jesus ! Oh ! how sweet 

To die for love of Jesus ! This we say, 
And straight toward Golgotha we turn our feet 

With faces like a flint ; but on our way 
We meet the little crosses we must take, 
And bear upon our shoulder for His sake. 

5 And so we shrink, and falter, and turn back, 

Or with complaints and murmurs take them up, 
The small denials, neither scourge nor rack ; — 

We sigh to sit with Ease and drink her cup, 
And walk Sloth's level gardens ; — we, who fain 
The stature of Christ's martyrs would attain ! 
And can it be, dear Lord, that souls so weak, 

Remiss in watching, dastard in the fight, 
Shall walk upon the eternal hills, and speak 

With Stephen, bearing palm and robed in white ? 
Ashamed, in tears, we come for help to Thee, 
Triumphant Captain, Lord of victory ! 

URANIA LOCKE BAILEY. 1882. 

WORLD-SICKNESS. 

1 Of all the maladies that fret men's hearts, 

And paralyze men's souls, can any show 
Such crowds of victims rushing to and fro 

For help, as this dire ailment ? The best arts 

That wisest skill of pharmacy imparts 

Have failed of cure. The vaunted healing flow 
Of Nature's springs — alas ! how well we know 

They cannot anodyne these inward smarts ! 

2 And yet, O fevered and world-jaded soul, 

Consumed with deadly thirst thou canst not quell, 
There is a living draught can make thee whole : 
Take from the hand of Christ the crystal cup 
Of His pure grace — that Holy Grail filled up 
With sacramental wine— drink, and be well ! 






TEMPERANCE CONVENTIONS AND ENTERTAINMENTS. 



555 



IN CONVENTION. 

1 We come from the hilltop, we come from the valley; 

From our shops in the mart, from our farms on the 
lea ; 
In the name of our God, for our hearthstones we rally, 
That the land of the brave be the home of the free. 
From our homes by the lake, from our homes by the 
river, 
From the mansions of wealth, from the cottage's 
low door, 
We gather in council, and pledge that we never 
Lay down the dear cross till rum triumphs no more. 

2 As we tended our flocks in the valleys of pleasure, 

Or watched o'er their pastime from hillsides of toil, 
We heard the base wolf, who had threatened our 
treasure, 
Exultingly laugh o'er the lambs in his toil. 
And he growled, as he grinned o'er their wretched 
debasement : 
" You give me your lambs, and I pay you the gold ! " 
Then motherhood sprung from her vine-tangled case- 
ment, 
And rushed out to rescue the wolf-haunted fold. 

3 Men say, with a frown and a wag of the finger : 

" You never can win in this race that you run ! " 
But what need we fear, except that we linger 

When the Father of thunderbolts bids us go on. 
Has God's ear grown heavy that it cannot attend us ? 

Or is His hand shortened that it cannot save ? 
If we call upon Him His right arm will send us 

The garments of vengeance for clothing the brave. 

4 We come from the hilltops, we come from the valley ; 

From our shops in the mart, from our farms on the 
lea ; 
In the name of our God, for our hearthstones we rally, 
That the land of the brave be the home of the free. 
From our homes by the lake, from our homes by the 
river, 
From the mansions of wealth, from the cottage's 
low door, 
We gather in council, and pledge that we never 
Will lay down the cross till rum triumphs no more. 

AURA PERKINS. 1SS5. 

THE TWO MARTYRS. 

(MARGARET MACLAFLIN— MARGARET WILSON, May 1685.) 

1 Aye, the sea is God's, He made it, 

Set its bounds of rock or sand : 
All its depths and all its billows 

He hath measured in His hand ; 
Time, that marreth all things human, 

Cannot touch the raging sea 
Till the flame from heaven descendeth, 

And the earth shall cease to be ! 
On the Frith of Forth, how brightly, 

Twice a hundred years ago, 
Rose the sun of bonny Maytime, 

Kissing all the waves aglow. 



2 What is man ? A shadow flitting 

O'er the sunny fields of dawn, 
Seek again the place that knew him, 

He forevermore has gone. 
Yet our Master's least disciple, 

Following Him with faith sublime, 
Shall out-live the mighty ocean, 

Changeless through the wreck of time. 
With the hand too weak for striving, 

God shall overthrow the strong. 
Heavenly arches all are ringing 

With the martyr's triumph song. 

3 Two hundred years ago, come marching , 

Down from Edinborough, a crowd ; 
Two pale women, led by soldiers, 

Many followed, weeping loud. 
Margaret Maclaflin, bowing 

With the griefs of many years, 
And her wrinkled cheeks still dewy 

With her little grandson's tears, 
Sons and daughters pressing 'round her, 

With farewells and weepings sore ; 
They must miss her love and counsel, 

Miss her prayers, forevermore. 

4 And (our first White Ribbon leader !) 

Margaret Wilson, frail and fair, 
With a snood of snowy ribbon 

Binding back her golden hair. ' 
" Dinna greet sae, Jimmy," plead she 

With her brother young and dear ; 
" I'll hear your sobs, an' no the angels, 

When they came to whisper cheer ! " 
At the Frith of Forth, all halted, 

Loud the blackbirds piped their lay, 
And the thrushes in the thornrows 

Sang for gladness of the May. 

5 Two tall stakes rose strong and grimly, 

Where the sand and seawaves meet. 
There they bound the helpless women, 

How the waves laughed at their feet. 
" Pray now for the king, your master ! 

You are taught to pray for all ! " 
" Not when profligates are bidding ! " 

The Maclaflin's brave tones fall. 
Then they lifted calm eyes heavenward, 

While the morning waves rolled up ; 
Weak the flesh, but their strong spirits 

Shrank not from the Master's cup. 

6 Young indeed was Margaret Wilson, 

Scarce eighteen, and very fair ; 
How her mother's heart would mourn her, 

How the children miss her care ; 
Such loveliness and sorrow blending, 

Made the magistrate relent. 
" Still I'll save you from the waters, 

If you'll break the covenant." 
"Nay, it was my ain hand signed it," 

Proudly lifting up her head. 
" By grace o' the God. o' the covenant, 

I'll keep it aye," she said. 



556 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



7 So the cruel waves crept landward, 

In the happy light of May. 
Hid the wrinkled hands meek folded, 

Hid the snowy hands away. 
With no fear and no dismaying, 

Prayed they who for Truth must die ; 
And above the troubled waters 

Heaven was throbbing with their cry. 
Slept the white head, angel cradled, 

On the ocean's heaving breast, 
Then the glimmering golden tresses 

Faded from the billows' crest ! 

8 Though the prayer of these weak women 

By the mighty was denied, 
Though the weak hands of these martyrs 

Could not stay the ocean's tide, 
While the priests and all their counsels 

Lie forgotten in the dust, 
Ever sounding through the ages, 

Men shall hear thy prayer of trust. 
And when all the surging waters 

By the flames are swept away, 
Countless souls shall love and bless them, 

For the faith they kept that day ! 

9 Sisters ! ours the snow-white symbol, 

Ours our leader's dauntless faith, 
We a covenant have witnessed, 

And we keep it unto death ! 
Vowed to save the young and tempted, 

From the drunkard's endless loss ; 
Vowed to banish Mammon's temple, 

From the Shadow of the Cross. 
Doubtless, when earth's mighty slumber, 

Long forgotten in the dust, 
Shall our Master's true disciples 

Praise Him, that we kept our trust ! 

M. E. H. EVBB 

Condersport, Pa. 1885. 



THE FALL AND THE RESCUE. 

1 Temptation assailed him ; he yielded and fell ; 
A spell was o'er him, a fearful spell. 

In weakness he yielded to rum's control, 
Though it maddened his brain and debased his soul, 
Till the noblest powers of his mind were crushed, 
And the voice within was almost hushed ; 
And many stout hearts gave up in despair 
When they saw the fearful wreck that was there. 

2 Yet some there were of the good of earth, 
Of the noblest hearts, of the highest worth, 
Whose faith was strong and whose hearts were brave, 
Who knew the power of love to save. 

They besought him to join their noble band, 
And kindly they took their brother's hand, 
While with all the fervor of love they spoke, 
And helped him to break the tyrant's yoke. 



3 He signed the pledge, and the angels then, 
Who were looking down to the homes of men, 
Struck a higher note on their harps of love, 
That resounded long through the courts above ; 
And the holy soul-enrapturing strain 

Was caught on earth and prolonged again, 
For they saw that love's omnipotent power 
Could conquer and save in the darkest hour. 

4 He signed the pledge, and his grief-worn wife, 
Who a living death had known in life, 

Who had seen her youthful hopes all wrecked 
By him who had sworn to love and protect, 
Yet forsook him not in that dark, dark hour, 
When his soul was bowed by the demon's power, 
Was now blessed with the joy that none can know 
But those who have felt the like deep woe. 

5 He signed the pledge, and his children dear, 
Who were wont to shrink with a sudden fear 
From his dread approach, as he used to come, 
Now welcome their own dear father home ; 

And the spot once known as the drunkard's hearth 
Is changed by the pledge to a heaven on earth ; 
And the father now kneels with his loved ones there, 
And pours out his soul to the Hearer of prayer. 

6 Oh ! lives there one on earth's wide domain 

Who would tempt him to drink of that cup again ? 
Who would strive his noble resolve to shake — 
Would tempt him his holy pledge to break ? 
Who would ever bring back that rescued soul 
To bondage again, to rum's control ? 
Sure such beings on earth must be very rare ; 
If one can be found, Oh ! where is he, where ? 

RUTH C. THOMPSON. 

Southbridge. Mass., 1882. 



REGRET. 

1 A beautiful day without, 

A careless day within — 
Thou 'rt guilty again, poor soul, 
Of failure and of sin. 

2 This morn thou didst promise God 

With earth in tune to keep ; 

Sweet music the earth has made, 

And thou — ah ! go and weep. 



KATE Y. Slli. 



THE GOOD SAMARITAN. 

1 Cruelly beaten with many stripes, 

Cast out on the world's highway 
By the hand that it knew and loved the best, 
The heart of a woman lay. 

2 Bobbed of its treasures of youth and love ; 

Its beautiful raiment in trust 
Was rent in twain by the spoiler's hand, 
And soiled with the blood and dust. 



TEMPERANCE. PARLOR MEETINGS AND ENTERTAINMENTS. 



557 



3 Writhing with pain in the noonday's heat, 

Too weak to moan and too proud to cry, 
Despised, forsaken and scorned by all, 
It only cared to die. 

4 The Pride, by chance, like the Jewish priest, 

Came down where the poor heart lay, 
But seeing its wounds from afar, he turned 
And went by another way. 

5 And Hope, Like the Levite, came and looked, 

Then faintly the faint heart cried 
And prayed for help from its early friend — 
Hope passed on the other side. 

6 But Song, like the good Samaritan, 

Was kind to the woman's heart, 



. Bound up its wounds with a tender hand, 
And healed it in every part. 

7 And sitting low at the feet of Song, 

The meek heart learned to sing 
Such beautiful, heavenly melodies, 

That they reached the ear of the King. 

8 And calling the poor, forsaken heart, 

With Song He bade it go 
And bind up the broken and bruised who faint 
In the world's wide Jericho. 

"Pearl Rivers." 

MBS. E, J. Nicholson (formerly Mrs. Halbrook). 

New Orleans, La„ March, 1885. 



COME AGAIN WITH SINGING. 



Words adapted by Mrs. G. C. S. 



Mrs. CLAEA H. SCOTT. By per. 



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2. Stars are shin - ing bright - ly o'er 



Spark-ling eyes are bright be -fore us, Come and sign the pledge, Come and sign the pledge, 




Yes. yes, yes, 



55S 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



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TEMPERANCE. PARLOR MEETINGS AND ENTERTAINMENTS. 



559 



BE PATIENT. 

1 The words came 'mid my weeping, 

Like angel's soothing numbers — 
" He holds thee in His keeping, 

Who sleepeth not nor slumbers ; 
Oh ! deeply doth He cherish 

Thy life, thou soul oppressed : 
Fear not to faint or perish, 

Thou whom the Christ hath 

2 He sits beside thee waiting, 

He watcheth all the sorrow ! 
The fires are not abating — 

They may endure to-morrow; 
Yet never from thy grieving 

The Saviour's looks are moved, 
Lest thou shouldst be receiving 

Too strong a flame, beloved ! 

3 And whilst His care enfoldeth 

Each hour of His designing, 
His face the Lord beholdeth 

Within His silver shining ; 
Then hath He sweet assuring — ; 

Thy God, down-bending o'er thee— 
That thou, through much enduring, 

Hath entered to His glory. 

4 The trial-fires shall soften 

Beneath that daylight splendor, 
The pain that racked thee often 

Shall die to hushing tender ; 
And He who all in yearning 

Choose once thy long, long testing, 
Shall stay the heat and burning, 

And give the weary resting. 

MARGARET HAYERAFT. 

In the " Quiver," for April, 1885. 



THE DEAR OLD HOME. 

Melody— " Tenting on the old camp ground." 

1 I'm thinking to-night of the home I had, 

Cherished in years gone by ; 
Filled the love of each heart so glad, 
How bright each laughing eye. 
Cho. — Many are the hearts that are clouded to-night, 
Longing for the curse to cease, 
Many are the hands working for the right, 

To bless the land with peace. 
Dreaming to-night, dreaming to-night, 
Dreaming of the dear old home. 

2 Oh ! long, long ago that home was mine, — 

Scattered and perished all ; 
I tell you 'twas lost in the blood-red wine, 
Drinking has caused the fall. 

3 But lightly at first came the tempter's spell, 

Growing so fast and sure ; 
Till sadly the darkness of midnight fell 
On loved ones, fond and pure. 



Ah ! lost, lost to me are the joys of home, 

Honor and hope all gone ; 
An outcast, a wretch, far away I roam, 

All friendless and forlorn. 
But show me a hand, a helping hand, 

To turn me to the right ; 
And, wreck that I am, I'll take my stand, 

And sign the pledge to-night. 






CHADWICK. 



Mrs. G. C. Smith : — I notice in "Woman's Journal" your call for 
additional "hymns" on temperance and missions. You may like the 
above, written by a sweet, chastened spirit while a patient in our County 
Hospital. She afterwards died of consumption in the Consumptives' 
Home in her native Massachusetts, The poem was called out by the 
experiences of her room-mate and fellow-sufferer. 

Yours truly, 

MARY J. TELFORD. 

Denver, Colorado. 1883. 
SIGNALS- 
TO THE "UNION SIGNAL," THE ORGAN OP THE 
NATIONAL W. C. T. V. 

1 We looked, at evening, from the town 

O'er Casco, many-islanded, 
And saw through clouds the sun go down, 
A ball of vivid red. 

2 The fisher's wife stood still and white 

Upon the shelving sand, — 

Her eyes against the level light 

Were shaded by her hand. 

3 Her little child stole up behind, 

And held her by the dress, 
With grieved lip, wondering to find 
Nor welcome nor caress. 

4 The crested tide-waves from afar 

Came in as coursers run, — 

The sullen breakers on the bar 

Boomed like a minute-gun. 

5 A lion wakened from his lair, 

The stormy east wind blew, 
And 'round the form still watching there 
The early darkness grew. 

6 Sonorous through the heavy damp 

A bell tolled out the hour, 
And suddenly the signal-lamp 

Blazed from the light-house tower. 

7 A lengthened beam the beacon cast 

Across the seething foam, 
And up that path of light at last, 
We saw the boat come home. 

8 O wife ! to hear with speechless bliss 

The pebbles graze its keel ; 
O little child ! a father's kiss 
On cheek and lip to feel! 

9 The New Year strikes ! More cruel rise 

The rocks our coast that line ! 

On seas o'er hung by stormier skies 

Brave Union Signal, shine ! 






= 



560 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



10 Thy steady flame was lit on high 

From home's own altar-fire, 

And fed by love's pure ministry 

May not its flames expire, 

11 While yet one sin-tossed soul afar 

By fierce temptation driven, 
May see it beam — a gentle star, 
To guide to Home and heaven ! 



MART A. P. STANSBURY. 

Appletou, Wis. 1883. 



RAGNAR'S DAUGHTERS. 



(The standard of the Danes was a blood-red flag, on which wasembroid- 
ered the figure of a black raven, a bird for which they had great veneration. 
The banner was believed to be enchanted, and when, waved by the wind, 
the raven seemed to flutter its wings, they hailed it as a sure harbinger 
of victory. Ragnar's three daughters are said to have embroidered it in 
a single afternoon.) 



10 The tents of our foemen tarry 

In hamlet, city and town ; 
Thick fly the darts that carry 

The flower of our manhood down. 

11 At home in the noontide golden, 

Afar from the combat's din, 
Faint hearts it is yours to embolden, 
The battle help to win. 

12 They need in this contest tragic, 

No bird's embroidered wing ; 
Outgrown are the days of magic, 
And the hopes that omens bring. 

13 But they need your prayers, sweet girlie, 

Your tears and your Godspeed true, 
In the pink of the morning early, 
In the noon-tide's gold and blue. 



MATILDA A BLAOKMAR. 

Grand Rapids, Mich, 1883, 



1 Oh ! fair were Ragnar's daughters, 

Blue-eyed, blonde and tall ; 
They dwelt by the North Sea waters, 
Where Thor let his hammers fall. 

2 In a certain noon-tide golden, 

A magic banner they wrought ! 
So runneth a legend olden, 

From the myths of Norseland brought. 

3 With many a prayer to Odin, 

Leaning on Frieja's heart, 
With woman's faith and foreboding, 
They plied her gentle art. 

4 They wrought for their sturdy yeomen 

A dark, mysterious bird, 
Whose wings of good were an omen, 
If they by the winds were stirred. 

5 But if close to its side the raven 

Let its folded wings appear, 
Each bold heart turned a craven, 
Each face blanched white in fear. 

6 The outspread wings were a token 

Of good to the Vikings' arms, 
But, if closed, their ranks were broken, 
And routed by dire alarms. 

7 Thus, in Ragnar's rude dominion, 

His fair-haired girls took part, 

For the rise of the Raven's pinion 

Gave the losing Vikings heart. 

8 And they fought in the old Norse manner, 

Kings of the very sea, 
Inspired by the magic banner 

Wrought by those maidens three. 

9 O maids of these later ages, 

There's a sterner strife in view, 
And a grander conflict wages, 

Than the blue-eyed Norsemen knew. 



AS I HAVE LOVED YOU. 



i another as I have loved you." 

1 For the purest hope that's human, 
For the good of man and woman, 
For the upright soulhood holy, 

For the great heart strong, yet lowly, 
For the best good of thy brother, 
As I've loved you, love each other. 

2 For the tender pity, bending 
Over one who needs befriending, 
For the love that draws with winning 
Gentle tenderness the sinning 
From the evil wings that cover, 

As I've loved you, love each other. 

3 For the possible great beauty 
That will blossom out when duty 
Grows to love of what is holy, 
(Though the heart seems baseness solely, 
There is good that hate would smother) 
As I've loved you, love each other. 

4 For the thoughts by sinning fettered, 
For the brain that may be bettered, 
For the heart that needs refining, 
For the soul that may grow shining, 
Do not spurn thy fallen brother, 

As I've loved you, love each other. 

5 Love them as I've loved you, dear ones, 
Hunger, weep and suffer, near ones, 
Leave them not, although they spurn you, 
For your prayers but hate return you 
(Slowly love all hate shall smother), 

As I've loved you, love each other. 



TEMPERANCE. PARLOR MEETINGS AND ENTERTAINMENTS. 



561 



6 For the grandeur of the human, 
For the Godlike men and women, 
For the race with holy faces, 
For the soul's still latent graces, 
For the peace that's like no other, 
Love, as I have loved my brother. 

7 For the glad concordant nations, 
Brought to love's divine relations, 
For the joy in God's creation, 

For His plan's great consummation, 
For the best good and thy brother's, 
Love, as I have loved all others. 



DANNIE BOLTON, 1884. 



PEACE, BE STILL. 

1 A fearful night, with great storm clouds 

Piled high against the angry sky, 
A little vessel madly tossed 

'Mid foaming billows mountain high. 

2 Her helm is gone, her sails are rent, 

Her oars the waves have swept away, 
And o'er her now with dire intent 
The winds and waves impetuous play. 

3 Tossed like a cork upon the waves, 

The groaning ship and frightened crew 
With all hope gone in faith that saves, 
Before the furious tempest flew. 

4 Asleep upon the upper deck 

The Saviour all unmindful lies ; 
Unmindful of the threatened wreck 
And of His children's anguished cries. 

5 A hand upon His arm is laid, 

While drooping forms around Him weep, 
" O Master, wake, we are afraid, 
Oh ! must we perish in the deep ? " 

6 The Master rose and looked upon 

Those drooping heads and blanching cheeks 
One look of sad reproach He gave, 
And then in mild. reproof He speaks : 

7 " Why are ye fearful ? I am here, 

The storm can work to thee no ill." 
Then standing forth among them there 
He bade the tempest " Peace, be still." 

8 Peace, like the wings of a white dove, 

Spread wide o'er all the troubled lake, 
Enwraps the stately ship, while love 
Fills every heart for His dear sake. 

9 With rapture, beauty, keen delight, 

Which ne'er before their hearts had known, 
They gaze with awe and timid fright 

On one who makes the storm His own. 
10 How blest to have so strong a friend, 

A friend whose love is firm and deep ; 
Whose kindness soothes the bursting heart, 

As troubled waters fall asleep. 



11 What boundless comfort in the thought, 

When passion's waves in fury roll, 
To know that there is one strong arm 
That can the wrath of fiends control. 

12 O blessed gift ! this precious friend, 

And blessed they who fear no ill, 
But look to Him whate'er may tend, 
And bid the passions, " Peace, be still." 

ANNIE A. CARTER. 1381. 

IOWA TO ILLINOIS-GREETING! 

Tune — " Hold the Fort." 

1 Brothers, sisters, we are coming, 

Sailors true and tried, 
On our good ship, " Prohibition," 

Weathering wind and tide. 
Don't you see our colors flying 

For the grand work clone ? 
Don't you hear our shouts of triumph 

For the victory won ? 

2 See ! we keep the pledge — our compass — 

Fastened to our mast ; 
With the cross of Christ above it, 

By His Word held fast. 
Do you wonder that we battle 

Bravely 'gainst the wrong, 
Sheltered by the Bock of Ages 

As we move along ? 

3 " Only women — only children ! " 

Passed from lip to lip 
When we launched ; but now our numbers 

Fill a mighty ship. 
Crowded in and running over, 

Barges on each side, 
Men and boys from every quarter 

Come to take a ride. 

4 Temperance boys, to make the fathers 

In the years to come ; 
Temperance girls, to be the mothers, 

Each of happy home, 
Wheel in line for the Amendment, 

With the Hawkeye State, 
And we'll help you free your " man-traps " 

Of their deadly bait. 

KATE HARRINGTON, 

Ft. Madison, June 29, 1882. 

TWO LIVES. 
1 A woman's hand, white, soft and small, 

With rose-tipped, taper fingers, 
Extended with a witching glance, 

Whose memory with me lingers, 
Offering to me a brimming cup 

Of sparkling wine ! Ah, ruin 
Waited upon that graceful act ! 

It was my soul's undoing. 
To-day I, staggering down the street, 

Passing her unmarked, but knowing ; 
I wonder, does she dream what fruit 

Is gathered of her sowing ? 



562 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



2 A woman's hand, embrowned and hard 

With toil, but true and tender, 
And yet more beautiful to me 

Than lit with diamond's splendor. 
I was a lonely lad, sore tried 

By many a strong temptation. 
That gracious hand with cordial grasp — 

It was my soul's salvation. 
" O God, bestow on her all good 

From Thy rich bounty flowing ! " 
Cries many a soul from ruin saved, — 

Rich fruitage of her sowing. 

META E. B. THORNI. 
"The Signal." 1883; 



Pw Spcfc 

Was born in Burlington, Vt. Her father wasan Irish patriot, who at an 
early age accompanied Emmett to this country after the struggle of '96. 
Her mother was a daughter of Col. Grey, abravc soldier and distinguished 
officer of the American revolutionary army. With such blood in her 
veins she inherits that pure fervent patriotism, that genuine love for the 
just aud the free, and that indignant scorn for oppression and tyrauny 
which so often distinguishes her poems. Her productions show that 
finish of form and condensation of idea which is never attained hut by 
well-disciplined minds, and although many of them are so vigorous in 
expression they are yet delicateiy beautiful, oftentimes, and portray a deep 
feeling and religious, moral power. In 1849, the first volume of her 
poems was published in New York, by G. Putman, 

THE WOUNDED VULTURE. 

(This incident is beautifully related in Miss Brewer's diary.) 

1 A kingly vulture sat alone, 

Lord of the ruin round, 
Where Egypt's ancient monuments 

Upon the desert frown'd. 
A hunter's eager eye had mark'd 

The form of that proud bird, 
And through the voiceless solitude 

His ringing shot was heard. 

2 It rent that vulture's plumed breast, 

Aim'd with unerring hand, 
And his life-blood gush'd warm and red 

Upon the yellow sand. 
No struggle mark'd the deadly wound, 

He gave no piercing cry, 
But calmly spread his giant wings 

And sought the upper sky. 

3 O wounded heart ! suffering soul ! 

Sit not with folded wing, 
Where broken dreams and ruin'd hopes 

Their mournful shadows fling. 
Outspread thy pinions like that bird, 

Take thou the path sublime, 
Beyond the cruel shafts of sin, 

Beyond the wounds of time. 

4 Mount upward ! brave the clouds and storms ; 

Above life's desert plain- 
There is a calmer, purer air, 
A heaven thou too mayst gain. 



And as that dim ascending form 

Was lost in day's broad light, 
So shall thy earthly sorrows fade, 

Lost in the Infinite. 

ANNE CHARLOTTE LYNCH. 1818. 

FOLLOWING THE CLOUD. 
The Lord of Hosts hath made for me 
A pathway through the troubled sea ; 
The great, dim, hungry sea, 
The black and plunging sea, 
The Lord divides for me. 
With lifted rod and outstretched hand 
He pointeth out the solid land ; 
And while the unknown path I tread, 
His guiding cloud moves overhead. 
Black waves heap high on either side, 
With night and darkness far and wide. 
The cold east wind comes damp with spray, 
Yet there is light on all my way. 
The cloud in sunset skies unrolled 
Held only gloom within its fold. 
Now towering high, transfused with light, 
It streams,' a beacon on my sight. 
My cares, and doubts, and fears are gone, 
The signal leads, I follow on, 
Assured no harm shall come to me, 
Although my path lies through the sea. 



GOD'S CARE. 

The fishermen lof Brittany (so the story goes) are wont to utter this 
Bimple prayer as they launch their boats upon the deep : "Keep me, my 
God !— my boat is so small, and Thy ocean so wide." 

1 O Bark of mine ! fierce grows the tide 
Thou art so small, the sea so wide ; 
No shelter near ; nor light, nor guide ; 
So frail thou art, where canst thou hide ? 
Thou doubting one, clasp thou the Hand 
That rules the wave ; at His command 
The storm shall cease, and safe and grand 
Thy fragile boat shall reach the strand. 

2 O Heart of mine ! so long the way 
Alone, unaided, thou must stray ; 
There comes no light, no welcome ray, 
To tell the dawn of Hope's glad day ! 
Thou foolish Heart, thy sorrow take, 
And from thy grief a blessing make : 
Forget thyself ! Awake ! awake ! 

The night is past ; soon day shall break. 
8 O Soul of mine ! 't is fierce and long 
That thou must battle with the wrong : 
Thou art so weak, the world so strong. 
How canst thou gain the victor's song ? 
Thou faithless Soul, accept the test ; 
Keep joy aglow within thy breast, 
And He who doeth all things best 
Shall lead thee on to peace and rest. 

ANNA DEMING. 1882L 
In the " Evangelist." 






TEMPERANCE. PARLOR MEETINGS AND ENTERTAINMENTS. 



5C3 



\m $mm Jl <&qxU\x 



Is a resident of Auburndale, Mass. She is private secretary to Miss 
Frances E. Willard, and well beloved by all who know her, 

Perhapsshe has done more for the Juvenile and Young Woman's work 
in Temperauce than any one person. She has written considerably, for 
one so young, and her productions are always of a high ordir. Her nu- 
merous friends and admirers expect much of her, for the future. At 
present, she is at work compiling a song book for use in Bands of Hope, 
which promises to be very useful. (Aug., 1885.) 

AFTER DARK, THE STARS. 

" The Eternal Stars shine out as soon as it is dark enough." 

1 A tired child, restless, as the night came on, 
Wond'ring at twilight where the day had gone, 
Watched at the window with a weary sigh, 

Till heaven should hang its star-lamps in the sky. 

2 " Why don't they come, mamma ? " she questioning 

said; 
Then looking up, " Come, pretty stars ! " she plead. 
Deeper the shades of night around her grew, 
While patiently she peered the darkness through. 

3 At last with shout of joy, a star she spied. 

*' I see one now ! Why not before ? " she cried. 
The mother kissed her eager lips and smiled: 
" Because it was not dark enough, my child." 

4 So shine the Eternal stars in sorrow's might : 
The deepest gloom but serves to show their light. 
Take courage then, O heart that most hath bled, 
God's stars of hope are shining overhead. 

ANNA A. GORDON, 

Evanston, Sep. 1884. 
WAKING. 

1 I have done at length with dreaming ; 

Henceforth, O thou soul of mine, 
Thou must take up sword and garments, 

Waging warfare most divine. 
Life is struggle, combat, victory ; 

Wherefore have I slumbered on 
With my forces all unmarshalled, 

With my weapons all undrawn ? 
Oh ! how many a glorious record 

Had the angel of me kept, 
Had I done instead of doubted, 

Had I warred instead of wept ! 

2 Never in those old romances 

Felt I half the sense of life 
That I feel within me stirring, 
Standing in the place of strife. 

3 O my soul, look not behind thee, 

Thou hast work to do at last ; 
Let the brave toil of the present 

Overarch the crumbling past : 
Build thy great acts high, and higher, 

Build them on the conquered sod, 
Where thy weakness first fell bleeding 

And thy first prayer rose to God. 

CAROLINE A. BRIGG8. 



THE WITHERED HAND. 

1 Behold ! the hand is withered, 

For no work has it done, 
To help the burdened, friendless, 

Their weary journey on ; 
And the hand has dwindled 

And wasted all away, 
Because it has done nothing 

For the Master every day. 

2 The hand, it is all withered, 

No more work can it do, 
Because it has not labored 

And been to others true. 
Both hand and soul together 

Are wasted all away, 
For in the Master's service 

Naught has been done each day. 

3 How many hands are withering ? 

And wherefore should they not, 
When deeds of love and kindness 

They never once have wrought ? 
Oh! let us rather wear out 

Thau waste our life away, 
And see that we do something 

For the Master ever)- day. 






■woodin. 1884. 



"FACE TO FACE." 

1 Once, at the pleasant twilight hour, when chill 

And frosty grew the air without our home, 
The cheery blaze had drawn the children in, 
Well pleased beside its warmth and glow to 
come. 

2 But one is missed — - for papa is not there — 

And soon with eager eyes they haste to gaze 
From the clear window pane, for one so dear, 
His presence brightens all the wintry days. • 

3 But as they stand together looking out, 

Their quickened breath spreads over the fair 
glass, 
And makes it dull and misty — so in vain 

Their wistful glances strive through it to pass. 

4 The youngest tries to wipe away the stain, 

But unskilled fingers only soil the more ; 
She grieves, " I cannot see my papa now," 

Her loving eyes with tear-drops brimming o'er. 

5 'T is thus we look, or think we look for God ; 

We dim the glass through which we "darkly see," 
Then wonder why our upward looks and cries 
Bring to us little of His grace so free. 

6 The world, alas ! oft comes before our eyes, 

And dazzled with its glitter and display, 
We gaze with longing on its offered good, 
And from the lowly Saviour turn away. 



564 



WOMAN JN SACRED SONG. 



7 Perhaps we dim our vision with the tears 

Our blesed Lord would gladly wipe away ; 
Nor see the "silver lining" of the cloud 

That breaks above our heads for one brief day. 

8 The idol we enshrine within our hearts, 

Be it whate'er it may, will dim the pane 
Through which we seek our Father's face to view, 
And mark our souls with many a soil and stain. 

9 So, groping 'mid the shadows and the glooms, 

And burdened heavily with self-made cares, 
Struggles within, temptations fierce without, 
Quickly our day from morn to evening wears. 

10 And in that quiet twilight hour, when fast 

The things of earth are fading from our sight, 
' Our idols shattered, our temptations o'er, 

We look while dawns the glorious heavenly 
light. 

11 All intervening clouds shall be withdrawn, 

And " face to face" our Saviour we shall see ; 
Forgetting all these mists and doubts and fears, 
Forever with our Father we shall be. 

MRS. E. A. WILSON. 
i In "Labor of Love." Springfield, 111., 1880. 

OUR NATION. 

1 The clang of arms, the clash of steel, 

Incited by the rolling drum, 
Resounded loud for woe or weal ; 

And tongues were mute, and lips were dumb, 
As watching from afar, they saw 

The smoky wave surge to and fro, 
With trembling hearts, and filled with awe, 

They watched, one hundred years ago. 

2 And aching hearts grew faint and sick, — 

For long and dreadful was the fray. 
But when at last, so densely thick, 

The smoke and clouds had cleared away, 
Upon the graves that strew'd the land, 

Was found a thing in embryo. 
A nation, beautiful and grand 

Sprung up, one hundred years ago. 

3 Since then, old Father Time has sown 

The seed* of death, with angry frown, 
And with his ruthless scythe, hath mown 

His thousands upon thousands down. 
And yet she lives ! Our nation lives ! 

To bless the day that gave her birth ; 
She reaches out her hand, and gives 

A " welcome home," to all the earth. 

4 But shall our banner, grand and fair, 

The ensign of a nation free, 
Look down on human souls, that wear 

The galling chains of slavery ? 
More dreadful far than any wrought 

From iron ore, in furnace fires ; 
For while they bind the victim caught, 

They fill the soul with base desires. 



5 O nation grand ! O people free ! 

How long shall rum dominion hold 
And blot out the divinity 

God stamped on man so strong and bold ? 
How long will ye so idly stand, 

And view the wrecks of human lives 
That broadcast lie throughout the land, 

While rum, the dreadful demon, thrives ? 

6 Arise ! in all the strength and pride 

Of freedom and a holy cause, 
Till our loved land be purified, 

And joy abound through righteous laws. 
Then with glad anthems shall we sing, 

Justice and truth have met below ; 
And to the skies the chorus ring, 

" Praise God from whom all blessing flow." 

AMELIA M- STARKWEATHER. Oct. 1884. 

HOME-BREWED BEER. 

1 The harvest of rich and golden sheaves 

Had been safely gathered in 
From the well-tilled fields of Farmer Brown, 

And the feast and mirth began. 
There was good roast beef, there were puddings rich, 

And plenty of wholesome cheer ; 
But the glasses were filled from the crystal spring, 

Instead of with home-brewed beer. 

2 And visitors wondered to see the change ; 

For William Brown's farm-house 
Had long and far been famed for the skill 

Of his clever and thrifty spouse. 
And specially was it whispered round, 

In homesteads far and near, 
That none to beat her could be found 

In her tap of home-brewed beer. 

3 "I'll tell you my friends," the farmer said, 

As he met inquiring eyes, 
" Why water, instead of home-brewed beer, 

To-day each glass supplies. 
My first-born son, dear to my heart — 

Words cannot tell how dear — 
To-day a homeless wanderer roams 

Because of our home-brewed beer. 

4 " He learned to love it whilst a boy, 

And the taste grew with his years ; 
I saw his danger when too late ; 

I sought with bitter tears 
To win my boy, my first-born, back 

From the power of the deadly snare ; 
But all in vain — he cared for naught 

But to quaff the accursed beer. 

5 " One day, when drink had made him mad, 

And passion had made me wild, 
I struck him, and he returned the blow, 

And I savagely fought my child. 
I cast him forth from his childhood's home, 

I banished him — though 'twas here 
He had learned to love the dangerous taste 

Of his mother'^ home-brewed beer. 



TEMPERANCE. PARLOR MEETINGS AND ENTERTAINMENTS. 



565 



" But Oh ! since then my stricken heart 

Hath enlightened my once dark eye 
To see my folly, and though too late, 

To choose a course more wise. 
No child of mine again shall learn 

From father or mother here, 
Nor servant be taught by me to love 

The taste of home-brewed beer. 
" And Oh ! may God to my yearning heart 

The wanderer bring again ! " 
And from many a quivering lip was heard 

A fervent, deep " Amen ! " 
The feast was over, the guests dispersed, 

With sober heads and clear, 
Acknowledging they were none the worse 

For want of the home-brewed beer. 

MRS. E, A. C. ALLEN. 

In "Church Union" 1884. 

(This might also be read the " Home-made Cider." How many a life is 

wrecked, the first downward steps of which can be traced to the cider 

barrel in the cellar at home.)— Ed. " Amendment Herald." 

TEMPERANCE APPLICATION OF THE 
"BLUE AND THE GRAY." 

1 Asleep in their honored graves, 

For home and country they fell ; 
Alas ! for boys who march 
In the ranks that lead to hell ! 

2 Marching down, day after day, 

Boys once noble and true, 
Going to death, the Gray, 

To drunkard's graves the Blue. 

3 Hearts that beat high with hope ; 

Eyes that were fixed on the goal ; 
Hands once pure, grasping the cup 
That is death to the priceless soul. 

4 What are you doing to-day? 

Must we look in vain to you 
To break the chains of the Gray, 
To free the limbs of the Blue ? 

5 Better a thousand times 

Our boys in battle should fall, 
Than live as the victims of Rum, 
Bound in its fatal thrall. 

6 To the rescue, O good and true, 

Souls are in peril to-day ; 
Sweep the curse from reach of the Blue, 
Save from its taint the Gray ! 

MBS. GEORGIA HULSE M'LEOD. 

A TALE OF LONG AGO. 
Now hark, ye friends, to my story — 

A story of long ago, 
When the dark queen, Bloody Mary, 

Was filling the land with woe ; 
When the glowing sun of morning 

Seemed to blush with a deeper red, 
As it mingled its crimson rays 

With the blood of the noble dead ; 



When the silver moon of evening 

Grew pale and sad at the sight 
Of dark acts and fiendish horrors, 

Wrought under cover of night ; 
When strong men, aye ! and fair maidens, 

Died without murmur or moan, 
And joined the ransomed spirits 

Around their Redeemer's throne. 



'Twas evening ; the glow of sunset 

Had passed from the western sky, 
And the moon with borrowed splendor 

Shone gentle and calm on high. 
On the dark edge of a forest 

A beautiful maiden stood, 
With her fair face toward the highway, 

Her back to the lonely wood. 
She pushed back the clinging bushes 

Which hindered her nimble feet, 
And stepped out into the highway ; 

The air was astir with the sweet, 
Low music of night-winds singing 

In the rustling tree-tops near — 
The prelude of sweeter music, 

Which her soul was soon to hear. 
Then she clasped her slender fingers, 

And lifted her soft, brown eyes ; 
She thought of her loving Saviour — 

Of that home beyond the skies ; 
That home where troubles are ended — 

That home of the pure and blest — 
"Where the wicked cease from troubling, 

And the weary are at rest." 
O maiden ! bow in reverence, 

And strengthen your soul with prayer, 
The angels e'en now are waiting 

To carry your bright soul there. 



She threw back her flowing 

And walked up the winding way ; 
While the moonbeams playing round her 

Made her road seem bright as day ; 
As her swift feet bore her onward, 

Her thoughts flew back to the glen 
Where her old father was hidden — 

Aye ! hidden from the fierce men 
Who had threatened him in auger, 

And driven him from his home. 



But why does she start and tremble, 

While her cheeks grow pale as death ? 
" Oh ! I hear the tramp of horses ! " 

She whispers with abated breath ; 
"I hear — O Thou good God, help us! 

The troopers ! they come this way 1 
My father, my poor, poor father ! 

Lord, keep him safely, I pray ! " 



566 



WOMAN IN SACKED SONG. 



She stands there motionless, silent ; 

She hears on the quiet air 
The tramp, tramp, tramp of the horsemen, 

But her feet refuse to stir. 
And now she sees, winding slowly 

Up the road, an angry band ; 
Those willing servants of Mary, 

"Who had filled with woe the land. 
Shall she flee ? Ah ! they have seen her," 

And with shouts of savage glee 
They spur their horses to meet her. 

Back in the shadow draws she, 
Half hoping that they may pass her, 

Yet feeling her hope is vain ; 
On they come ! still on ! They reach her, 

And each rider draws his rein. 
" Ah, ha ! the young cub is cornered, 

And mark me, her sire is near. 
Now take ye her, men, and bind her 

Lest she should escape. I fear 
She will not be glad to answer 

The questions we ask her. Come, 
Ye need not weep, my fair damsel, 

We're not as tender as some 
You've seen, and tears will not move us; 

If you would save your life, tell 
Us where your father is hidden, 

And trust me, all will be well." 
The girl stepped forth from the shadow, 

While tear-drops flashed in her eye ; 
Thus spake she to the gruff leader : 

" Hark ye ! I fear not to die ; 
Your soldiers need not to biud me — 

I will not escape their hand ; 
I know 'tis to find my father 

Ye're seeking now through the land ; 
Ye call him ' Heretic,' ' Madman,' 

' Teacher of errors and lies.' 
I knoiv he is true and Christian — 

Heir to a home in the skies. 
What ! tell you where he is hidden ! 

Betray my father to you ? 
'T were far, far better to suffer 

For that which is good and true." 
" She takes of her father's spirit," 

So muttered one of the train ; 
But their leader, full of anger, 

Flung far to the ground his rein, 
And sprang adown from his saddle, 

And stood by the gentle maid ; 
" Now tell where your father hideth, 

Or, by St. Patrick," he said, 
" I'll pierce thy heart with this dagger ; 

I will show no grace to thee." 
"It is well," replied the maiden, 

" As God willeth, let it be." 
" And sayest thou so, proud damsel ? 

Will you throw your life away ? 
Once more, only once, I ask thee — 

Come, girl ! will you tell me ? Say ! " 



" No, never. God is my witness." 
And she meekly bowed her head. 

A steel blade flashed in the moonlight — 
A sigh — and she sank down dead ; 

To the place of " many mansions," 
Another pure soul had fled. 

A silence came o'er those horsemen, 

Gazing on the dead girl there, 
With moonbeams forming a halo 

Of glory around her hair ; 
Then each man turned him round swiftly, 

And rode from that forest wild, 
Forgetting the hidden father 

In their murder of his child ; 
And there, 'neath the stars of heaven, 

With night winds kissing her brow, 
Lay sweetly the martyred maiden — 

Her troubles all ended now. 
The moon sank low in the heavens ; 

The wind moaned hymns o'er the dead ; 
The grave-owl watched the dead maiden 

From the leafy bough o'erhead. 
Oh ! grand was the cause she died for, 

And bitter the death she died ; 
But glory and peace forever 

She found on the " other side ; " 
And Oh ! may the noble courage 

Which burned in that young girl's breast, 
Find life again in our bosoms, 

Till our souls at last find rest ! 

ELIZA CARROLL SNELX. 1880. 

THE PURE IN HEART. 

" Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God," 

1 I asked the angels in my prayer, 

With bitter tears and pains, 
To show mine eyes the kingdom where 
The Lord of glory reigns 

2 I said " My way with doubt is dim, 

My heart is sick with fear ; 
Oh ! come and help me build to Him 
A tabernacle here ! 

3 " The storms of sorrow wildly beat, 

The clouds with death are chill ; 
I long to hear His voice so sweet 
Who whispered, ' Peace, be still ! ' " 

4 The angels said " God giveth you 

His love — what more is ours ? 
And even as the gentle dew 
Descends upon the flowers, 

5 " His grace descends, and as of old, 

He walks with men apart, 

Keeping the promise as foretold, 

With all the pure in heart. 

6 " Thou needst not ask the angels where 

His habitations be ; 
Keep thou thy spirit clean and fair, 
And He shall dwell with thee." 

ALICE CAST. 



TEMPERANCE. PARLOR MEETINGS AND ENTERTAINMENTS. 



567 



THE NEW DAY. 

1 Silent has been the night, and Oh ! so long ! 

With weary moon forever sailing west ; 
Save that a bird at midnight trilled a song, 
A dream of daylight, from his moonlit nest. 

2 The hills lay couched in slumber, range on range; 

The earth was floating in a silver web, — 
That mystery of calm before a change ; 
That lull of waters at the lowest ebb. 

3 Some drowsy notes were all the bird could sing, 

Soft as the scattered drops of summer dew ; 
Then, hushed within the quiet of his wing, 

He sang no more ; but now the dream comes true. 

4 A thrill runs through the spaces of the night, 

And flutters on the wavy eastern line ; 
Beyond the stars dilates a distant light, 
The luminous outflow of a day divine. 

5 With slow approach it deepens into bloom, — 

Faint jasmine yellow, with a flush of rose ; 
And, brightening till it makes the stars a gloom, 
O'er all the long uncertainty it flows. 

6 What though the perfect day is yet unborn ! 

Sweet was the carolled vision of the bird ; 
Glad are the tidal colors of the morn, 

And Heaven is pledged without a single word. 

7 The waves of light are breaking on the shore, 

Pulsing in cadence to a mightier flow, — 
The strong uplift of nobler hopes before, 
The great new future rising in the glow. 

8 Above the hill surges the day at last, 

The longed-for day, effulgent, high and wide ; 
Turn, turn, gray earth, and leave the darkened past, 
And swing thyself upon the incoming tide ! 

LOUISA BT7SHNELL. 
In " Atlantic Monthly." 



PATIENT WITH THE LIVING. 

1 Sweet friend, when thou and I are gone, 

Beyond earth's weary labor, 
When small shall be our need of grace 

From comrade or from neighbor, 
Passed all the strife, the toil, the care, 

And done with all the sighing, 
What tender ruth shall we have gained, 

Alas, by simply dying. 

2 Then lips too chary of their praise 

Will tell our merits over, 
And eyes too swift our faults to see 

Shall no defect discover. 
Then hands that would not lift a stone 

Where stones were thick to cumber 
Our steep hill-path, will scatter flowers 

Above our pillowed slumber. 



3 Sweet friend, perchance both thou and I, 

Ere love is past forgiving, 
Should take the earnest lesson home — 

Be patient with the living. 
To-day's repressed rebuke may save 

Our blinding tears to-morrow ; 
Then patience — e'en when keenest edge 

May whet a nameless sorrow. 

4 ' T is easy to be gentle when 

Death's silence shames our clamor, 
And easy to discern the best 

Through memory's mystic glamour; 
But wise it were for thee and me, 

Ere love is past forgiving, 
To take the tender lesson home — 

Be patient with the living. 

MARGARET E. SANGSTER. 



THE HEART UPON THE THRONE. 

Oh ! tend'rer; than a mother's love, 

The heart upon the throne, 
That bends with pitying, watchful care, 

To catch the faintest tone ; 
That's touched by our infirmities, 

That marks the sparrow's fall. 
Oh ! tempted one, fear not, for He 

Will heed thy slightest call. 

MISS. E. M. STORRS- 
Hannibal, Mo. 1884. 



THE UNSEEN KINGDOM 

Daniel ii : ii ; Luke xvii : 20. 

1 The gifted tell, in song and history, 
How went the game of nations ages gone ; 

Who lost, who won, as crowned ones play at war. 
They tell us how Assyria's glory waned, 
How Persia found decay, how Egypt fell, 
How Greece forgot her valor, and how Rome 
Became as iron mixed with miry clay. 

2 Keen men look through the riot, eagle-eyed, 
And to the surface-gazers bare the springs, 
The secret, strong, electric springs that move 
The mad machinery that makes the earth 

In all her nerves to tremble, and the thrones, 
The ancient principalities and powers, 
The cherished institutions, old as sin, 
To fall like Lucifer. 

3 They show us these, 

And yet, and yet they do not see His hand, 
The humblest 'mong the children marks so well ; 
The Hand Omnipotent, that works through all, 
And ever for that kingdom without end 
He hath set up on earth. 






WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



The years move on, 
And then the centuries ; men rage and strive ; 
They lift the voice for passion, power, and fame ; 
They will and do, and through and by them, still 
Unrecked of and unknown, He wills and does, 
And slowly and most surely in this world 
His kingdom groweth on ! 

Lift up your heads. 
Ye brazen gates that long have shut Him out ! 
Be lifted up, O everlasting doors, 
And let the King come in ! Most glorious time 
When Jesus shall be King, and He alone ! 
When Mars shall die and Mammon hide her face ; 
Oppression, Bribery, and bitter Wrong — 
The false gods and usurpers ! 

Lord, how long ? 
How long before Thy saints, the meek of earth, 
Beneath the whole broad heavens shall reign with 

Him? 
Our souls are faint with waiting, while the blood 
Reaches the horses' bridles ! So we cry ; 
But Thou art calm on Thine eternal Throne ; 
Thy patience wearies not ; Thy word is sure ; 
And though the vision tarry, it will come ; — 
The kingdoms of this world shall all become 
The kingdoms of our Lord and of His Christ ! 
Rejoice and break out into singing, Earth ! 
Forever and forever He shall reign ! 



DESERT. 

•' Who being dead, yet speaketh." 
'Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place, and rest awhile."— Mark vi : 31- 

Here in this silent, barren place I lie, 

And hide my head, and hush my breath, and stop 

My ears, and shut the light out from my eyes ; 

Master, Master, hear my lonely cry ! 

1 am so parched, so weary unto death, 
With weariness not gentle, languid, soft, 
That lulls one like a child on mother's lap, 
But that falls back upon me — brain and heart 
And soul, and stifles out the very breath 
With which I cry for rest. 

Dear Master, I 
Have run for Thee, — outstripped Thy utmost word ; 
Toiled, struggled, yearned and pleaded — fought with 

wrong, 
And wrestled for the right — poured out my soul 
Like rain, for all earth's anguished and oppressed. 
How oft I longed to sink upon the way ! 
But bitter cries of helpless human souls, 
All blinded, starving, tortured, and enchained, 
Still lured me on, and I was fain to give 
Light, help and comfort, though my own hand9 

faltered — 
My own soul gasped for breath. 
I was alone : 



I, though unworthy, had to lead Thy host — 
Had to be strong and brave, and face the storm, 
Though flesh and heart oft failed, and those I led 
And those I toiled for, turned and wounded me. 
But what am I, that I should weakly moan ? 
What were such toil and loneliness to Thine, 

lowly, lonely Saviour of us all ! 
Supreme in love, in suffering and grief, 
And (let me rest myself upon the thought,) 
Supreme in power and patient wisdom too. 

Master, turn Thy face and speak to me ! 
Let me creep humbly to Thy blessed feet. 

1 am not fit to touch Thy shining robe, 
To lean upon Thy breast, as one of old, — 
But let me only hide, lowly and still, 

In some soft shadow by Thy footstool cast ; 

Content to lie and hush myself so near 

The radiance and the fragrance of Thy throne. 

MRS. MARY L. CRIFFITH. 

Tamaqua, Penn. 1885. 

JOHN HAS LOST IT. 

1 " You are late to-night, John, do you know it ? 

The supper is cold. I'm afraid," 
And the wife scanned appearance and features, 
And earnest the quest that she made. 

2 " Why, Mary, no need to be anxious — 

The supper, I'm sure, is all right ; 
But there's something I'm wanting to tell you, 
Before I can eat it to-night. 

3 " I'd a nice job to finish this morning, 

I'd been at it three or four days ; 
And I hoped, when 'twas done, that the master 
Would think it deserving some praise. 
t " I'd just put the finishing touches, 

When the master's voice came to my ear, 
And I'm sure, you can hardly believe it, 
The words that I couldn't help hear. 

5 " Yes, Jones is the workman will suit you, 

He's the very best one I have got, 
He's steady, clear-headed, and skillful, — 
The best one in all of the lot.' 

6 " 'T was that wealthy young Rogers, with master, 

That's bought the Ford mansion and mill ; 
And that's building the big manufactory, 
Just down at the foot of the hill. 

7 " Well, I rushed from the shop in a hurry, — 

I reeled, as if drunk as a fool ; 
But I kneeled and thanked God for His goodness- 
Then, I rose up, collected and cool. 

8 " And when I came back, they were standing 

Just by the last job I had done, 
And Rogers was saying to master, 

' You're right, sir, that Jones is the one. 

9 " 'You say that he always is busy, — 

You know that he don't drink a drop,' 
' Why, he's not lost a day in a twelvemonth,— 
And's the soberest man in my shop. 



TEMPERANCE. PARLOR MEETINGS AND ENTERTAINMENTS. 



569 



10" Says master, and afterwards added : 

' I don't know which way I'm to turn ; 
You are able to pay better wages, — 
I can't pay him what he can earn/ 

11 " Well, the long and the short of it all is, 

We're to move to Ford place, right away ; 
There's a cottage, a garden and pasture, 
Rent-free, just as long as we stay. 

12 " It's a first-rate machinist is wanting 

For the mill and the factory to care ; 
I shan't have much time to be idle, — 
But the wages 'II be pretty fair." 

13 Then the wife sobbed aloud in thanksgiving, 

With a joy to her heart's very core ; 
" You have lost it ! O John ! you have lost it ; 
Thank God! you will have it no more." 

14 " Why, what have I lost ? my dear Mary — 

I'm sure I've not lost — I have found • 
For the very best job I have gotten 
In all the whole country around." 

15 " O John, you remember the winter " — 

And her voice was a pitiful sob, 
" That we had neither victuals, nor firing, 
For no one would give you a job ; 

16 "You had gotten a bad name for drinking, 

And the needed work had to be done 

By a cool head, a hand that was steady, — 

We suffered, for you could get none. 

17 " You've been sober now more than a twel vemonth,- 

Nigh two of them — three ! if a day, 
And you've lost the bad name you had gotten, — 
When we're happy, how time slips away ! " 

18 " Well, Mary, in your way of losing, 

I've lost a great deal more than that : 

Ragged pants, and a coat all in tatters, 

Torn shirt, and a shocking bad hat." 

19 " And may be, you, too, have lost something, — 

Just think if you haven't, dear wife ; 

Poor clothing, poor food and poor housing, 

And a torture gone out of your life. 

20 " Ah, Mary ! I'm sure if God's blessing 

Will guide me in future aright, 
You'll be always as hopeful and happy 
As we're both of us feeling to-night ? 

21 " And now you may put up the supper, 

We shall gratefully eat it to-night, 
Every morsel will have special relish ! 
Our hearts are so cheerful and light." 

ADELIA 0. GRAVES. 
Mary Sharp College, Winchester, Tenn. 1883, 



THOSE LITTLE SHOES. 

1 You think I choose a subject 

That's strange to speak on here ? 
You think it has no reference 

To rum, or wine, or beer ? 
Just listen, while I tell you 

A story sad and true ; 
It seems to me so touching, 

Perhaps it may touch you. 

2 I heard it from a father 

Who knew the power of drink, , 
And felt he had been rescued 

From destruction's awful brink 
He told it in a meeting 

Much like this here to-night, 
He told it hoping thus to lead 

Some one to choose the right. 
8 He said : "I once was wealthy, 

My father's pride and joy ; 
He thought that nothing was too good 

To lavish on his boy. 
The finest education 

That this land can afford 
He gave me, and then sent me 

To spend a year abroad. 

4 " T was there I learned to tamper 

With wine and lager beer ; 
Oh ! never touch a drop of them, 

I beg each young man here. 
I came back to my home again, 

Nor dreamed of any harm, 
Old Alcohol knows well the way 

To keep us from alarm. 

5 " I studied a profession 

And married a dear wife, 
With sweetest of fair roses 

I meant to strew her life. 
I felt so strong to battle 

With all ills for her sake, 
Yet day by day was forging 

Those chains so hard to break. 

6 " I need not stop to tell you 

How, as the months went by, 
King Alcohol grew stronger, 

And weak and weaker I. 
It only takes a few short years 

For a drunkard to grow poor ; 
When once the wine-cup chains him, 

His ruin is most sure. 

7 "I fell as many another 

Is falling every day ; 
In youthful clays in sorrow 

My wife's brown hair turned grey. 
We moved from our fine house 

To a hut both poor and small, 
I scarcely earned a shelter 

For my family at all. 



570 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



8 " One bitter night last winter, 

I had gone to the old inn 
Where I spent my evenings, then, 

In reveling and sin ; 
My wife with bitter agony 

Said, ' Leave me not alone ' ; 
But I heeded not the pleadings, 

Nor my little baby's moan. 

9 " As I passed through the bar-room 

A sound fell on my ear 
Of childish laughing joy, 

A sound most sweet to hear ; 
The landlord's little daughter 

Looked up and me espied, 
' Oh ! see my pretty, shiny shoes, 

My new, nice shoes ! ' she cried. 

10 " Then like a flash of lightning 

It darted through my brain 
That I, who brought my loved ones 

But pain and want and shame, 
Was with my money buying shoes 

For other children's feet, 
And leaving my own darling's bare 

To walk through snow and sleet. 

11 "I rushed out of that bar-room 

To my own home once more ; 
I found my children huddled 

In a heap upon the floor ; 
I clasped my baby's naked feet 

Close in my warm, hard hand ; 
Oh ! how their cold pierced to my heart, 

No one can understand. 

12 " I vowed that from that hour, 

With the help of God on high, 
No one should ever listen 

To my little children's cry 
Because their feet were aching 

With the bitter, bitter cold, 
While I was spending for strong drink 

My hard-earned, precious gold. 

13 " And my vow has ne'er been broken, 

Though it's been a dreadful fight, 
As all who see my face can tell, 

As I stand here to-night, 
But I thank my heavenly Father 

For the warning sent that night 
By those little shiny shoes, 

To lead me to the light." 

14 O fathers, are you spending 

Your money at the bar ? 
Oh ! let this simple story 

Live as a guiding star, 
To lead you back to virtue 

And paths of truth and right ; 
Then shall I not have spoken 

In vain to you to-night. 



THE FIRST INSPIRATION OF COLUMBUS. 

STATUE IN THE HALL OK THE MUSEUM OF FINE ARTS, 
BOSTON. 

1 Hush ! softly tread, and let no word of thine 

Dissolve the spell that lingers round that form, 
That seated figure, while a thought divine 

With promise grand the childish heart doth warm. 

2 The half-shut book, perchance a volume lent, 

Holds greater charm than many an ancient scroll ; 
What wondrous words within that book have sent 
The thought electric pulsing through the soul ? 

3 His eyes are fixed upon the western main, 

As though he saw the glorious outline rise 
In all its plenitude of hill and plain, 

Of that New World his inner sense descries. 

4 The waves, unheeded, dash against his feet ; 

So, unsubdued, he saw in after years 
The thousand obstacles that rose to meet 

A scheme like his, so fraught with hopes and fears. 

5 That prophecy, in grand fulfillment now, 

Throughout this broad, fair land, our eyes may view; 
That inspiration waits with holy glow 

To thrill each heart with hope and faith anew. 

6 Although four times a hundred years have flown, 

That lesson echoes still with accents clear : 
" Whatever bars before us may be thrown, 
Success is sure to those, who persevere." 

ALICE C. JENNINGS. 1884. 
From a Poem Entitled 

THE NEED OF THE HOUR. 
There's a mighty temptation, the growth of age, 

Deep set in the life of to-day ; 
There is falsehood, that staineth the world's printed 
page, 
That leadeth in dishonor's way. 
To be true to the best that lies in our power, 
To be true to the right, is the need of the hour. 

ELLA DARE. 

ROLL ON, TEMPERANCE TIDE. 

1 Roll on, temperance tide ! 

Let thy soundings be deep, let thy Teachings be wide, 
Out of that ocean that circles our earth, 
Boundless and mighty thy movings had birth ; 
Sweep o'er the fens of pollution and wrong, 

For the cleansing of body, salvation of soul, 
For the help of the weak and the joy of the strong, 

For a pathway of peace let thy clear crystal roll. 

2 Roll on, temperance tide ! 

For the waters of life in thy billows abide ; 
Over the low sands of dry barren need, 
Over the rough rocks of hardness and greed ; 
For the raising of life that in darkness has lain, 

For the helping of heart, for the saving of home. 
For the healing of nation from plague spot and stain, 

From the hand of the Lord let thy full flooding come. 

AURILL\ FURBER. 

Cottage Grove, Minn., Aug.. 1883. 



TEMPERANCE. PARLOR MEETINGS AND ENTERTAINMENTS. 

STEPPING IN FATHER'S TRACK. 



571 



LOUISE S. TJPHAM. 



M. FRANCES ENGLISH. 



feES 



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fy - ing e 



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1. How 
De 



rious vie - tories have been won, How man -y from temp 
vil, just be -cause a son, (omit 




2 How should you walk, fathers, lest too late 

You strive to call some erring wanderer back ! 
For precepts best on those examples wait 
That leave the brightest track. 

3 So live that when the deepening snow of age 

Shall hold your failing strength in bondage back, 



Your children's best and noblest heritage 

Shall be your shining track. 

4 And when the household and the hearth are gone, 

And tender looks and tones may not come back, 

Your mantle long may rest upon the son 

"Who steps in father's track. 

LOUISE S. UPHAM. 1883. 



MARINER'S HYMN. 



Mrs. SOUTHEY. 



Miss M. F. ENGLISH. 

J* 



Mitchell. Iowa. 1884. 
-J- 




1. Launch thy bark, mar - i - ner! Christian, God speed thee! Let loose the rud - der bands,Good angels lead the„. 

2. Look to the weather - bow, Breakers are round thee; Let fall the plum-met now, Shallows may ground thee. 

3. "What of the night.watchman, What of the night ?" "Cloudy— all qui - et— No land yet— all's right." 

4. How gains the leak so fast ? Clear out the hold; Hoist up the merchan-dise, Heave out the gold; 

o. Slack not your sail yet At in - let or is - land; Straight for the bea-con steer.Straightforthe high-land; 




*» • 9 9 + 9 ^ k ^ 9 V 9 * 9 ffi" 

Set thy sails wa - ri - ly, Tem-pest will come; Steer thy course stead - i- ly, Christ-ian, steer home. 

Reef in the fore-sail there ! Hold the helm fast! So— let the ves - sel wear — There swept the blast." 

Be wakeful, be vig-i-lant, — Dan-ger may be At an hour when seem-eth Se - cur - est to thee." 

There— let the in-gotsgo — Now the ship rights; Hur -rah! the har - bor's near — Lo! the red lights! 

Crowd all thy can - vas on, Cut through the foam ; Christ-ian, cast an - chor now — Heaven is tby home. 






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572 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



JUBILATE. 



"The advisory board of the Grand Army of the Republic, which is to 
encamp on a grand scale in Denver, this summer, met one day last week, 
in that city.and decided that no liquor should be sold on the grounds to 
tempt the seventy thousand soldiers who will share in the pleasures of 
the reunion. They even went so far as to make efforts to secure jurisdic- 
tion over as much adjacent ground as possible, for the sake of encircling 
the ' boys in blue ' with a wide sweep of temptationless territory." —The 
" Union Signal" of May 3. 1884. 



1 O wives, who in agony measured the years, • 

Till your fainting hearts caught the far echo of 

cheers, 
And from out of the death-damps the loved ones 

returned 
To the welcoming arms that so sorely bad yearned ; 
O mothers, whose sons out of war's crimson rain, 
Came with battle-scars grim to the home-nooks again, 

2 Ye may bid them go forth at the bugle-call now, 
With a song in your heart and a smile on your brow. 
For no ambush awaits them, no batteries hide, 
With their engines of death, the far "camp-fire" 

beside ; 
And the shields that they bear from the shelter of 

home, 
All unsullied and stainless shall back to you come. 
Thank God for the men who are brave and true ! 
No snares will be set for the " boys in blue." 

3 Though no deadly foe assail you, 

Heroes brave to do or dare, 
Comrades, rally ! The reveille 
Sounds once more upon the air ! 

4 Once again in midnight solemn 

Be the camp-fire's stories told ; 
Once again the mighty column 
Muster, as in days of old. 

5 While you cheer the star-gemmed banner 

Proudly waving overhead, 
While through all your glad hosanna 
Wails a requiem for the dead ; 

6 We at home, your wives and daughters, 

Sisters, mothers, on our knees, 
Hearts athrob with love you've taught us, 
Thank the Lord for men like these. 

ALICE M. (JI7ERNSEV/. 



2 Light on the distant hills ! 

Where pure on winter days 
The white snow lies against the skies ; 

Where autumn's robes of haze 
Fall round her sandaled feet,. 

Where summer grasses creep ; 
On which the years with dying tears 

Pass onward to their sleep. 

3 Light on the distant hills ! 

Beyond whose farthest rim 
Are loving friends, whose trust and truth 

Through changes grow not dim ; 
And homes where welcome warm awaits 

And pleasures wing the hours ; 
And graves where faithful hearts are still 

Beneath the grass and flowers. 

4 Light on the distant hills ! 

That clearly, calmly rise, 
Though weary grow the youthful feet 

And dim the love-lit eyes ; 
The calm, grand, everlasting hills, 

That ever changeless stand, 
Though nations mourn their ruler's fall 

And war sweeps o'er the land. 

5 Light on the distant hills ! 

The light of truth and right ; 
The years sweep on, the nations move, 

And goodness gathers might. 
The winds of God shall sweep the clouds 

Away across the sky, 
And all the shades shall be dispelled 

That in the valleys lie ; 
And though these shadows linger still, 

The heart with rapture thrills, 
And while we wait and work and pray, 

The light shines on the hill. 



LIGHT ON THE HILLS. 

Light on the distant hills ! 

While we in shadow rest, 
O light that gleams through broken clouds 

That sail from east to west ; 
That break and move and drift apart, 

Revealing clearest blue, 
And silver edges bright and clear 

Where gleams the sunshine through. 



ELIZA O. PEIKSON, 



AT EVENING TIME. 



1 When fades the sunlight in the western sky, 
When dimly shadows fall on sea and land, 

When breezes whisper of the day gone by, 

And home the blackbirds fly, a chattering band, 
Then, lonely heart, faint not, but be thou strong, 
Thy life shall also have its evening song. 

2 Shoreward at dusk the sea-gull takes her flight, 

And slowly all the briny tide-waves break ; 
Homeward the skiffs return again at night, 
And fishing dories safest harbor make. 

'T is evening hours that bring the wanderers 

home ; 
Take courage, heart, thine eve shall also come. 

JULIA MEKEDITH. 



TEMPERANCE. PARLOR MEETINGS AND ENTERTAINMENTS. 



573 



HOW LONG? 



Miss M. E, SEEVOSS. 



Mrs. GEO. CLINTON SMITH. 1879. 



How long, how long, shall mothers' hearts. All helpless in their power to save, , 
See vile in-temp'rance, licensed death, Drag down their darlings to the grave? ; 
The vil -est drunk -ard of to-day Was once a pure and guilt - less child, 
And had his moth - er held the power, We still should find him un - de-filed; 
Men drive the Tempt - er from their homes. Yet build him dens on ev-ery street, ) 
And h-cense him to set his snares To trap the young and wayward feet, j 



So man-y arts, so man-y wiles, i 

Such strong temptations .to with-stand. ] 

But Satan's slaves disguised as men, j 

Wrought well their master's foul desire. | 

O brothers, is this wise or right? i 

Is there no blood upon your hands? \ 




There is no safe - ty for our homes, But to ex - pel 
Put to his lips the fa - tal ' cup, — He quaffed, and set 

Can you look on these ru - ined lives And say you've done 



him 

his 
what 



from 
brain 
God 



land, 
on fire, 

de - mands? 




Then give to woman but the right 

To wield the law's all-power - f ul arm, 






wimmm 



And she will crush this cruel blight, And save her lit- tie ones from harm 



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THE SOCIAL CUP OF FRIENDSHIP. 



ELMINA E. BALLOU WALDO. 



MAEY FEANCES ENGLISH. 1883. 



Si E gtoTJgttg ip 



Light up the hall and spread the board, Bring on the fes-tal cheer; We'll drink and merry be to-night, For those we love are here. 

Let not the false, de-cept-ive wine To friendship's board be bro't,For well we know its co-ral depths With ruin's seeds are fraught. 

Shall pure af-fec-tion's pledge be drunk In poison's dregged bowl? And doth this emblem shadow forth The feelings of the soul? 

Oh! no, the pure and generous spring Affection's type'should prove; From this alone our cups we'll fill, In pledging those we love. . 




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r > > U W * *^—*~ ftr > k 9^ 



Then light the hall and spread the board, And mirth and music bring,Go,fiIl the tempting gob-let full With water from the spring. 



> ? W > >" 



574 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



THE DEAR OLD SPRING. 

1 We quaff a cup of water cold 

In honor of our cause to-night ; 
And in its strength our hearts are bold 

To conquer all the foes of right. 
Fill high the crystal goblet to its brim, 
There's health and strength and joy within. 

2 Oh ! I remember the clear, mossy spring 

Far away among the evergreen hills, 
Where the wild bird dips its purple wing, 

And the violet its azure chalice fills — 
Where the bright, sparkling water bubbled up 
From the glittering sand to fill my cup. 

3 Long ago, ere the white man made here a home, 

The grand old trees were monarchs of the soil, 
And dusky warriors with their sweethearts roam — 

(The hunter's fearless art, their only toil — ) 
They came to the spring to slake their thirst 
Where the doe and her fawn had quenched theirs 
first. 

4 They hollowed the trunk of a beechen tree, 

The sylvan tube they sunk in the shining sand, 
And the gushing waters in laughing glee 

Bubble over the rustic curb, on every hand, 
And flowing away formed a brooklet clear — 
That brook to my childish heart so dear. 

5 Oft when I was yet a careless child. 

Through the meadows green I strayed, 
Wreathing my crown of blossoms wild, 
. Culled along the pathway where I played ; 
And bore my pitcher to the dear old spring 
Whose cooling draught might please a king. 

6 There were blossoming trees, and singing birds, 

And dragon-flies strange, with their gauzy wings ; 
And whispei'ing tones, like spoken words, 

Came to my soul from flitting things, 
That hither and hither around me flew — 
Whence came, or whither bound, I never knew. 

7 There were cowslips, with their cups of gold, 

Violets that seemed fallen from the sky ; 
Hepaticas, in their simple beauty told, 

And fragile innocence, so strangely shy; 
And sweet May pinks — oh ! so thick they grew, 
As if crowding the path to peep at you. 

8 The path, in a sociable sort of a way, 

Went in and out among the grass, 
Following the curves of a brook at play, 

Or trying its threads of silver to pass, 
Among the grass and flowers — still I dream 
Are playing bo-peep both path and stream ! 

9 Following their windings, with fancies wild, 

Day by day, I bore my pitcher to the spring, 
And the questioning soul of the lonely child, 

Found company strange in everything — 
Filled more than my pitcher at the fountain clear, — 
And the draught grows sweeter year after year. 



10 Whence the spring threw up its crystal rain, 

Like a liquid laugh on the summer air, 
I traced the brooklet's silver skein 

Writing strange, sweet music everywhere ; 
And the viewless wind caught up the sound, 
And bore the soft whisper far around. 

11 Oh ! I'd like to drink from that dear old spring, 

From iny, cups of leaves, as in days of old, 
To hear the same old birds in gladness sing, 

And catch the butterfly's wing of gold ! 
But the pure, bright water sparkles everywhere, 
And the gifts of our Father are free as air. 



CELESTIA. KICE COLBY. 



NOT ONLY THESE. 

1 Not only harbors filled with ships, 

That come and go across the seas, 
Weighed down with commerce on their trips, 

The fruits of traffic and the keys 
To motives, actions, and of aims, 

That move the forces of the race 
To wealth and lust of larger gains — 

To greed of power and higher place. 
Not only these our country asks to-day. 
That she may lead her children on alway ; 
That she may hold within her strong, right hand 
The subtle, secret force, that shall command 
The coming ages to unfold to view 
New forts of progress, met, and conquered too. 

2 Not only crowded streets of trade, 

Filled full with noise, that stuns the sense, 
That makes the timid sore afraid 

To find their way through throngs so dense. 
Not massive granite piles, that reach 

From earth to greet the sky above, 
Not merchant's wares, that haste to preach 

The times' great sermon, of " real push and shove. 1 
Not only these, our country needs this hour, 
But knowledge of these vital truths, that shower 
Their blessings down on people who must learn, 
That private word and public faith must earn 
The bounteous harvest of enduring wealth, 
And of a growing nation's prosperous health. 

3 Not only fashion, with its show, 

Nor slothful ease, nor love of self, 
Nor vain ambition, nor the flow 

Of glittering streams, of golden pelf, 
That rush along the ways of life, 

That numb the sense and craze the brain, 
That change the mother and the wife 

To courtiers of a gew-gaw train. 
Not only these, our country fain would own, 
But women of a sovereign heart, whose home 
Is made in virtue's great stronghold, 
In love of right and honor's mold. 
Where children trace the truth along each day, 
And build it in their lives and tread the way 
Of royal souls whose honest work at length 
Shall yield our country's life its needed strength. 



TEMPERANCE. PARLOR MEETINGS AND ENTERTAINMENTS. 



575 



COULD WE BUT KNOW. 

1 Could we but know the secret cares 

That lurk in every mortal breast, 
We ne'er by thoughtless word or deed, 
Would add one pang to that unrest. 

2 Could we but know of cruel wounds 

That throb and beat in many a heart, 
How would we strive, by tenderest touch, 
Some balm of healing to impart. 

3 Could we but know what thorny paths 

Full many weary pilgrims tread, 
Would we not count it blessed boon 

Sweet flowers on such dark paths to shed ! 

4 We cannot know. But if we list 

To what the whispering angels say, 
We, to our fellow-men, will be 
Gentle and merciful alway. 

5 To help the needy — cheer the sad, 

And give the erring kindly care ; 

This, this will make the unseen cross 

Of heavy hearts less hard to bear. 

EMELINE SHERMAN SMITH. 

CHRIST'S PATIENCE. 

Ah, how His patience shames our discontent ! 

How foolish all our fretfulness appears ! 

Did He not love us all those weary years ? 
And yet His days in quiet toil were spent. 
He knew the cause whereunto He was sent ; 

His world stood waiting, and there were anguished 



3 Aloft Venus hung her yellow lamp, 

And blood-red Mars was seen ; 
Jupiter too, with his clear white light ; 
Sirius lovely green. 

4 The heavens were all alight with stars ; 

The earth with shadows deep, 
Seemed the fit place for me to live, 
A soul with its life asleep. 

5 I know there is some good in me. 

For often, as on this night, 
A weary longing seizeth my heart, 
A longing to use my might. 

6 But when comes the beautiful morning, 

All purpose sinks to sleep ; 
The morning so bright to the worker, 
The waving fields to reap. 

7 I see then the number of lab'rers 

Are few and far between ; 
I know that the fields are all ready, 

Waiting the gathering in : 

8 But selfishness says to me list'ning, 

" Let others the hard task do, 
Let them break away from their self-thoughts, 
And work the hot day through." 

9 I'm strong as the strongest in wishing, 

In work the most remiss ; 
Oh ! give me a heart that its longing 
Means something more than this. 



For Him to wipe, the dead upon their biers 
To be awaked, and men called to repent, 
And little children to be blessed, the hill 

Of Calvary to climb ; yet day by day, 
Unrecognized, He calmly worked until 

The time was come. O blessed Lord, we pray 
That by Thy life we may take pattern still, 

And in Thy path may follow patiently. 



WISHING AND PRAYING. 

The following, written bya former pupil of Roekford.Illinois, Seminary, 
will find a responsive echo in the hearts of very many good women who 
have not yet entered into active service in any field of the Master's work 
for His children. May all such dear sisters be reminded that the time is 
short. " Soon the night cometh wherein no man can work." 

1 Give me a heart that is pure and true, 

Free from all selfish thought ; 
Grant me a power in this world to do, 
That I live not for nought. 

2 I was praying this in wistful tone, 

Wrapped in the darkness there, — 
By my window, looking into the night, 
"Wishino- my life were fair. 



THE UNSEEN GUARD. 

1 To his courtiers spake the monarch with trouble in 

his eye : 
" Will ye tell us who among us is a traitor and a spy ? 
My stratagem is baffled, my ambush set at nought, — 
Who tells the King of Israel the secret of my thought ?" 
Then answered back a courtier : " 'T is none of us, O 

King; 
But a prophet dwells in Israel who maketh known 

the thing ; 
Conferrings in thy council with chosen friends apart, 
Thy words within thy chamber and thy thoughts within 

thy heart." 

2 Then spake the King in anger : " Go, spy where he 

may be ; 
Take chariots and horsemen and bring him back to me. 
The servant of Elisha rose up at break of day, 
And lo, about the city the host of Syria lay ! 
He sought in haste his master, his lips were white 

with fear : 
"i Alas, for we are taken ! the Syrians are here ! 
How shall we do, my master ? " Elisha calmly smiled 
Like one who sees, untroubled, the terror of a child. 



576 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



3 " Fear not," he answered kindly, " for they that be 4 

with us 
Are more than our besiegers ; " he lifted, speaking 

thus, 
His aged hands to heaven : " Lord, open Thou his 

eyes ! " 5 

The prayer had instant answer, and starting with 

surprise, 
The young man saw the mountain as 't were with fire 

alight, 
And a vast and wondrous army flashed glory on his /• 

sight. 

4 "With white, resplendent horses went chariots and the 

cars, 
And the gems upon the bridles had the splendor of 

the stars ; 
Of the color of the lightning were the chariots every 

one, 
And they that stood within them wore armor like 

the sun ! 
And the triumph of their music thrilled the listener 

like a shout, 
For legion upon legion of the hosts of God were out ! 

5 "O blind and foolish Syrians ! Return the way \ye 

came ! " 
Bewildered and mistaken they think they see and 

know ; 
The prophet thus they follow as sheep to slaughter go; 
He leads them to Samaria, to the army of their foe. 
" My father, shall I smite them ? " the King of Israel 

said. 
" Nay, nay," Elisha answered, " but set before them 

bread, 
And thus refreshed, the captives back to their master 

send." 
So did the king of Israel, — and so the war had end, 

6 Full oft we read the story as something passed away 
All in the vanished ages, — unheeding that to-day, 
Invisible and countless, with flashing swords of flame, 
The host of God encampeth 'round those that fear 

His name. 

URANIA LOCKE BAILEY. 1880, 



Life hath its harvest moons, 

Its tasselled corn and purple-weighted vine ; 
Its gathered sheaves of grain, the blessed sign 
Of plenteous reaping, bread and pure rich wine ; 

Full hearts for harvest tunes. 

Life hath its hopes fulfilled ; 

Its glad fruitions, its blest answered prayer, 
Sweeter for waiting long, whose holy air 
Indrawn to silent souls breathes forth in rare 

Grand speech, by joy distilled. 

Life hath its Tabor heights : 

Its lofty mounts of heavenly recognition, 
Whose unveiled glories flash to earth monition 
Of love and truth, and clearer intuition. 

Hail ! mount of all delights ! 

ISADORE C. GILBERT JEFFERY. 1883. 

WHY THUS LONGING? 

1 Why thus longing, thus forever sighing, 

For the far-off, unattained and dim, 
While the beautiful, all around thee lying, 
Offers up its low, perpetual hymn ? 

2 Poor indeed thou must be if around thee 

Thou no ray of light and joy canst throw — 
If no silken cord of love hath bound thee 
To some little world, through weal and woe ; 

3 If no dear eyes thy fond love can brighten — 

No fond voices answer to thine own ; 

If no brother's sorrow thou canst lighten, 

By daily sympathy and gentle tone. 

4 Not by deeds that win the crowd's applauses, 

Not by works that give thee world-renown, 
Not by martyrdom or vaunted crosses, 

Canst thou win and wear the immortal crown. 

5 Daily struggling, though unloved and lonely, 

Every day a rich reward will give ; 
Thou wilt find, by hearty striving only, 
And truly loving, thou canst truly live. 

HARRIET "W. SEWALL. 



BLIGHT-BLOOM. 

1 Life hath its barren years ; — 

When blossoms fall untimely down : 
When ripened fruitage fails to crown 
The summer toil : when nature's frown 
Looks only on our tears. 

2 Life hath its faithless days. 

The golden promise of a morn 
That seemed for light and gladness born, 
Meant only noontide wreck and scorn, 
Hushed harp instead of praise. 

3 Life hath its valleys too, 

Where we must walk with vain regret, 
With mourning clothed, with wild rain wet, 
Toward sunlight hopes that soon may set 
All rpienched in pitying dew. 



Clcrirawr. 



By her profound conviction of itsmoral significance, Mary Clemmerhas 
ennobled journalism. Requested to write the poem for the New York 
Press Association at its meeting in 1881, she responded with her poem en- 
titled "The Journalist," in which these stanzas occur : 

THE JOURNALIST. 

1 Exalt thy calling ! On its spotless shield 

Write truth, write honor, valor, first and last, 
Cravens may clutch thy stars, and thou not yield •, 
Love them, and hold them fast ! 

2 Thus Greeley wrote in fresh, heroic youth ; 

Thus Margaret Fuller wrote her way to power ; 
Thus Bowles — unvanquished in a rain of truth — 
Went down in manhood's flower. 



TEMPERANCE. PARLOR MEETINGS AND ENTERTAINMENTS. 



577 



Thus Curtis writes — rare Sidney of the pen — 

O'Reilley sings, and Godkin draws his steel ; 
Thus Schurz his highest honor takes again, 

To write the truth we feel. 
Defender of the People, of the State, 

Kindler and quickener of majestic thought,- 
Sure of the finest triumph, thou canst wait 

The crown thy patience wrought. 
To serve thy generation, this thy fate : 

" Written in water " swiftly fades thy name, 
But he who loves his kind does, first and late, 

A work too great for fame. 



While Mrs. Clemmer-Hudson is not known as a specialist in reform, 
she is relied upon as a potent force in general advancement. 

When the cause appeals to her moral power, she has the full courage of 
her convictions. Those who are aiding the cause of political enfranchise- 
ment of women ; those who are consecrating their lives to temperance, to 
philanthropy, find in Mrs. Hudson not only a sympathizer and the helper, 
hut the inspirer. To her the life is, indeed,more than meat, and the need 
of one humhle human heart is, to Mary Clemmer-Hudson, more than the 
fame or applause of the world.— Boston Traveller. 

Since the above letter was written, Mrs. Hudson has "fallen asleep." 
Her earth work is ended. She departed this life last August (1884), but 
her memory and her works remain, an eudming sweet incense. 



TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 

Oh ! remember, my friend, though the earth may be 

bright, 
Time drives on its years with untameable flight, 
And the deeper its spell round the spirit is cast, 
The darker the struggle to leave it at last. 
Remember that God hath revealed, of His love, 
That there is but one heaven, His temple above ; 
And this is the bliss at which mortals should aim, 
To walk in His presence, and honor His name. 
Alas ! that so many, and thou with the rest, 
Shouldst dream in this world to be perfectly blest ; 
"With never one thought of His goodness and power, 
"Whose hand gives the sunshine, and sends down the 

shower ! 
Oh ! pause but an hour in thy careless career, 
And let Wisdom but once breathe her words in thine 

ear ; 
Let Religion but show thee one glimpse of her light, 
And the joys that now charm thee will fade into 

night. 

JANE SIMPSON. 

THE BITTER WATERS SWEETENED. 

Exodus xv : 22—25. 

A mighty host, inspired by God's command, 

On through the thirst-consuming desert press, 
"With voiceless longing for that goodly land 

"Whose promise bright their onward path doth bless. 
No water, with its gladdening coolness, brings 

Refreshment to each faint and weary frame ; 
But see ! amid that greenness sure there springs 

A living stream, whose healing they may claim. 



3 Hope gives new strength to eager footsteps' toil, 

And with new joy desponding hearts are thrilled ; 
But ah ! what means that swift and strong recoil ? 
The long-sought fount with bitterness is filled. 

4 Yet why, O Israel ! cloud with doubt thy brow ? 

Is thine Almighty Lord not still with thee ? 
Behold, relief He pointeth even now ! 

And power attends it — " Cast thou in the tree." 

5 How oft, like Israel, have we seen some spot 

Of promised rest in outlined distance sweet, 
With glad relief to cheer our weary lot, 
And toward it press with undelaying feet, ' 

6 Only to find that disappointment sere 

Doth bid our hopes like autumn leaves to fall ! 
Yet, as of old, attentive faith may hear 

" Cast in the tree " — the Lord's restoring call. 

7 While disappointment, sin and pain combine 

To bring the Marahs that we may not flee, 
Each, all, transfigured by the touch divine, 

Are filled with blessing, — " Cast thou in the tree." 

8 Bid Christ's unceasing love and boundless power, 

Light for each problem, strength for duty bring ; 
Cleansing for sin, till Heaven's own glorious hour 
In sweetness shall dissolve each bitter thing. 

ALICE C. JENNINGS, 1884. 

THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 

Tune — "Martyn," or "Refuge." 

1 While across time's ocean sailing, 

Should thy sky adversely lower, 
And temptation's waves assailing 

Rock thee with alarming power ; 
When thy faith begins to waver, 

And thy strength and hope grow small, 
Raise thine arms to heaven, where Jesus 
Waits to heed thy faintest call. 
Chorus — Look to Jesus ! Look to Jesus ! 
Whatsoe'er thy trouble be, 
Trust in Jesus ! Trust in Jesus ! 
He will prove a friend to thee. 

2 Should thy friends most loved and cherished 

All desert or wound thee sore, 
And fond hopes like snow-flakes perished, 

Cheer thy spirit nevermore ; 
When thy heart is sick with trouble, 

And thy mind dark with despair, 
Look to Jesus, who regards thee 

With the tenderest love and care. 

3 All regardless of derision, 

Whatsoever may befall, 
Though all tear-dimmed be thy vision, \ 

And fresh trials may appall, 
Long as life's voyage is tending 

Outward, nearer to its end, 
Look to Jesus, He will prove thee 

An unfailing, precious friend. 

ANGIE FULLER. 1883, 



578 



WOMAN- IN SACRED SONG. 



LOST TREASURES. 

1 If some kind power, when our youth is ended, 

And life's first freshness lost in languid noon, 
Should stay awhile the doom by Fate intended, 
And grant us generously one precious boon — 

2 Saying, " "With thwartings, bitterness and trial, 

Your toilsome days thus far have been oppressed : 
Choose now some blessing, fearing no denial, 

To light, and charm, and beautify the rest ; " 
What should we ask ? the prize of young ambition ? 

Fame, power, wealth, and gifts of priceless cost ? 
Ah ! no — our souls would utter the petition : 

" Give us — Oh ! only give us back our lost ! " 

4 No visioned bliss, no pleasure new and splendid, 

No lofty joy by longing never crossed, 
No new light undreamed of, heaven-descended, 
Only our own — the treasures we have lost ! 

5 For, wearied out with strife, and glare, and clamor, 

Grown wiser with our years, and clearer-eyed, 
No more beguiled by dreams nor charmed by glamour, 
We dread the new, and prize the known, the tried. 

6 Ah ! what a crowd of joys would gather round us, 

Could we but have our vanished back again ! 
The heart unspoiled, the strength and hope which 
crowned us, 
The bounteous life, the ignorance of pain — 

7 The innocence, the ready faith in others, 

The sweet, spontaneous earnestness and truth, 
The trust of friends, the tender eyes of mothers, 
And all the rich inheritance of youth — 

8 The plans for noble lives, that earth thereafter 

Might be more pure ; the touch of love's warm lip 
And saving hand ; the sound of childish laughter, 
The peace of home, the joy of comradeship. 

9 We had them all ; and now that they have left us, 

We count them carefully and see their worth, 
And feel that time and fortune have bereft us 
Of all the best and dearest things on earth. 
10 Ah ! yes ! when on our hearts the years are press- 
ing, 
And all our flower-plants are touched with frost, 
We ask no more some new, untasted blessing — 
But only sigh, " Oh ! give us back our lost ! " 

ELIZABETH AKERS. 
" Baldwin's Monthly." 



IN THE LONG RUN. 

1 In the long run fame finds deserving man, 

The lucky wight may prosper for a day, 

But in good time true merit leads the van, 

And vain pretence unnoticed goes its way. 
There is no chance, no destiny, no fate, 

But fortune smiles on those who work and wait, 
In the long run. 



2 In the long run all godly sorrow pays ; 

There is no better thing than righteous pain ; 
The sleepless nights, the awful thorn-crowned days, 

Bring sure reward to tortured soul and brain ; 
Unmeaning joys enervate in the end, 

But sorrow yields a glorious dividend 
In the long run. 

3 In the long run all hidden things are known ; 

The eye of Truth will penetrate the night, 
And, good or ill, thy secret shall be known, 

However well 't is guarded from the light, 
All the unspoken motives of the breast 

Are fathomed by the years and stand confessed, 
In the long run. 

4 In the long run all love is paid by love, 

Though undervalued by the hearts of earth ; 
The great eternal Goverment above 

Keeps strict account and will redeem its work. 
Give thy love freely ; do not count the cost ; 

So beautiful a thing was never lost 
In the long run. 

EXLA WHEELER. 

" Advance-" 

OUR EASTER DAY. 

1 When is our Easter, nay, nor book, nor creed 

Can tell for you nor me ; 
Though over all the land with joyous speed, 
The bells ring merrily. 

2 For we may kneel by altars hung with flowers — 

Flowers with no thorn's alloy — 
And still the lenten sorrow may be ours, 
But not the Easter joy. 

3 It is that day that soul casts off its chain — 

For souls know bond and prison — 
It is that day when Doubt and Hate are slain, 
And Faith and Love are risen. 

4 When to the soul's neglected garden-blot 

Comes joy's awakening ray ; 
When, from the graves that human eyes see not, 
The stone is rolled away. 

5 When with clear eyes we see the mountain height, 

Above the mist that bars ; 
When through the clouds we see the constant light 
Of Truth's eternal stars. 

6 And though, because of this no glad bells ring, 

Though neither song nor prayer 
Are heard of men ; though no sweet censers swing 
Their odors on the air ; 

7 Though on no altar builded by men's hands 

Bloom violet or rose ; 
Though all the pulses of the teeming land 
Beat softly 'neath the snows ; 

8 Still do we know, unhelped of book or creed, 

Though other lips gainsay, 
That we have won our life's supremest need, 
Our own true Easter day. 

CARLOTTA PERRY. 



TEMPERANCE. PARLOR MEETINGS AND ENTERTAINMENTS. 



579 



WHOSOEVER LOVETH ME. 

1 Sweet to me are hours of twilight, 

When the busy, hurrying day 
Lingers, just to softly gather 

One by one each golden ray. 
Till the mystic shadows mingle 

"With the fast receding light, 
As she folds the soft grey curtains 

O'er the portals of the night. 

2 When the strange and tender yearnings 

Of the soul for all that's pure, 
For the solving of life's lessons 

Into something higher, truer, 
Kindle each of life's ideals 

Into fresh and vivid glow, 
As the peace, and rest, and sweetness 

All our being overflow. 

3 When the hope, and faith, and courage, 

Scattered through long days and years, 
Seem to thrill each inmost fibre 

Till the heart is filled with tears, 
And we lift each pain and trouble, 

All our weariness and care, 
All our earthly sin and weakness 

In a silent, trustful prayer. 

4 Floating down the great forever, 

Time has gone but little space, 
Since those skies and just such twilights 

Left their gentle soothing trace 
On the life of our Great Master, 

Tracing out with eyes Divine, 
Those same starry constellations, 

From the hills of Palestine. 

5 'Neath fair Lebanon's tall cedars, 

Where sweet Kedron seeks the sea, 
On the Mount, or in the garden, 

By the side of Galilee ; 
Passing by the eager people, 

When the busy day had flown ; 
When the twilight gathered softly, 

Jesus sought to be alone. 

6 Oh ! the love which took our sorrow, 

Pain and trouble, guilt and death ; 
Lifted them with patient pleading, 

Eager, supplicating breath, 
Up to eyes of pitying mercy, 

To a Father's tender care ; 
To a Father's faithful promise, 

In a hopeful, trusting prayer. 

7 We can almost see His coming 

From that garden on the hill, 
All the love and pain and anguish 

Lingering about Him still, 
As He tells His dear disciples 

Something of the gloom and dread 
Something of the storm-cloud gathering 

Over His devoted head. 



8 As He says, in sad entreaty, 

" Whosoever loveth me, 
Let him take my cross upon him, 

Let him feel earth's misery, 
All its hardships, darkness, error, 

All its faithless, blind despair, 
All its suffering and sadness, 

Taking them to heaven in prayer.'* 

9 Daily then this burden, sisters, 

Falls on every Christian's heart ; 
Some one's grief, or guilt, or folly, 
. Some one's cross to bear in part ; 
Some small share of life's great errors, 

Seeking out your heart and mine, 
As our human love and pity 

Lead us up to Love Divine. 

10 Sisters, we must not be weary, 

Lo ! the Lord who owns the land, 
Has been sending out the message, 

" Come and lend a helping hand ; " 
And the reaper gains sweet wages, 

As with patient toil and care, 
Precious fruit for life eternal 

To the " Harvest home " we bear. 

MKS. A. E. BUKTON. Nov. 1884. 



THE SOWER. 



1 In the dim dawning sow thy seed, 

And in the evening stay not thy hand. 
What it will bring forth — wheat or weed — 
Who can know, or who understand? 
Few will heed, 
Yet, sow thy seed. 

2 See, the red sunrise before thee glows, 

Though close behind thee night lingers still ; 
Flapping their fatal wings, come the black foes, 
Following, following over the hill. 

No response ; 

Sow thou thy seed. 

3 We, too, went sowing in glad sunrise ; 

Now, it is twilight : sad shadows fall. 
Where is the harvest ? Why lift we our eyes ? 
What could we see here ? But God seeth all. 
Fast life flies ; 
Sow the good seed. 

4 Though we may cast it with trembling hand, 

Spirit half broken, heart-sick and faint ; 
His winds will scatter it over the land ; 

His rain will nourish and cleanse it from taint 

Sinner and saint, 

Sow the good seed. 

DINAH MULOCH CRAEC 



580 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



WHAT IF. 

1 We sometimes moan at the weight of care 

Which will never let us free, 
When we long so much to do and dare 
In the broader fields we see. 

2 And the days and years keep gliding by, 

Whether dark, or dull, or fair ; 
And give no heed to our piteous cry, 
" It is hard, so hard to bear ; 

3 To see, like a shadowy host, pass by 

The possible things of fate ; 
With only a glimmer of comfort nigh, 
And that hardest of tasks — to wait." 

4 What if the work we are sighing to do, 

Is lying about us now ? 
What if the edict both wise and true, 
Be this ? To the present bow, 

5 What if God's purposes are fulfilled 

In the dreary and barren now ? 
What if the garland His love lias willed, 
Be pressing thy aching brow ? 

6 What if the mist of longing and tears 

From our troubled gaze could fall ? 
And we should see that these pain-marked years 
Were valued the most of all ? 

7 What if the mysteries God can keep, 

So hidden from mortal view ; 
Be surety and strength for the souls that weep, 
To carry them safely through ? 

8 What if the shadows along our way 

Some clearer vision endow ; 

And we shall see in a future day, 

That the trial-test is now ? 



QUESTION AND ANSWER. 

1 A new day stretches before me, 

A day unlived and untried ; 
I know not what it will bring me, 
What sorrows or joys may betide. 

2 It may be some pleasure awaits me ; 

It may be keen anguish and pain ; 
Though my morning be pleasant and sunny, 
Ere noon the dark clouds may bring rain. 

3 How shall I plan for these hours, 

One by one, as they come through the day ? 
How fill them with actions the wisest ? 
How think of the best things to say ? 

4 And how can I keep myself safely 

From danger and harm the day through ? 
It awes me to feel I'm so helpless, 

With no knowledge of what I should do. 



5 An answer seems floating around me : 

" No danger of going astray, 
While God is your Guide and Protector, 
Your refuge and strength all the day. 

6 " And though a new day lies before you, 

As yet all unlived and untried, 
God knoweth what it will bring you ; 

You are safe while you keep by His side." 

EDITH J. STODDARD. 

Milford, Mass. 1881. 



GOLDEN ROD. 

1 Thou hast the glow of the summer sun 

In thy beautiful upturned face ; 
Yet when we ask, " Has autumn come ? " 
Thou noddest with gentle grace. 

2 How came the sunshine to touch thy brow, 

And leave there its garland of gold ? 
Whisper it low, I'm listening now, 
To all thou mayest unfold. 

3 O Golden Rod, that gladdens all eyes ! 

Like thee ought our lives to be bright ; 
And maybe an angel will come from the skies 
To touch us with heavenly light. 

ANNA A. GORDON. 

En route, Sept. 10, 1883. 



$ItpM(r garwtt inrtonmg. 



Elizabeth Barrett was born in London in 1809, but passed a part of her 
youth near the Malvern Hills, in Herefordshire. She began to write at 
an early age. In 1826 she published her poem, "Essay on Mind." 
Whilst residing at Torquay for her health, she had the misfortune to be- 
hold the death by drowning of a brother, which threw a shadow on her 
after life. After this she went to London, and published many poems, 
which met with great success. In 1849 she married Robert Browning, 
the poet, after which they went to Italy, where she died, June 29, 1861. 



COMFORT. 

Speak low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet, 
From out the hallelujahs, sweet and low, 
Lest I should fear and fall, and miss Thee so, 
Who art not missed by any that entreat. 
Speak to me as to Mary at Thy feet ! 
And if no precious gums my hands bestow, 
Let my tears drop like amber while I go 
In reach of Thy divinest voice complete 
In humanest affliction, thus in sooth 
To lose the sense of losing. As a child, 
Whose song-bird seeks the wood for evermore, 
Is sung to in its stead by mother's mouth, 
Till, sinking on her breast, love-reconciled, 
He sleeps the faster, that he wept before. 



TEMPERANCE. PARLOR MEETINGS AND ENTERTAINMENTS. 



581 



SOMEWHERE. 

1 How can I cease to pray for thee ? Somewhere 

In God's great universe thou art to-day ; 
Can He not reach thee with His tender care ? 
Can He not hear me when for thee I pray ? 

2 What matters it to Him who holds within 

The hollow of His hand all worlds, all space, 
That thou art done with earthly pain and sin ? 
Somewhere within His ken thou hast a place. 

3 Somewhere thou livest and hast need of Him ; 

Somewhere thy soul sees higher heights to climb : 
And somewhere still there may be valleys dim, 
That thou must pass to reach the hills sublime. 

4 Then all the more, because thou canst not hear, 

Poor, human words of blessing, will I pray, 
O true, brave heart, God bless thee wheresoe'er 
In His great universe thou art to-day. 



SAVE THE BOYS. 

akard wh 
! the boys 

. " It 's too late for me," was the poor drunkard's cry ; 

" I 've fallen too low for forgiveness or peace, 
For the Demon of Drink holds my soul o'er the brink, 

And never can I gain reprieve or release. 
I 've a ruined frame and a crime-blackened name, 

A sunless old age and a desolate even, 
In exchange for my life, my home, and my wife, 

My childhood's deep trust and my soul's hope of 
heaven. 
If some one had only warned me to beware 

Of the first fatal glass that tempts and destroys, 
I 'd have taken a vow. It 's too late for me now — 

Too late, but, oh ! for God's sake, save the boys ! " 
'T is a grand, God-like mission to rescue the souls 

That are wandering in mazes of darkness and sin, 
To lead them up higher, with courage inspire 

Each faint-hearted, struggling one victory to win, 
But by far 't is a loftier, holier work 

To protect the dear children while yet they are pure. 
To bid them beware of the Drink Demon's snare, 

Whose glittering meshes their young feet allure. 
O mothers and fathers ! keep vigilant guard ; 

The black wolf 's abroad, cruel, treacherous and 
bold, 
And its fangs may devour in one careless hour 

Some innocent lamb of your precious home-fold. 
O Christians and patriots ! discern ye not how 

God's Church is defied by this demon-beast wild ? 
How Columbia's proud fame and glory-crowm 

Are tarnished, imperilled, guilt-dyed, and defiled 
Will not great Jehovah's dread thunderbolt crush 

The nation that looses this hydra-head beast 
'Mong its people to roam, till there's ne'er a home 

That is not despoiled for its horrible feast ? 



4 Avert the dark doom ! hunt the monster to death 
With weapons God gives for the battle of right ! 
Preach, teach, vote and pray, wage the war night 
and day, 
Till the last howl is heard from this Moloch of 
might. 
" Too late " it may be for the aged ones now ; 
" Too late ! " is their wail, while the red fang 
destroys, 
And our agonized moan cleaves its way to the Throne : 
" God save our Republic by saving the boys ! " 

MRS. NELLIE H. BRADLEY. 

Washington, D. C. 

O TIRED HEART. 

1 tired heart, 
God knows ! 
Not you or I, 
Who reach our 



for gifts 
That wise love must deny. 
We blunder where we fain would do our best, 
Until a-weary, then we cry, " Do Thou the rest." 
And in His hands the tangled threads we place, 
Of our poor, blinded weaving, with a shamed face. 
All trust of ours He sacredly will keep, 
So tired heart — God knows — go thou to work or sleep. 
2 O tired heart, 
God knows, 
Where we but guess, 
Of unknown future years, 
Their joy or bitterness. 
For we are finite, limited, enfurled, 
His vision in its sweep reaches from world to world. 
Our hidden, complex selves, His eye doth see, 
And with exceeding tenderness, weighs equally. 
O wisdom infinite ! O love naught can o'erwhelm ! 
Rest, tired heart — God knows, give unto Him the helm. 



HANNAH CODDINGTON. 



IN PRISON. 

SUITABLE FOB FLOWER MISSION DAY ENTEETATNMENT. 

1 God pity the wretched prisoners, 
In their lonely cells to-day ! 
Whatever the sins that tripped them, 
God pity them ! still I say. 

2 Only a strip of sunshine, 

Cleft by rusty bars ; 
Only a patch of azure, 

Only a cluster of stars ; 
Only a barren future, 

To starve their hope upon ; 
Only stinging memories 

Of a past that's better gone. 

3 Only scorn from women, 

Only hate from men, 
Only remorse to whisper 

Of a life that might have been. 



582 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



4 Once they were little children, 

And perhaps their unstained feet 
Were led by .a gentle mother 

Towards the golden street ; 
Therefore, if in life's forest 

They since have lost their way, 
For the sake of her who loved them, 

God pity them ! still I say. 

5 O mothers, gone to heaven ! 

With earnest heart I ask 
That your eyes may not look earthward 

On the failure of your task ; 
For even in those mansions 

The choking tears would rise, 
Though the fairest hand in heaven 

Would wipe them from your eyes ! 

6 And you, who judge so harshly, 

Are you sure the stumbling-stone 
That tripped the feet of others 

Might not have bruised your own ? 
Are you sure the sad-faced angel 

Who writes our errors down, 
Will ascribe to you more honor 

Than him on whom you frown ? 

7 Or, if a steadier purpose 

Unto your life is given ; 
A stronger will to conquer, 

A smoother path to heaven ; 
If, when temptations meet you, 

You crush them with a smile ; 
If you can chain pale passion 

And keep your lips from guile ; 

8 Then bless the hand that crowned you, 

Remembering, as you go, 
'T was not your own endeavoi 

That shaped your nature so ; 
And sneer not at the weakness 

Which made a brother fall, 
For the hand that lifts the fallen 

God loves the best of all. 

9 And pray for the wretched prisoners 

All over the land to-day, 
That a holy hand in pity 
May wipe their guilt away. 



MAT RILEY SMITH. 



THE PRISONER'S CHILD. 

TO BE USED ON FLOWER MISSION DAY. 

1 The dull, chill prison building, 
Oh ! what a gloomy sight ! 

It wears in boldest morning 
The coward scowl of night. 

The warm, fresh light approaches, 
And shuddering turns away ; 

Within its shadow, looming foul, 



No joyous thing will stay ; 
Yet there's a light within my cell, 

A lovely light its walls enclose ; 
My happy child — my daughter pure — 
My wild, wild rose. 

2 The prison sounds are dreary 

To one who hears them long ; 
The murderer talking to himself, 

The drunkard's ci'azy song. 
My prison door grates harshly, 

It bodes the jailer's scowl ; 
The jailer's dog sleeps all the day, 

To wake at night and howl. 
Yet there is music in my cell, 

And joy's own voice its walls enclose ; 
My heaven-bird — my gladsome girl — 
My wild, wild rose. 

3 Her mellow, golden accents 

O'erflow the air around, 
As if the joyous sunshine 

Resolved itself to sound. 
She carols clear at morning, 

And prattles sweet at noon ; 
And sings to rest the weary sun, 

And ringeth up the moon ; 
And when in sleep she visits home 

(My daughter knows the angels well), 
She'll fearless rouse the awful night 

Her happy dreams to tell. 

4 Oh ! some have many treasures, 

But others, I, have none ; 
The dear Creator gave me 

My blessings all in one. 
The wealth of many jewels 

Is garner'd in her eyes ; 
The worth of many loving hearts 

Within her bosom lies ; 
She's more to me than daily bread, 

And more to me than night's repose ; 
My staff, my flower, my praise, my prayer, 
My wild, wild rose. 

ELIZA t. SPKOAT. ISil. 

FOR THE "SHUT IN" ONES. 

" P1HAHIROTH." 

1 The night had spread her curtain 

O'er Israel's countless host ; 
Shut in by sea and mountain, 

It seemed that they were lost. 
Their cruel foe behind them lay, 
How to escape they saw no way. 

2 But God, their Guide and Leader, 

Was watching day and night ; 
He knew how to deliver 

From Pharaoh's boasted might. 
The cloud — His presence stood between, 
The foe 't was dark — to Israel sheen. 



TEMPERANCE. PARLOR MEETINGS AND ENTERTAINMENTS. 



583 



Now while they feared and doubted 

Jehovah's word and power 
To lead them out of bondage, 

Give Canaan for their dower, 
Their God His plan was working out — 
The morn would hear them victory shout. 



4 He stretched His hand Almighty 

And lo ! the sea turned back ; 
On each side stood in waiting 

And left an open track, 
Through which, dry shod, they all 
In safety to the other shore. 

5 That which proved their deliverance 

God used to overthrow, 
Beneath the Red Sea waters, 

His own and their great foe. 
Methinks I hear, while falls the rod, 
" Be still, and know that I am God" 



6 Oh ! let us all remember 

Our God is just the same ; 

He knows how to deliver, 
" Jehovah " still His name. 
Though all around our way 
To bring us forth His truth stands pledged. 

7 What though our foe besiege us 

And seek to overcome ; 
Our Jesus stands between us, 

He is our Shield and Sun, 
Who suffered, being tempted here, 
That He might succor saints so dear. 

8 Let us like faithful Abram, 

Against all hope believe, 
And stagger not, but trust Him — 

He never will deceive. 
His glory we shall surely see, 

And shout aloud, glad victory ! 

MBS. E, C. GREEN. ("Elffl'e.") 

Brooklyn. 1884. 



A ROYAL SERVICE. 



DEDICATED TO "THE WAITING ONES" IN THB 
KINGDOM AND PATIENCE OF JESUS CHBIST. 

1 Among the Master's callings of high honor, 
One oftentimes we miss, 
Because our hearts, in their impatient yearning, 
Fail to perceive its bliss. 



2 Fail to perceive the grandeur of its service, 

The deep, sweet joy it brings, 
And deem some other easier or nobler, 
With richer harvestings. 

3 And so we may not choose, but Christ appoints us 

The work of sitting still, 
And saith, " My child, in quietness and patience 
This service now fulfill." 

4 Since all these hours of weariness and waiting 

Are precious unto me, 
Each one must needs be freighted with some bless- 
ing, 
Love's perfect choice for me. 

5 Then think not thou art kept within the shadow 

Of long inactive years, 
Without some purpose infinitely glorious, 
Some harvest sown in tears. 

6 And so there comes a glory and a gladness 

Into the weary days, 
And in our hearts there shines a solemn radiance, 
Inwrought with quiet praise. 

7 We learn that we are given this sweet service 

Because the Master sees 
That thus His delegates must oft be fitted 
For higher embassies. 

8 We praise Him for these lonely hours of waiting, 

And, trusting, look above, 
Till all the hush and silence of their service 
Grows luminous with love. 

9 We muse upon that ministry at Nazereth, 

Until it seems to be 
A fellowship most sweet, a royal honor, 
To wait, O Christ, with Thee. 

10 And ever as we stand within the shadow 

Of those long years of thine, 
Our waiting days grow better, holier, grander, 
Their service more sublime ; 

11 Until at last we hear Thy dear voice saying, 

" Child, I have need of thee 
To fill this place of trust and honor, 
To do this work for Me." 

12 And then, as fellow-workers with the Master, 

We shall arise and go 
Forth to the harvest-fields of earth, it may be, 
The reaper's joy to know. 

13 Or to some perfect, wondrous service yonder, 

Within that Holy Place, 
Where, veilless, in its full transfigured glory, 
His servants see His face. 



584 



Mrs. C. L. SMITH. 

1st Tenor. 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

TARRY WITH ME, O MY SAVIOUR. 

(b'OR MALE VOICES.) 
Inscribed to the members of the old "MANNERCHOR CLUB," Clinton, Iowa. 






-&=&=\ 



Mrs. C. H. SCOTT. 






2d Tenor. 

Tar -ry with me, O my Sav-iour, For the day is pass -ing by; See, the shades of evening gath-er, And the 

lor the day is pass -ing by; 
1st" 




night is drawing nigh. Ma - ny friends were gather'd round : 

And the night is drawing nigh. 

-|*_r\— i ^-^-4 i^-^-A- 



days of the past ; But the 
tdays of the past; 







;rave hasclosed above them, And I lin-ger here at last, But the grave has clos'da-bove them, And I lin - gerhereat 
Phe grave has closed above them, 



t=tz=62=s= 



^ p Tempo 






• last. Deep-er, deep - er grow the shad-ows ; Pal - er now the glowing west ; Swift the night of death ad - van - ces ; Shall it be the night ( 




rest? Tar - ry with me, my Sav-iour ! Lay my head up - on Thy breast Till the morn - ing; then a- 

Lay my head up - on Thy breast Till the morning; then a- 




wake me, Morning of 
wake me, 



■ ter - nal rest, Till the inorn-ing; then 



wake me, Morning of 

Morning of 



e - ter -nal rest. 
e - ter - nal rest. 




From "Royal Anthem Book." Mrs. H. C. Scott„by per. 
"About twenty-one years since I heard the Rev. Dr. Dexter, of Boston, preach a sermon on ' The Adaptedness of Religion to the 
Wants of the Aged.' I went home and embodied the thought in the hymn. I sent it to Mr. Halloek, for ' The Messenger.' He returned 
it as 'not adapted to the readers of the paper.' Years after, I sent it, without any signature, to the little Andover paper. 1 ' 

So writes the authoress, Mrs. Caroline L. Smith ; (The wife of the Rev. Charles Smith, pastor of the South Church, Andover, Mass.,) 
formerly Caroline L. Sprague, of Salem, Mass. 

The hymn referred to "Tarry with me," is now one of our most justly celebrated hymns, found in many collections, and is beautifully 
set to music by Mrs. Scott. 



TEMPERANCE. ENTERTAINMENTS. CHRISTMAS AND THE NEW YEAR. 



,585 



THROES AND THROWS. 

1 " What are you doing, brother, to-day ? 
Throwing your ballot so precious away, 
Into the enemy's hands to play ? " 
Yes, I am throwing as martyrs threw down 
Life, for a kingdom above, and a crown, 
Those wrong-headed martyrs of Smithfield town. 
As the passenger list in the Mayflower threw 
Away country, and home, and happiness, too, 
(A fortunate throw both for me and for you.) 
There was throwing away was akin to mine 
When the blue boys and grey stood up in line, 
And threw away self for a thought divine, 
To shudder and shiver in Arctic cold. 
Charge home to the ghosts you may there behold, 

"Ah! you threw away life in those regions old!" 
Tell a million farmers, all over the land, 
Who are scattering seed with liberal hand, 

" Ye are fools and blind, O wasteful band ! " 
Tell workers and waiters, the wide world o'er, 
Who see the invisible evermore, 
Tell to them, as they pull for the farther shore, 

" Ye are throwing away your wavering stroke, — 
Turning your backs on the good ye invoke ; 
Forsake your frail bark for our ribs of oak." 



A clarion note of hope — " God counts all thy tears," 
This was the song they sang — the western crusade song 
Hundreds of voices caught, and still the strains 

prolong, 
From grand Ohio's forest hills, echoed in Iowa — 
From Maryland to Michigan, from Maine to Florida. 

3 Praise God for Hillsboro', its women brave and true, 
For Frances Willard, our hearts' queen, a Woodbridge, 

and a Pugh ; 
A Buell with pure hand, our banner white to wave, 
A Stevens full of courage, Maine to our army gave. 
Praise God for our leaders, a brave, hei-oic band, 
Who bear the taunts of foes, for God and native land. 
Praise God, sun-blessed east, and prairies of the west. 
In all the southland too, let His dear name be blest! 

4 On this Memorial-Day, let none forget to bring 

A sweet thanksgiving offering, while all voices sing 
" We will lift up our heads," on Christ the Rock, we 
stand, 
Battling to overthrow the Rum Power in our land. 
" Be not afraid ! " our Captain says, why need we fear ? 
He'll overturn the wicked ! Victory is near ! 
Forward ! Sing all along the line again our crusade 

songs, 
With praise unto our God to whom all praise belongs ; 



After martyr-woe came the church's weal. 
There's a shining wake at the Mayflower's keel. 
And freedom flashed from the foeman's steel. 
In the Arctic zone, life's jewels thrown down, 
Science proudly sets in her gleaming crown. 
When the summer and autumn shall smile again, 
Where the sowing and throwing away have been 
Shall be food for the numberless children of men. 



A PALM BRANCH. 

1 Glad chimed the Christmas bells while softly fell the 

snow, 
Angels sang for joy in heaven, " Peace to all below, 
Good will to man ! " while homes in shadow lay and 

blight 
Because of reeling steps that came to those who 

watched by night. 
Sad hearts overburdened with weary weight of woe, 
Scarce heeded those glad bells ten changeful years 

ago ; 
Then a torch was lighted for tearful eyes to see, 
A sweet strain filled the air, " Rock of ages, cleft 

for me ! " 

2 The echoes rang out clear, reaching homes every- 

where ; 
Bells that were rung that night by ropes of faith and 

prayer ; 
Joy to sad hearts they brought. " Give to the winds 

thy fears ! " 



GOOD CHEER FOR THE CHRISTMAS TIDE. 

1 Has the world grown old and you do not know 
That the setting sun leaves its afterglow, 
And the purple mists of yon cloudland rise 
To reflect the woods and azure skies, 

While the living green of the summer days 
Turns to golden tints in the autumn haze ? 

2 That the bells of youth ring a merry chime 
But to echo on in our manhood's time, 
And the carollings of early morn 

Are songs of the night by the zephyrs borne, 
While the flowing tide of the restless sea 
Ebbs away with a softer melody ? 

3 Do you ever tire in your work of love ? 

Ah ! the cross is here, but the crown's above. 
In each wand'ring soul is a hidden germ 
That will flower if its beauty you discern. 
Then dissolve the mists of this world of tears 
With the smiles of hope in the endless years. 

4 Let each heart attuned to a minor strain 
Breathe the joyous notes of a glad refrain, 
Sing a song of cheer that will echo on 

Till it dies away near the great white throne. 
Thus you tint your lives, as the setting sun, 
With an afterglow of a work well done. 

LIZZIE CAMPBELL SMITH. 1883. 



686 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



DAVID HOLLOWAY. 

1 At dusk of Christmas evening, before the lamps 

were bright, 
The children crept beside me, in the hearth-fire's 

ruddy light, 
Tired of dolls and horses, of picture-books and play, 
To hear the story over of David Holloway. 

2 One rainy, gray December, the floods came leaping 

free 
Out of the stony mountains and woods of Tennessee, 
Leaving a wasted valley behind them in their track, 
Swelling the creek Sweet Water to a torrent wild 

and black. 

3 Like a charging host, the waters beat on the bridge 

amain, 
Till the heavy timbers parted with many a creak and 

strain, 
And there, where flying rail-cars went smooth and 

safe before, 
Was but a yawning chasm, and the rapids' hungry 

roar. 

4 From far and near there gathered a band of work- 

men strong, — 
With ringing axe and hammer they wrought the 

whole day long, — 
Of rough trunks of the forest, they built the bridge 

again, 
And heard, from far, at nightfall, the rumbling of 

the train. 

5 Soon, like a flaring comet with single eye of flame, 
And trail of glowing cinders, the panting engine 

came. 
With hand upon the throttle, cried David Holloway : 
" Ho ! men, have any tested this bridge ye built to- 
day ? " 

6 And when he heard their answer, he shouted loud 

once more, 

" Unloose the engine's couplings and I will go be- 
fore ! 

Better some unknown weakness my single life should 
cost, 

Than risk a hundred others before the bridge is 
crossed ! " 

7 He touched the valve, and slowly the great wheels, 

gleaming, turned, 
Athwart the looming timbers the lurid head-light 

burned, 
And every heart beat softly, and still was every 

tongue, 
While, o'er the middle current, unwavering he hung. 

8 One moment more, and safety the faithful deed had 

crowned, 
When, suddenly, a trembling that seemed to seize 

the ground — 
A crash that froze with horror the listeners' blood 

to hear, 
And the black ruin swallowed engine and engineer ! 



9 So, in the night and darkness, died David Holloway, 
The one to save the many, as on that sadder day, 
When the dear Christ taught the ages from Calvary's 

lonely cross, 
The blessedness of sacrifice, and the gain that come 
by loss ! 

10 And so, I told the children, he keepeth Christmas 

best 

Whose patient hand is lifted to make another blest ; 

And he who at his duty stands loyal, brave and true, 

Finds every day a holy day and all the long year new ! 

MARY A. P, STANSBURY. 188L 

A CHRISTMAS SONG. 

1 Hang up the vine and the holly, 

Sign the cross over the door, 
That joy coming in with the Christmas 
May go from the place nevermore. 

2 Gather love-gifts for the children ; 

Guard well the mystical way 
That the Christ-child comes at the mid-hour 
To bless with bright favors the day. 

3 Bring in good cheer and be merry, 

Be glad and carol sweet song ; 
The star of a Bethlehem desert 

Looked down on a Christ-happy throng. 

4 Go ye in hovel and highway, 

Guests to bring in to the feast ; 
Angels shall unawares greet ye 

In those the world counteth as least. 

5 Sound the sweet Christ-loving anthem ! 

Echoes will bear it on high, 
To the angels made joyous forever 
By Christmas of love in the sky. 

6 Bow down and worship the Spirit 

Of the feast, the invisible King. 
Lo ! He cometh in scarlet and purple, 
To gather a world's offering. 

MARIE LE BARON. 1861, 

THE OLD AND THE NEW, 

1 Let the New Year bring what it will, O friend, 

Nothing have we to fear. 
The past it was good ; — let the good past lend 

The future its glow and cheer. 
Aye, good, though its darkling clouds dropped rain, 

And its care seemed never to cease ; 
After the gloom there was light, and the pain 

Was only the road to peace. 

2 There is nothing to fear in the coming year, 

Though the smile be faint on its face, 
Better than hope is a faith that will grope 

In the dark for the hidden grace ; 
Better than joy is the brave employ 

Of the days in the Master's field, 
But the harvest still is the work of His will ; — 

To make it thrive or yield, 



TEMPERANCE. ENTERTAINMENTS. CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR. 



587 



3 Is not thine or mine, but the task divine 

Of One who has waited long, 
In sorrow and travail of soul, to see 

His world redeemed from wrong. 
And the truth is this, that the work is His, 

And nothing have we to say ; — 
He carries the care for the whole long year, 

We for each little day. 

4 As hour by hour reveals His power, 

Unfolds His wondrous will, 
His cross we bear, His work we share, 

Or wait resigned and still. 
Patient to suffer or brave to do, 

What can we have to fear ? 
Old years are His, and His the new — 

He can make it a glad New Year. 



MAHY L. DICKINSON. 1884. 
"American Reformer." 



CHRISTMAS. 



1 Sweet bells are ringing far and near, 

The holly gleams upon the wall ; 
The merry Christmas time is here, 
And gladness reigns in hut and hall. 

2 It is the time of all the year 

To meet in kindness and good will, 
To brush away the selfish tear, 
To see the good, forget the ill. 

3 To seek the poor, the sick, the old, 

To carry sunshine to their homes, — 
Homes, ah ! so comfortless and cold, 

Where " Merry Christmas " rarely come*. 

4 To put the old year's sorrows by, 

To let our sad complainings cease : 
To greet each other lovingly, 

With words of gentleness and peace. 

5 And let the old year, as he goes, 

Take with him all that we may rue, 
While with our higher aims and hopes 
We wait to welcome in the new ! 

LULU W. MITCHEiL. 



A PRAYER FOR CHRISTMAS EVE. 

1 O Lord, there sit apart in lonely places, 

On this, the gladdest night of all the year, 
Some stricken ones with sad and weary faces, 

To whom the thought of Christmas brings no cheer. 
For these, O Father, our petition hear, 
And send the pitying Christ-child very near. 

2 Lord, there be toiling ones, on whom life's burden 

Presses so ceaselessly, they have no time 
To snatch for a brief hour rest's blessed guerdon 
Or swell by one faint note our Christmas chime. 

For these, O Father, our petition hear ; 

Send thou the lowly Christ-child very near. 



3 And there be tempted souls this night, still waging 

Such desperate warfare with all evil powers ; 
• Anthems of peace, while the dread strife is raging, 

Sound but as mockery through their midnight hours. 
For these, O Father, our petition hear, 
And send the tempted, sinless Christ-child near. 

4 Lord, some sit by lonely hearthstones, sobbing, 

Who feel this night all earthly love denied ; 
Who hear but dirges in the loud bell's throbbing, 

For loved ones lost, who blessed last Christmas-tide. 
For these, O Father, our petition hear. 
And send the loving Christ-child very near. 

5 For those who, from disease of body, languish, 

For those who weep for children gone astray, 
For those whose sore hearts hide in secret anguish 
Some grief which shrinks from the clear light of 
day; 
For all who suffer, our petition hear, 
And send Thou Christ, the Comforter, most near. 

ELLA BEECHES. GITTINGS. 

Colorado Springs, Col. 1881. 



THE UNCHAINED MONSTER. 

1 An unchained monster roams to-night 

Through streets of city and town, 
And few are the hands and few are the hearts 

That are lifted to crush him down. 
His outer robe is strangely fair ; 

And his smile is strangely bright ; 
But blacker his hand and blacker his heart 

Than ever was earthly night. 

2 He clasps the hand of innocent youth 

While he wears his sweetest smile, 
And that hand grows dark and darker with crime, 

And each thought is mixed with guile. 
O'er man, in the pride of manhood's years, 

He is throwing his awful spell, 
He is leading him down, forever down 

Where the feet take hold on hell. 

3 The trembling steps of palsied age 

Are following at his call ; 
He enters unbidden the lonely cot 

And the high palatial hall. 
And woman ! Oh ! softly speak that name, 

Ye mothers and sisters and wives, 
And weep and pray for the fallen ones, 

For the darkened homes and lives. 

4 Oh ! list to the bitter wail of woe 

That comes from hovel and hall, 
Where the unchained monster's hand has been 

And claimed their best, their all. 
Then rise in the might that God has given, 

And strike that monster low. 
There is love to man and glory to God 

In every conquering blow. 



588 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 
THE RUIN RUM HATH WROUGHT. 



Oh ! rise, as you prize your happy homes, 

Nor weary in the strife 
Till the lowest one in the monster's thrall 

Is raised to a higher life. 
Arise, for the battle is the Lord's, 

He is calling for you to come 
And fight till lowly lies the form 

Of this unchained monster, Rum. 



ONE MORE. 

" Mine, these sweet, fresh pinks and geranium leaves ? 

Oh ! at home, when the mossy, wooden eaves 

Were dripping and gurgling with clear May rain, 

And I was a girl — ah, me ! what a pain 

Shoots through my heart like a knife at the thought — ■ 

I used to smell sweet geraniums and pinks, 

As they sifted their breath through broken links 

Of rain. O pure, lost days, your rosy flame 

Shines out from the past on my woe and shame, 

And lights up the ruin the years have wrought. 

To me, it seems that was ages ago, 

So long that a life once as pure as snow, 

Has had time to be dyed in the darkest sin. 

Let me think — how did it all first begin ? 

Oh ! yes, I remember. The winter was cold,. 

And the walk from home to the school-house was long ; 

And father said it would make me more strong, 

And brace me up for the last trying year 

Of study at school, if I drank good beer. 

And so, never dreaming the viper's fold 

Could come from the cup he placed to my lips, 

From the hand that I loved to its finger tips, 

I drank for the health of body and brain. 

God ! would I had died ere its first dark stain 

Sullied my soul, and prepared the black way 

For ray girlish feet on the downward road. 

Ah, me ! how quickly the hard, heavy load 

Of the drunkard's chain held me tight and fast. 

Mother — dear mother — discovered at last 

The danger threat'ning, and vain did she pray 

Her one precious daughter, her one dear girl, 

Might be snatched from the maddening, blinding whirl, 

And restored to goodness, purity, heaven ! 

Alas ! the subtle and pois'nous leaven 

Had spread o'er and tainted body and soul. 

Good friends, let me quickly pass over the years 

Of suff 'ring that followed my poor mother's tears ; 

He. 1 head bowed with shame, her dear hair grown gray, 

As I sank lower and lower each day. 

Till appetite grew beyond my control, 

Filled with bitter remorse, my father died, 

And I, who had once been the pet and pride 

Of that sweet country home, in anguish fled 

Away from sight of the living or dead. 

O God! how I've suffered, may you never know. 



I've hidden away from those I loved best; 

My heart ever filled with a wild unrest 

With this cursed thirst that is worse than hell, 

Driving me on to deeds that I dare not tell — 

Yet once I was spotless and pure as snow. 

I have gone without shelter, have begged for bread, 

Have walked the hard streets till my sore feet bled, 

Searching for something to drown the sharp pain, 

The mem'ry of days that can ne'er come again ; 

Longing and praying for peace, love and rest, 

Though it be in death on ray mother's breast. 1 ' 

She paused, and the good women gathered there, 

'Round the hospital bed, that sweet, glad day, 

With their tear-wet faces, could only pray 

That that peace which we cannot understand, 

Might guide her poor soul to the " better land." 

Then softly and low on the cool spring air. 

From the lips growing stiff, came the simple prayer: 

" Dear Lord, I shall lay me down now to sleep, 

I pray Thee forever my soul to keep. 

Good night, dear mamma, — the whip-poor-will 

In the orchard is singing "' the lips were still, 

And one more victim to " strength'ning " beer 
Was added to thousands who go each year. 
But those women adorned with their ribbons white, 
Went out with their sad hearts, stronger to hght 
For the sons and daughters on every land — 
For God and their homes and their native land. 

LA.URA. J, P.ITTENHOrSE. 1881. 

DO SOMETHING. 

1 White was her hair with the snow of years, 

Bent and so toil-worn her rugged frame, 
Furrowed her cheek with bitterest tears, 

Crushed her poor heart with its grief and shame. 
One of her boys, aye, her eldest born, 

So full of promise, his childhood pure, 
Now a mark for the finger of scorn ; 

Sorrow like this is hard to endure. 

2 Tried for murder ! Condemned to die ! 

His mother went sadly to and fro, 
Bearing petitions to places high, 

Prayed men in power to let him go. 
" Let him go free, 'tis Rum you must bind, 

My boy was mad, if he struck that blow, 
My Willie was always good and kind, 

Until he took to the drink, you know ! " 

3 They pitied her, too, those men in power, 

So sad was the mourning mother's wail ; 
God help women with sorrow's dower, 

For little man's pity can avail. 
With promises kind they thought to stay 

The plaintive cry — " Oh ! do something, do ! " 
She haunted their steps day after day, 

Pleading, " Save Willie, God will save you ! " 



TEMPERANCE. ENTERTAINMENTS. THE RUIN RUM HATH WROUGHT. 



589 



4 He leaned his head on her faithful breast, 

As he had done in his childhood years, 
It seemed like the old-time peace and rest, 

When she soothed his grief and calmed his fears. 
"Go to the judge at the break of day, 

Try, mother, to see the good Queen too, 
Beg them to pardon me, beg and pray, 

Save me somehow, Oh ! for God's sake, do ! " 

5 Long, long in his grave her boy had lain, 

But in weary rounds the days she past — 
Bearing a scroll, street after street, 

In sun and storm, she wandered through, 
Pleading with those she chanced to meet — 

" Don't promise, only do something, do ! " 



THE MARCH OF THE SIXTY THOUSAND. 

1 Not with a firm and measured step 

Moves on the mighty host, 
No well-trained soldiers in the ranks 

Does their grim leader boast ; 
Oh ! no ; they've drained the poison cup, 

And in its depths have found 
The adder's bite, the serpent's sting, 

That gave the deadly wound 

2 Lured by the tempting cup they drank, 

To " seek it yet again ; " 
Quick to its work the poison sped, 

And ran through every vein. 
It quenched affection's tender flame 

For those once loved so well, 
And kindled in the heart instead 

The very fires of hell ; 

3 Hurled reason from her royal throne, 

God's glorious image marred ; 
Behold the wreck, no more a man, 

Bleeding and torn and scarred. 
-Behold the soul ! Oh ! dreadful fate ! 

Well may the angels stand 
Weeping at such a sight as this 

In our beloved land. 

4 A vanquished army, on they move, 

With reeling steps and slow ; 
Stumbling into their yawning graves 

They fall, to rot below. 
O God ! that such a thing should be, 

And to our doors be brought, 
And we look calmly on, and see 

The work the fiend has wrought. 

5 And we look calmly on and hear, 

Throughout our stricken land, 
The wail of Rachels comfortless, 

A sad, heart-broken band. 
" Why stand ye idle all the day ? " 

The call rings loud and clear ; 
" Thy brother's blood cries from the ground, 

Thou soon, alas ! shalt hear. 



Rouse, brother, sister, to the work ! 

Spring quickly to your post ! 
And hand to hand the conflict wage 

Against the fiendish host ; 
Grim alcohol has long arrayed 

Against the souls of men, 
And in the strength of God, our trust, 

We shall not fight in vain. 

ELIZABETH T. LAitKIN, 1884. 



ARE THE BOYS SAFE TO-NIGHT. 

The storm-king's abroad, the wind is keen, 

The hail falls thick and fast ; 
Are the boys for whom we brighten home, 

Out in the wintry blast ? 
Oh ! if this were all, we should not grieve, 

That they are out of sight ; 
The Rum-King gathers his victims now,— 

Are the boys safe to-night ? 

In palace homes do our rulers dwell ; 

Whose money keeps them there ? 
The drunkard's children on straw may lie, 

Or perish anywhere. 
The downward way that the boys are on, 

Leads to ruin and blight. 
Shall we sit idly and fold our hands ? 

Are the boys safe to-night? 

The mothers' tears, only mothers' prayers, 

Between their souls and death. 
Eight minutes knell, if the bell should toll, 

Like sad and sobbing breath, 
Would tell of a blighted life gone out, 

A soul shut from the light. 
O God ! Thy people rouse to work 

And save the boys to-night ! 

MRS. GEORGIA HULSE M'LEOT). 
Baltimore, Feb. 1884. 



FIRST AND LAST. 

LEAVING HOME. 

1 Come and walk with me, Mary, before the sun has 

set. 
Tho' to-morrow is my wedding day, we are not parted 

yet. 
I want to walk thro' all the paths I may not tread 

again, 
And the joy that thrills within my heart is strangely 

blent with pain. 

2 Let us go thro' the orchard into the woods beyond, 
Where we found the patch of wintergreens close 

to the little pond 
Where, on the shining surface, the water-lilies bloom, 
Making the faint air tremble with their subtle, sweet 

perfume. 



590 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



3 Here they are, their pure white petals and golden 

hearts aglow 
With strange, wild, spicy sweetness ; I have always 

loved them so. 
We must part, O lovely flowers, I must leave you, 

but I go 
To meet a happier future than your pulseless hearts 

can know. 

4 Here is the old oak tree, where oft we sat beneath 

the shade, 
And here's the little brook where we happy children 

played. 
Do you remember, Mary, how wet we got, the day 
We tried to wash our two pet lambs ? and then they 

ran away. 

5 We can't be always children, and life is not all sport. 
Here we are, grown-up women, and yet the time 

seems short. 
We have loved each other, Mary, thro' all the happy 

years. 
But to-morrow is my wedding day, and your cheek 

is stained with tears. 

6 My heart is full and tender as I think of all I leave, 
But my future shines so fair before me that I cannot 

grieve. 
I have no tears to shed, Mary, tho' it is sad to part, 
My happiness is safe with him, who shrines me in 

his heart. 



RETURNING HOME. 

1 Let us walk slower, Mary, let me lean upon your 

arm, 
It seems so good to be at home and see the dear old 

farm. 
I remember when we walked here last, before I went 

away, 
You were so kind to bring me home, Mary, so kind 

to let me stay. 

2 Since I left you, Mary, a young and happy wife, 
I've drank the dregs of sorrow, till I wearied of my 

life. 
I could bear the sting of poverty, and sickness and 

disgrace, 
But my poor heart broke with longing to look upon 

your face. 

3 At first my life was lighted by my husband's love 

alone. 
Like a pleasant path before me, the sunny future 

shone. 
And ere I wakened from my dream to find my life 

less sweet, 
The sacred mother-love crept in and made my joy 

complete. 

4 I trembled lest my happiness might be too great to 

last. 
And when my sweet child moaned and died, my bit- 
ter tears fell fast. 



But I lived to be the saddest thing that creeps along 

thro' life 
Shivering with shame and terror, a brutal drunkard's 

wife. 

5 Hush ! do not curse him, Mary, my poor heart loves 

him still, 

Tho' he drove me out into the storm when I was 
weak and ill. 

'T was the drink that turned him demon. I have 
heard him weep and moan 

When the cruel frenzy left him, and he thought him- 
self alone. 

6 And if you see him, Mary, if he comes when I am 

dead, 

Tell him I loved and prayed for him, the last words 
that I said. 

Tell him my heart was homesick for my little child 
in heaven, 

And if he shuns the cursed cup he yet may be for- 
given. 

7 I am very tired, Mary, and your cheek is stained 

with tears. 
We must part, but I am happier than I have been 

for years. 
Who knows but God may save him yet, and lead 

him to that rest 
Where I shall spring to meet him with my baby on 

my breast. 

DELLE M. MASON. 



THREE STEPS OF INTEMPERANCE. 

(Descriptive.) 

Taken from a true incident related by John B. 
Gough in one of his lectures, which commences 
describing the youth in the dangerous act of taking 
the first glass. His hand trembles, his cheek is 
suffused with a crimson blush, and he turns slyly 
away, as if dreading to meet the gaze of those 
around him. 

The first step taken, he becomes more bold, and 
less susceptible of feeling and the voice of con- 
science ; and, becoming excited by the maddening 
effects of the fatal bowl, he drinks deeper and 
deeper, until he becomes lost to every influence of 
good, and entirely given up to the will of the 
tempter. 

His poor broken-hearted wife falls a victim to 
his cruelty and neglect, and is laid on her couch, 
dressed for the tomb. In the midst of this melan- 
choly scene, the inebriate stalks in. His friends, 
with the hope of reform, lead him to the chamber 
of death, and leave him alone by the cold form of 
his once happy and lovely wife. He stands with- 
out a sigh : that which " biteth like a serpent and 
stingeth like an adder " has sealed the very foun- 
tains of grief in his soul — he has no tears to shed. 



TEMPERANCE ENTER TAINMENTS. THE R UIN R UM HA TH WR TIGHT. 



591 



For a moment lie seems riveted to the spot. 
Then, with the fury of a demon, he rushes for- 
ward, and with cruel blows seeks to take vengeance 
on the cold and lifeless form before him. His 
friends, hearing what was being done, hastened to 
the spot, to remove him by force. 

This is a true picture of thousands, who, in a sim- 
ilar manner, have fallen victims to the foul Des- 
troyer, who tempted thenl to take the first glass. 

1 Why am I here ? I would 't were past ; 

I never tasted wine before ; 
One glass, ray first, shall be my last; 

Tis wrong, 'tis wrong, I'll drink no more! 
He drank, he blushed, a thrill of shame 

Came o'er him when the deed was done ; 
Poor youth, his conscience warned in vain, 

The work of ruin had begun. 

2 Less timid now, with bolder look 

He saw the wine-cup sparkle high ; 
Now deeper drank, nor blushed to brook 

The pitying glance of friendship's eye. 
He mingled with a reckless throng ; 

He tarried at the midnight game ; 
The cruel jest and meaning song 

He heard without one thought of shame. 

3 And where was she, that fair young bride, 

Who lived and smiled for him alone ; 
His idol once, his joy and pride — 

Was there no music in her tone ? 
The bird forsaken pines away, 

A flower unloved will cease to bloom ; 
'T was thus she drooped from day to day, 

And soon they dressed her for the tomb. 

4 He came, they drew aside the pall 

From that cold face, so still and white ; 
They thought affliction might recall 

The erring wanderer to the right. 
No sigh he breathed, no tear he shed, 

His bloodshot eyes with fiendish glare 
A moment rested on the dead, 

Then, like a tiger from his lair, 

5 Rushed forward with a dreadful shriek : 

His vengeance in her lifeless clay 
With cruel blows he sought to seek, 

Till forced by stronger hands away ! 
Thus had intemperance crushed at last, 

And buried in the fatal bowl, 
The dearest memories of the past, 

The noblest feelings of the soul. 

6 Let not this solemn warning pass 

Unheeded from the listening ear ; 
Dash from your lips the tempting glass, 

And turn away with dread and fear. 
There is a voice that speaks within, 

That points you upward to the skies ; 
That bids you leave the path of sin, 

And fly the death that never dies. 

FANNY CROSBY, 1863. 
From "Singing Pilgrim," by per. Philip Phillips. 



CHARGE OF THE RUM BRIGADE. 



1 All in league, all in league, 
All in league, onward ! 
All in the Valley of Death 
Walked the Six Hundred. 

" Forward the Rum Brigade ! 
Cheers for the Whisky raid ! " 
Into the Valley of Death 
Walked the Six Hundred. 

2 " Forward the Rum Brigade ! " 
Were all their friends dismayed? 
Yes, and the soldiers knew 
Each one had blundered. 
Theirs not to make reply, 
Theirs not to reason why, 
Theirs but to drink and die ; 
Into the Valley of Death 
Walked the Six Hundred. 

3 Drunkards to the right of them, 
Drunkards to the left of them, 
Drunkards in front of them, 
One million numbered. 

Oaths fell like shot and shell, 
Rum did its work so well ; 
Into the jaws of death, 
Into the mouth of hell 
Walked the Six Hundred. 

4 Garments torn, cupboards bare, 
Children with naught to wear, 
Sleeping in gutters there 
Fathers are lying, while 

All the world wondered. 
Plunged into want and woe, 
Onward they madly go, 
Weeping in anguish 
Wives sit, for well they know, 
Shattered and sundered, 
None will come back who go 
Of the Six Hundred. 

5 Curses to right of them, 
Curses to left of them, 
Curses behind them 
Volleyed and thundered. 

% Stormed at by those who sell, 
They who had paid so well, 
Well had been plundered. 
Clenched teeth and livid brow, 
Delirium tremens now, 
Thus young and old men fell 
Into the jaws of death, 
Into the mouth of hell, 
Not one was left of them, 
Left of Six Hundred. 



592 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



6 How did their glory fade ! 

Oh ! the wild charge they made ! 
All the world wondered. 
Weep for the charge they made, 
Weep for the Rum Brigade, 
Fallen Six Hundred. 

MARY SPAKKS WHEELER, 1883. 

THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE. 

1 Lay her down gently 

Under the snow, 
Sorrow and anguish 

The grave cannot know. 

2 The lids so long swollen 

With weeping we close ; 
The weary hands — fold them 
In precious repose. 

3 Close by her loved ones, 

Whose little graves show 
How early they left her, 
Too frail for earth's woe. 

4 No waking to sorrow ! 

It is not a dream ! 
She has crossed the dark river 
And caught the bright gleam. 

5 That " light in the window " 

How often she sought ! 

Her Father has found her, 

Earth's woe is forgot ! 

6 Weep not for the sleeper, 

But Oh ! weep for one 
Who hid her young life 

From the sweet shining sun, 

MRS. J. P. BALLARD. 1882. 



KING ALCOHOL'S SOLILOQUY. 

In the broad light of day my grim visage I hide, 
Nor out in my uniform once dare I ride, 
For 'tis red with the blood of the victims I've slain, 
And it spangles with tears like the dew on the maim- 
That a victor I am there is none to deny, 
For who rules and ruins so many as I ? 
War and famine their millions in dust have laid low, 
But of all that is holy am I the arch foe. 
See my army move on ! none can with it compare. 
Though they fall by the myriads — why should I care? 
For recruits always ready come pressing along ; 
How I gloat o'er their revelry, joy in their song ! 
I am not content with aught save the best ; 
My recruits must be generous — their all must invest 
But a single draught — and I count them mine, 
On my black-list enroll them, ere the truth they divine. 
Out of the specie that falls in the till, 
I forge chains to make them the slaves of my will. 
The king on his throne, and the prince in the hall 
Pay homage and bow before King Alcohol. 
la dungeons the prisoners have pined and have died, 



But their spirits were free and all bondage defied ; 
But my chains bind in manhood the God-giveu will, 
Though they long to be free they are prisoners still. 
Press closely, mother, your boy to your breast, 
Though your arms may be weary, your heart now may 

rest. 
Press again to your lips those tin}- pink feet. 
For I'll cause them to fail and to fall in the street. 
Listen ! How with sweet accent he now lisps thy 

name ; — 
I will teach him his Maker's and thine to defame. 
I'll await him in banquet, in home and in hall : 
That beautiful boy, by my oath he shall fall ! 
I hear the uprising of men o'er the land, 
Against my dominions — a host they command. 
But at all legislators and " legions " I laugh 
While with my battalion my poison I quaff. 
But there is one name — I must whisper it low, 
'Tis humanity's refuge, but my dreaded foe. 
That name — I can't speak it — I'll try to forget, 
Drink again. O my boys, ere the stars all are set. 
I have lost from my force some I thought were my own 
As they looked and were saved by the Crucified One. 
Then rouse ye, my children, find joy in the bowl, 
Ye must not grow tender, nor think of the soul. 
When the tongue cries for liquor, let no prayer be said, 
Though the children are crying and praying for bread. 
If the thought of a mother, wife, sister or child 
Mingles pain with the draught, let your mirth grow 

more wild. 
Drink again ! O my boys — and again, one and all — 
For you are my slaves, — I am King Alcohol. 

HARRIET A. SAWYER. 1885. 

SAVE THE BOYS. 



1 Like Dives in the deeps of hell, 
I cannot break this fearful spell, 

Nor quench the fires I've madly nursed, 
Nor cool this dreadful raging thirst. 
Take back your pledge, ye come too late ; 
Ye cannot save me from ruy fate, 
Nor bring me back departed joys, 
But ye can try to save the boys. 

2 Ye bid me break my fiery chain, 
Arise, and be a man again, 

When every street with snares is spread 
And nets of sin where'er I tread. 
No, I must reap as I did sow, 
The seeds of sin bring crops of woe, 
But with my latest breath I'll crave 
That ye will try the boys to save. 

3 These bloodshot eyes were once so bright, 
This sin-crushed heart was glad and light ; 
But by the wine cup's ruddy glow 

I traced a path to shame and woe. 
A captive to my galling chain, 
I've tried to rise, but tried in vain : 
The cup allures, and then destroys, 
Oh ! from its thraldom save the bovs ! 



TEMPERANCE. ENTERTAINMENTS. THE RUIN RUM HATH WROUGHT. 



593 



4 Take from your streets those traps of hell 
Into whose gilded snares I fell. 
freeman, from those foul decoys, 
Arise and vote to save the boys. 
And ye who license men to trade 
In draughts that charm, and then degrade, 
Before ye hear the cry, " Too late," 
Oh ! save the boys from my sad fate ! 

FRANCES E. W. HARPER. 18S4. 

SAFE, NOW. 



1 Swift o'er her face there came the old love-light, 

Shining through tears, as tenderly she said, 
" Long, long he wandered, lost in gloom and night, 
Safe, now ! — dear God, I thank Thee ! — He is 
dead. 

2 "O evil Fate ! that stole my love from me ! 

Alone I walked for many weary years ; 
Death, kindly Death, has given him back, and we 
Shall weep no more — nay ! these are happy tears. 

3 "You will not longer wonder, when I say 

That I can reach across the mystic sea 
And clasp my darling's hand, — Oh ! bless alway 
The angel Death, who gave him back to me." 



TWO SCENES IN A LIFE. 

" Eat, drink, and be merry, boys ; 

Perhaps to-morrow we die ! " 
And he raised the glass in his shapely hand 

To his lips, and drained it dry. 
" Once again fill up ; away with care ! 

Here alone can joy be found ! " 
And thrice again did glasses " click " 

As the sparkling wine went round. 
Flushed was the face of Herman Lee, 

And his eyes grew wild and bright ; 
And the words of the song from his lips that fell 

Were not learned in his mother's home that night. 
" Ho ! comrades, listen ! " again he cried, 

" I'll tell you a story true ; 
For the wine has made me merry to-night — 

To-morrow I may be ' blue.' " 
***** 
Five and twenty years have gone 

Since I lay on my mother's breast — 
A tiny babe, an only child, 

Whom she kissed, and loved, and blest ; 
And every night for many a year 

Did I kneel at my mother's knee, 
And pray to the Father of Heaven above 

To care for and watch over me ; 
To guard from the pitfalls and snares of life 

My tender and wayward feet ; 



brow 



To keep from temptation and make me pure, 

And in all things Godly meet. 
From childhood to manhood — how quick the change 

In life will come to all ! 
Even as the seasons quickly speed 

From Winter again to Fall. 
My mother watched o'er me with zealous care, 

And oft with tear-dimmed eye 
She laid on my head a trembling hand, 

And said with a quivering sigh : 
" Look not, my boy, on the wine when red, 

Nor yield to the tempter's snare : 
'Neath its sparkling depths lie its subtle 

Whose horrors I pray you beware ; 
For death and madness are lurking there, 

Coiled close to its foamy sheen, 
With the serpent's bite and adder's sting, 

It will wound you at last, I ween." 
There were lines of care on my mother'i 

Time's fingers had never traced, 
And silver threads in her auburn hair 

Which age had never placed. 
My father sleeps in a drunkard's grave, 

Slain by a comrade's hand ; 
'Neath the grand magnolia's fragrant bloom, 

He sleeps in a Southern land. 
Till twenty-one I had never touched 

Or tasted the poisoned draught. 
Of wine, or liquor, or malted beer 

A cup had never quaffed. 
But the tempter came — " Oh, God ! " — he cried 

And shook at some memory dread — 
'Twas a faultless hand that held -the glass, 

And rosy lips that said : 
" Come, Herman, drink with me to-night, 

A truce to your squeamish fears. 
Come pledge me with wine — 'tis my birthday night — 

The happy return of years." 
I took from her hand the ruby drink, 

Beaded and mellowed with time, 
And drained to the last its hell-cursed drops, 

Brewed in a rum-cursed clime. 
And she smiled, and said, " I thank you, love. 

I knew you would pledge me a toast. 
I told them so, but they only said 

'Twas a vain and idle boast ; 
You would not yield, not e'en to me, 

Your trothed and honored wife, 
The ' mistake scruples' of guarded years, 

As sacred as your life." 
"Ha ! ha ! ' I said ; ' they shall see ! they shall see t • 

Fill up once more with wine. 
I'll drink to Love, to woman's love — 

Such love, Adele, as thine." 
Again and again did I drink that night, 

Till madness filled my brain. 
And I whispered words in my love's soft ear 

That paled her cheek with shame, 
And passion's kisses pressed upon 
Her cheek and lips and brow, 



594 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



And clasped her in a mad embrace — 

Great God ! I shiver now. 
A golden dagger, with jewelled hilt, 

She wore upon her breast. 
In that fierce, passioned clasp of mine 

Into her bosom it pressed. 
She shuddered, moaned, and all was o'er — 

My life, my love, was dead. 

***** 
When I awoke, grim prison walls 
Were closed above my head. 

But not for long, for madness came, 
And through the prison guards 
They bore me to asylum halls. 

For years I walked those wards ; 
They say that Reason once again 

Sits right upon her throne ; 
Bat wretched Misery's by her side, 

And I am all alone. 
My mother sleeps beneath the earth, 

Struck down with bitter woe ; 
My love is sleeping by her side, 

And now I too shall go. 
A gleam of silver, then a flash, 

A cry of anguished pain, 
And Herman Lee lay still and pale — 

Would never move again. 

MRS. M. V. BOYCE. 
In the "Bugle Call." 



THE BISHOP'S EPITAPH. 

[" After seven miles riding, passing through a wood heretofore saered 
to Juno, we came to Monte Fiascone, the head of the Falisoi, a famous 
people in old time, heretofore Falernum, as renowned for its excellent 
wine as now for the story of the Dutch bishop who lies buried in Faviano's 
church, with this epitath : 

" Propter 'Est, est,' dominus meus mortuus est." 
Because having ordered his servant to ride on before, enquire where the 
best wine was, and there write 'Est,' the man found some so good that he 
wrote 'Est, est,' and the bishop, drinking too much, died."— "Evelyn's 
Diary," p. 85-6.J 

He was a bishop, and he loved good wine ; 
In fact, without it he could scarcely dine. 
Imperial, Rhenish, Burgundy, or Tent, 
Chian or Lesbian, its own virtue lent ; 
Whether pure honey, or the spiced perfume 
Of myrrh and cassia in the must found room, 
Score-year old wine, or sweet juice newly pressed, 
The bishop sought alone the very best. 
Of worthy deeds by this good bishop wrought 
(And that his life with many such was fraught 
We cannot doubt) no record now remains ; 
Fame leaves for them his labor for his pains. 
How many poor he blessed with word and deed, 
How many hungry souls he stooped to feed, 
How much of " manliness " his actions bore, 
How many stars within his crown he wore — 
No hint of these the traveller espies 
Ou the proud marble where the bishop lies. 



The unsparing stone, in one sententious line, 
Tells only how he died through love of wine. 
Strange that a life, with good deeds thickly pressed, 
On this one error for its fame should rest — 
The good he wrought all buried with its bones, 
The ill proclaimed from out the very stones ! 

He was a bishop, and he loved good wine ; 
Riding one day beneath the sky so fine 
Of fair Italia, near the spot he drew 
Which famed for choicest wines full well he knew. 
Rich old Falernian, with its fame replete, 
Should with Falernum make his bliss complete. 
" Ride on," he to his servant gave command, 
As fair Falernum's spires were just at hand, 
" Ask where good wine is had — the very best — 
And mark the place for me by writing ' Est.' " 

Full well his servant heeded the command ; 

He quickly found of wine the choicest brand, 

So good, indeed, so surely sure the best 

That in his zeal he quickly wrote " Est, est ; " 

And when the bishop came and read the sign, 

What did he lose in that Falernian wine ? 

The " manliness," of which he had such store, 

That he could quaff enough just, and no more. 

Why did this manliness forsake him quite, 

This power of choice that always chose the right ? 

Why did the bishop, with his creed so fine, 

Fall a sure victim to this best of wine ? 

Ask of the stone ; its answer is the best : 

" Propter ' Est, est,' dominus meus mortuus est." 
***** 

Perchance in Faviano's church that stone may yet be 
seen, 

Which long, by way of warning, held the bishop's' 
memory green ; 

But should the marble, like his bones, have crumbled 
quite away, 

The lesson it so long proclaimed will not be hushed 
to-day ; 

It mocks the " moderation " dream held by the very 
best, 

And writes anew the epitaph, " Dominus meus mor- 
tuus est ! " 

JULIA P. BALLARD. 1882. 

PLEDGE ME NOT IN WINE. 

1 Oh ! pledge me not in wine ! 

I shiver with icy dread ; 
And cold, and white, a deathly fear, 
Drops into my heart like lead. 

2 Oh ! pledge me not in wine ! 

Thro' its mist of rosy foam 
I count the beats of a broken heart, 
And I see a desolate home. 

3 There's a picture laid away, 

Under the dust of years ; 
Come look on it, and your heart will weep 
Like a summer cloud in tears. 




mam i 




•''.". '"''^/;,/: r &±. i\ , ' "%i^,:M^, ' 



- ■■■- ^ ■*$%"" 2$ & 



DRUNKARD'S FAMILY. 
[Prom a Painting by A. Trentin.] 



TEMPERANCE ENTERTAINMENTS. THE RUIN RUM HATH WROUGHT. 



595 



4 Night, and a storm of wind and sleet, 

A hearth without fire or light ; 
A woman, an angry man, and a door 
That opens into the night. 

5 Hot hands that cling to the crazy latch, 

Lips rigid, and white with pain 
A blow — a wailing babe, 
Out in the wind and rain. 

6 A woman dead in the pitiless storm, 

And sparkling, on the sand, 
Dear God ! a golden marriage ring 
Drops loose from her wasted hand. 

7 A white snow, striving through broken clouds, 

A horrified man at prayer, 
The cry of a passion, all hearts remorse, 
And a passion all hearts despair. 

8 This is the picture laid away, 

Under the dust of years ; 
And thus the red wine seems to me 
The flowing of bloody tears. 

9 Then pledge me not, tho' the wine be bright 

As the crimson light that flows 
From the sunset's cloudy gates of fire, 

Of the morning's vein of rose. 
10 Put down the cup, 't is brimmed with blood, 

From bleeding hearts like mine, 
For hope, for joy, for love's dear sake, 

Oh ! pledge me not, in wine. 



HATE OF THE BOWL 

1 Go, feel what I have felt, 

Go, bear what I have borne — 
Sink 'neath the blows a father dealt, 

And the cold world's scorn ; 
The sufferer on from year to year — 
The sole relief the scorching tear. 

2 Go, kneel where I have knelt, 

Implore, beseech and pray ; 
Strive the besotted heart to melt, 

The downward course to stay ; 
Be dashed with bitter curse aside, 
Your prayers burlesqued, your tears defied. 

3 Go, weep as I have wept, 

On a loved father's fall ; 
See every promised blessing swept, 

Youth's sweetness turned to gall, 
Life's fading flowers strewn all the way 
That brought me on to woman's day. 

4 Go, see what I have seen, 

Behold the strong men bow, 
With gnashing teeth, lips bathed in blood, 

A cold and livid brow ; 
Go, catch his withering glance, and see 
There mirrored his soul's misery. 



5 Go, hear and feel, and see and know, 

All that my soul hath felt and known ; 
Then look upon the wine-cup's glow, 

See if its beauty can atone ; 
Think if its flavor you will try 
When all proclaims, " 'T is drink and die." 

6 Tell me I hate the bowl?— 

Hate is but a feeble word ; 
I loathe, abhor, my very soul 

With strong disgust is stirred, ' 
Whene'er I see, or hear, or tell 
Of that dark beverage of hell. 

By a young lady who was told 

that she was a monomaniac 

in her hatred of Alcohol. 

THE PENDULUM OF TIME. 

1 And still do they go, at beck of their foe, 

Down to their woe ; 
And still filleth in his army of sin ; 

Ranks do not thin; 
And the pendulum of time swingeth on to and fro, 
And homes that were darkened no re-lighting know* 

For despair is the guest that they hold. 

2 And still press along the wild surging throng, 

The highway of wrong ; 
And swift in their train come cries of the slain, 

Cut down like grain. 
And the pendulum of time swingeth on to and fro, 
And hearts that were loyal sink down in their woe, 

Knowing grief such as ne'er can be told. 

3 The young and the gay slip down the dark way, 

Lost in the fray ; 
And women in fright, with lips that are white, 

Cry at the sight ; 
But the pendulum of time swingeth on to and fro, 
And with each slender stroke a mother lies low, 

As her boy to the rum fiend is sold ! 

From a paper by belle kelloqg towne, In" Union Signal." 1881. 



Irs. I. gl 



lartacjjj 



Is the wife of the Rev. L. Hartsough, of Sioux Falls, Dakota. She is 
an earnest worker in foreign missions, temperance, and many good 
causes. She has written many beautiful hymns, some of which have 
been set to music by various members of her musical family. As a gos- 
pel evangelist, she has few superiors among women. 

THE DEMON ALCOHOL. 

1 There is trouble in many a home to-day, 

There is sorrow in many a heart, 
Because of the Demon Alcohol, 
Because of his hellish art. 

2 No pity hath he for the grey-haired sire, 

But scoffs at his prayers and his sighs, 
Unheeding the scalding tears that fall 
From sorrowful age-bedimmed eyes. 



596 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



3 He preys upon manhood so noble and strong, 

Destroying both body and soul, 
For love to one's neighbor and love to one's God, 
Are drowned in the maddening bowl. 

4 He seeks out the young and the lovely and fair, 

And drags them to infamy clown, 
Enfeebled and fettered, his victims are found 
In hamlet, and city, and town. 

5 They have " sorrow," and " woe," and " redness of 

eyes," 
And " babbling, contentions," and '' wounds," 
Their mouths are with curses and bitterness filled, 
In their ears horrid wailing resounds. 

6 He snatches the bread from the hungry child's grasp, 

And oft in its stead gives a blow, 
Pursuing with vigor his deadly work, 
Till he lays the starved sufferer low. 

7 And this is the work that is now being done, 

Behind painted window and screen, 
And no less effectually carried on 

Behind the bright lights red and green. 

8 But strangest of all, Lo ! the right may be bought, 

Of a goverment all men call good, 
To give to the people a poisonous cup, 
And receive in return, gold and blood. 

9 And O Christian woman, have ye nought to do, 

And no prayers to offer to heaven ? 
Have ye no tears to shed, and no words to speak, 
That help to the right may be given ? 

10 Oli ! have ye no fear that this same dreadful foe 

May enter your own happy home ? 

He may, all unheard, so stealthy his step 

E'en now to the entrance be come. 

11 The blood of slain thousands cries out from the 

ground 
To Christians all over the land, 
For vengeance unsparing ; Oh ! will you not hear 
And join with the right, heart and hand ? 

12 We read that the fervent effectual prayer 

Of a righteous man much doth avail, 
And though heaven and earth shall both pass away, 
Not a word Christ hath spoken shall fail. 

13 And mothers and wives doth in agony cry, 

At morning, at night and at noon, 
From palaces high, and from cottages low, 
" O God, send deliverance soon." 

14 O Demon Intemperance ! thou fiend of strong drink / 

Thy murderous work we now see ; 
But thy triumph shall end, thy victories cease, 
And the conqueror the conquered shall be. 

MKS. I. M. HAKTSOUOH. 
Sioux Falls, D. T. 1883, 



THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN 

God pity the children born to a heritage of sin and 
drunkenness ! Mrs. Browning's " Cry of the Children" 
was never more forcible to our thoughts than in looking 
over the record of a few days past. To the wife of the 
notorious Max La Fontane, a Chicago thief, and the 
mother herself a convict also, were boi'n twin babes, at 
the Joliet penitentiary, and the account states that the 
father and mother seem to have no thought of the 
shame brought upon the little unconscious innocents, 
born in prison, of convict parents. Pitiful, too, the 
story of a recent Monday of driving rain in Chicago, 
when a mother and her two little children were set out, 
with their few belongings, into the street, to face the 
raging tempest as best they might. The landlord's 
patience was completely exhausted on account of the 
drunken husband and father, and the poor innocents 
had to suffer, though the woman is industrious and 
anxious to care for her children. 

Then that poor little waif, known as " Little Corkey," 
a small newsboy, " found beastly drunk on the streets 
of Chicago, and fined by the justice $10.00 and costs! 
He is three feet five inches tall, and is seven years of 
age." What a pathetic picture ! And " what' will the 
harvest be ? " 



UNION SIGNAL. 



Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers, 

Ere the sorrow comes with years ? 
They are leaning their young heads against their 

mothers, — 

And that cannot stop their tears. 
The young lambs are bleating in the meadows, 

The young birds are chirping in the nest ; 
The young fawns are playing with the shadows, 

The young flowers are blowing toward the west ; 
But the young, young children, O my brothers, 

They are weeping bitterly ! 
They are weeping in the play-time of the others, 

In the country of the free. 

Do you question the young children in their sorrow, 

Why their tears are falling so ? 
The old man may weep for his to-morrow, 

Which is lost in long ago. 
The old tree is leafless in the forest, 

The old year is ending in frost. 
The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest, 

The old hope is hardest to be lost ; 
But the young, young children, O my brothers, 

Do you ask them why they stand 
Weeping sore before the bosoms of their mothers 

In our happy Fatherland ? 

They look up with their pale and sunken faces, 

And their looks are sad to see ; 
For the man's hoary anguish draws and presses 

Down the cheeks of infancy ; 
Your old earth," they say, " is very dreary ; " 
" Our young feet," they say, " are very weak ! 



TEMPERANCE ENTERTAINMENTS. TEE RUIN RUM HATH WROUGHT. 



597 



Two paces have we taken, yet are weary ; 

Our grave-rest is very far to seek. 
Ask the aged why they weep, and not the children, 

For the outside earth is cold, 
And we young ones stand without, in our bewildering, 

And the graves are for the old." 

4 " True," say the children, " it may happen 

That we die before our time. 
Little Alice died last year — the grave is shapen 

Like a snowball in the rime. 
"We looked into the pit prepared to take her, 

Was no room for any work in the close clay ; 
From the sleep wherein she lieth none will wake her, 

Crying " Get up, little Alice ! it is day." 
If you listen by that grave, in sun and shower, 

With your ear down, little Alice never cries ! 
Could we see her face, be sure we should not know her, 

For the smile has time for growing in her eyes. 
And merry go her moments, lulled and stilled in 

The shroud, by the kirk chime. 
" It is good when it happens," say the children, 
" That we die before our time." 

5 Alas, alas ! the children, they are seeking 

Death in life, as best to have ; 
They are hinding up their hearts away from breaking 

With a cerement from the grave. 
Go out, children, from the mine and from the city ; 

Sing out, children, as the little thrushes do ; 
Pluck your handfuls of the meadow-cowslips pretty ; 

Laugh aloud to feel your fingers let them through! 
But they answer, " Are your cowslips of the meadows 

Like our needs anear the mine ? 
Leave us quiet in the dark of the coal-shadows, 

From your pleasures fair and fine ! 

6 "For Oh ! say the children, " we are weary, 

And we cannot run or leap ; 
If we cared for any meadows, it were merely 

To drop down in them and sleep. 
Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping ; 

We fall upon our faces, trying to go ; 
And, underneath our heavy eyelids drooping, 

The reddest flower would look as pale as snow. 
For, all day, we drag our burden tiring 

Through the coal-dark underground ; 
Or, all day, we drive the wheels of iron 

In the factories, round and round. 

'For, all day, the wheels are droning, turning, — 

Their wind comes in our faces — 
Till our hearts turn our heads with pulses burning, 

And the walls turn in their places ; 
Turns the sky in the high window blank and reeling ; 

Turns the long light that drops adown the wall ; 
Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling ; 

All are turning, all the day, and we with all. 
And all day the iron wheels are droning ; 

And sometimes we could pray, 
O ye wheels (breaking out in a mad moaning,) 

Stop ! and be sileut for to-day ! " 



7 



8 Aye ! be silent ! Let them hear each other breathing 

For a moment, mouth to mouth ; 
Let them touch each other's hands in a fresh wreathing 

Of their tender human youth ! 
Let them feel that this cold metallic motion 

Is not all the life God fashions or reveals ; 
Let them prove their living souls against the notion 

That they live in you, or under you, O wheels ! 
Still, all day, the iron wheels go onward, 

Grinding life down from its mark ; 
And the children's souls, which God is calling sunward, 

Spin on blindly in the dark. 

9 Now tell the poor young children, O my brothers, 

To look up to Him and pray ; 
So the Blessed One, who blesseth all the others, 

Will bless them another day. 
They answer, " Who is God that He should hear us, 

While the rushing of the iron wheels is stirred ? 
When we sob aloud, the human creatures near us 

Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a word, 
And we hear not (for the wheels in their resounding,) 

Strangers speaking at the door : 
Is it likely God, with angels singing round Him, 

Hears our weeping any more ? 

10 " Two words, indeed, of praying we remember, 

And at midnight's hour of harm, 
' Our Father,' looking upward in the chamber, 

We say softly for a charm. 
We know no other words, except ' Our Father,' 
And we think that, in some pause of angels' 
song, 
God may pluck them with the silence sweet tj 
gather, 
And hold both within His right hand which is 
strong. 
' Our Father ! ' If He heard us He would surely 

(For they call Him good and mild) 
Answer, smiling down the steep world very purely, 
' Come and rest with me, my child.' 

11 " But no ! " say the children, weeping faster, 

" He is speechless as a stone, 
And they tell us, of His image is the master 

Who commands us to work on. 
Go to ! " say the children ; " up in Heaven, 

Dark, wheel-like turning clouds are all we find ; 
Do not mock us'; grief has made us unbelieving ; 

We look up for God, but tears have made us 
blind." 
Do you hear the children weeping and disproving, 

my brothers, what ye preach ? 
For God's possible is taught by His world's loving, 

And the children doubt of each. 

12 And well may the children weep before you ! 

They are weary ere they run ; 
They have never seen the sunshine nor the glory 

Which is brighter than the sun : 
They know the grief of man, without his wisdom ; 

They sink in man's despair, without his calm ; 



598 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG 



Are slaves, without the liberty in Christdom ; 

Are martyrs, by the pang without the palm ; 
Are worn, as if with age, yet unretrievingly 

The blessing of its memory cannot keep ; 
Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly ; 

Let them weep ! Let them weep ! 
13 They look up, with their pale and sunken faces, 

And their look is dread to see, 
For they mind you of their angels in their- places, 

With eyes turned on Deity. 
" How long," they say, " how long, O cruel nation, 

Will you stand to move the world, on a child r s 
heart — 
Stifle down with a mailed heel its palliation, 

And tread onward to your throne amid the mart ? 
Our blood splashes upward, O gold-heaper, 

And your purple shows your path ! 
But the child's sob curses deeper in the silence 

Than the strong man in his wrath ! " 

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 

SOLILOQUY OF A DRUNKARD'S MOTHER. 

1 Lift, lift ye clouds of gloom, from off my soul I 
No more in blackness o'er my spirit roll, 

Nor crush, with mountain weight, hope's feeble wings, 
Now prone where dark despair its shadow flings. 

2 Come, Holy Spirit ! breathe upon the slain ! 
Slain hopes and aspirations, till again 

I feel that life and duty have for me 

A charm, and set my wounded spirit free. 

3 Free from the chain that sorrow deftly winds 

Of sympathy for him, whom, to me, nature binds, 
For whom my life were not a gift too dear 
If it might ward away the ill I fear. 

4 'T is said that some would even dare to die 
A friend to save ; and even so would I. 
My life, my all, how freely would I give, 
If only he, for whom I pray, might live. 

5 But if the love a dying Saviour gave 
Hath not the charm his soul to win or save, 
How vain an offering were my life, or love ! 

Nor would my death his thought indifferent move. 

6 In sullen tides doth sorrow sweep my soul ! 
I sink beneath where swelling billows roll, 
O God ! if yet it might not be too late, 

May mercy lead him through life's open gate ! 

EMILY POTMAN WILLIAMS. 

Appleton City, Mo. 
WRECKS. 

1 When summer skies bend lovingly 

This world is wondrous fair ; 
It wraps us in a sheen of gold, 

When o'er it broods no care. 
But ah ! the storm lurks just beyond, 

It rises at a breath, 
It strews the beaten earth with wrecks ; 

Its pathway marked by death. 



A mother's heart beat high with hope, 

Pride mingled with her joy, 
For every promised good she craved 

Was centered in her boy. 
She did not see the storm-cloud then, 

Nor yet the shadows fall 
Across the picture she had drawn — 

That shadow was a pall. 
How oft, alas ! the golden glow 

Of morning greets our eyes, 
And promises a gorgeous day 

With only smiling skies ; 
But soon thick darkness settles down, 

An unrelenting cloud, 
And gathers up the last bright ray — 

Wrapped in a dismal shroud. 
The mother looked with bated breath 

Upon the gathering gloom, 
She saw it wrap her little world, 

She saw the opening tomb. 
She saw the throbbing tide of life, 

Aflame with subtile ill 
Bearing the idol of her life 

A drunkard's grave to fill. 
The world will not withhold the meed 

Of praise for honest worth, 
And he had climbed the heights alone 

Nor thanks to noble birth ; 
That makes the hero, not the man, 

And he had won the goal ; 
Not dreaming of the dark absyss 

That waited for his soul. 



6 That son, in manhood's pride and power, 

A servile slave had grown. 
A slave — he held the maddening cup, 

His proudest dream had flown. 
He struggled with the deadly foe, 

As brave men fight in death, 
But demons grew exultant, when — 

He drew his latest breath. 

CASSIE ST. GEORGE, 1881 



THRALL. 

1 I am held like a captive knight, 
I am hidden away from sight, 

I cry like a child for the light. 

2 I am bound by the crudest thongs, 
I quiver with outrage and wrongs, 
Like a slave I sing a slave's songs, 

3 At night, when the mad moon gleams, 
Still viler my vile lot seems, 

For at night I dream a slave's dreams. 

4 At morning, at even, at noon, 

The thong, far or near, late or soon, 
Makes me cry out for death as a boon. 



TEMPERANCE. ENTERTAINMENTS. THE RUIN RUM HATH WROUGHT. 



599 



I quail 'neath a tyrants dreaa eye, 
I mutter vague threats, and still try 
To sunder the horrible tie. 
But my struggle is all in vain,. 
My captor claims me again, 
And anon I clank the same chain. 
O cruelest bondage of all, 
Which well may the strongest 
Body free, but a soul in thrall. 



HA1IIE TYNG GRISWOLD. 



Wife of Rev. Dr. McLeod, is well known to the literary world, by both 
her prose and verse. As a temperance worker and writer of temperance 
poems of a high order, she has few equals, and her articles are eagerly 
sought. 

AMONG SHADOWS. 

1 " My early home was beautiful, 

In a fair Southern clime, 
Complete, when God my first-born gave 

In the glad summer time. 
I used to dream sweet waking dreams, 

In the still evening-tide, 
Of what my boy would grow to be — 

My strong staff and my pride. 

2 Years passed — bright boyhood, princely youth, 

Honors were early won, 
His name in praise on every lip : 

Proud mother, loving son ! 
They pledged him at the festal board, 

In wines so rare and old, 
That almost fabulous I deemed 

The history they told. 

3 As dark as sin, the poison taint 

That stirred the life-blood then : 
Better that day my boy had died, 

Honored by princely men ! 
Better the fair young face had lain 

Beneath the winter sod, 
Than stamped with sin, telling how far 

A soul has strayed from God ! 

4 Gone down ! step following fast on step ; 

Alas ! that this should be. 
Fettered with sin the fearless feet 

Once bounding glad and free ! 
Eyes once so clear and beautiful, 

Now vacant, bleared and dim — ■ 
I wonder, ' Is God pitiful,' 

Whene'er I look on him. 

5 Soon it will end — in broken heart, 

And ruined life for me ! 
Must his, poor outcast on the earth, 

A drunkard's record be ? 
O weary mother ! wandering child, 

Would God that death had come, 
Instead of this foul sin, to blight 

And desolate my home." 

* Daughter of lats Surgeon I. Hulse, TJ. S. Navy, aDd wife of Rev. Alex W. McLeod, D.D 
Florida, and is known through the South as one who did much for the cause of education at the 
Southern Literary Institute fir Ynung Ladies, niu- of the most popular institutions in Baltimore, 



Such the sad story they told to me, 

In a home once so fair — 
Told by a mother crushed and lone, 

And crowned with silvery hair, 
Whitened by grief, not age, they said ; 

The shadow from her face, 
They had no hope that joy again 

On earth could e'er efface. 
We mothers know not, if shall be 

This record made in tears, 
For our home treasures, sheltered now, 

In childhood's blessed years. 
Somebody's boys fall every day, 

Beneath the Rum-Fiend's tread ; 
rulers of the nation, wake ! 

Their blood is on your head ! 



MRS. GEORGIA HULSE M'LEOD. 
Baltimore, Feb., 24. 1884. 

CUP OF PERIL. 

1 Cup of peril ! I touch thee not 
While of all that are dear to me, 

There be one that shareth the awful lot 
Of a soul accursed by thee ! 

2 Cup of peril ! Thy flash and flow 
Glows red with innocent blood ; 

Thy drops are poison bitter, I know ; 
The ruin comes in like a flood ! 

3 Cup of peril ! 1 snatch thy rim 
From the grasp of the young and strong ; 

For their strength shall fail and their eyes grow dim 
By the sting of thine adder tongue ! 

4 Cup of peril ! I cast thee down ! 
In warnings voice all my breath ! 

Thy gleam hath a giant terror grown, 
And the touch of thy plague is death ! 

MRS. H. ROSCOE EDGETT. 
May, 24, 1882. 

TEMPERANCE SONNET. 

1 For thee the beacon lights of ages shine — 

Shine warningly where fearful wrecks were made ; 

Was it for naught that Homer, undismayed, 
Pictured for thee, in each immortal line, 
Deluded ones who drank the luscious wine, 

Drank from the golden bowl, as Circe bade, 

And by her hateful sorceries betrayed, 
Lost the firm will, and groveled into swine ? 

Drank from the poisoned cup, obliviousness — 
Lost to the love of home, and native land — 

Lost to the joys of others, or distress ; 
Transformed at last to brutes by Circe's wand. 

Still tempters hand the fatal bowl — Beware ! 

Lest blind old Homer saw thy pictured snare. 

A2JNIE LENTHAL SMITH. 

February. 1881. 
Canaaa, a theological writer. Mrs. McLeod is a native of 



600 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



THE RUIN RUM HATH WROUGHT. 

1 I asked my sweet baby, before she could speak, 

" What is life ? " 
The dimples grew deeper in each velvet cheek, 
The ruby lips parted in innocent smile, 
Bright blue eyes were twinkling in mirth, all the while, 
The mouth was filled full with a little round fist, 
It was tasted and tasted and eagerly kissed. 
But one little finger went up to her eye ; 
My tiny, grieved baby began then to cry. 
I felt that my question had now its reply. 

" A smile and a tear is my life." 

2 Ten glad, sunny summers had gone, when I said, 

" What is life ? " 
She paused in her romping and, drooping her head, 
Replied all so earnestly, " Wait, let me think. 
Why ! I guess it is to breathe, to eat and to drink, 
To work when you have to, to play when you can, 
And never do half that you promise and plan. 
When the sun shines bright, to be happy and glad, 
When it rains and is dark, to be fretful and sad. 
When you try to be good, you want to be bad. 

That is all I can tell you of life." 



I asked her again, on her glad bridal morn, 

" What is life ? " 
She gave me a rosebud with never a thorn, 
But many were waiting to pierce her young brow. 
A cross hewn from granite, was that bridal vow. 
The heart she had given, so trusting and true, 
Was pierced by the arrows of Death, thro' and thro'. 
The wine cup had planted her thorn bush of grief 
And the day of her wifehood was darkened and brief. 
The grave, all so restful, brought welcome relief, 

For God took her burden of life. 
I said to the husband who murdered my child, 

" What is life ? " 
He answered in anguish, remorseful and wild, 
With laugh like a demon from regions below, 
" Her life has a record as white as the snow ; 
But mine was her curse and her cup full of gall, 
It drank up her lifeblood, has woven her pall. 
And I'm left alone with Cain's mark on my brow, 
My hand stained with blood, tho' the world asks not 

how. 
The fire of my torment is kindling now. 

My heaviest burden is life." 

KATHARINE O. 

In "The Crusade." 1879. 



FATHER'S A DRUNKARD, AND MOTHER IS DEAD. 



(THE FIRST ORIGINAL TEMPERANCE SONG PUBLISHED IN THE CITY OF WASHINGTON.) 



Poetry by Mrs. NELLIE H. BRADLEY, of Washington, D. C. 1856. 



Music by Mrs. E. A. PARKHTJRST. 1858. 



One dismal, stormy night in winter, a little girl, barefooted and miserably clad, leaned shivering against a 
large tree near the President's House. " Sissie," said a passing stranger, "why don't you go home?" She 
raised her pale face, and with tears dimming her sweet blue eyes, answered mournfully: "I have no home, 
Father's a drunkard, and Mother is dead." 



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TEMPERANCE. ENTERTAINMENTS. HOPE FOR THE FALLEN- 



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TEMPERANCE. ENTERTAINMENTS, HOPE FOR THE FALLEN. 



603 



THE LOST WILL. 

1 The snow lay heavy on the ground, 

And heavy on the poor man's hut ; 
But something heavier on his heart 
The door of hope had well-nigh shut. 

2 It was not that no kindly word, 

No smile of love was left him still ; 
It was not that his friends were lost : 
It icas — that he had lost his will. 

3 His will, which in his better moods 

Said : " Wife and home are sacred yet ; 
And I V)ill leave the tempting cup — 
My face against it firmly set." 

4 His will — which, when before him stood 

The sparkling poison, quick gave way, 
Found him at morn a cringing slave — 
Worse than a slave at close of day. 

5 The cheerful bells this New Year's morn 

Ring out to peaceful homes good cheer, 
And glad response from happy hearts 
Spring up to meet the opening year. 

6 " The cursed bells ! how bland their tone 

To those who meet in love and joy ! 
Or is it I, a cursed man, 

Whose waking conscience they annoy ? 

7 " I think of one whose blushing cheeks, 

Once rosy as the buds of June, 
Long washed by bitter tears, are bleached 
And all her nature out of tune ; 

8 " From wearying years of hope deferred — 

Of anguish tongue can never tell — 
Till sorrow hopes for no relief — 
All from this one accursed spell ! 

9 " It shall not be ! I will those cheeks 

Again to bloom — those eyes to glow ; 
I'll take a New Year's gift to her — 
Fit time such favor to bestow. 

10 " With silver it will not be bought — 

There's not a penny in my purse ; 
But I will take to her myself — 
A blessing, and no more a curse. 

11 And I will come with steady step, 

And ready speech and kindly word, 
And bring new hope, and kindle joy 
Where happy tones are seldom heard." 

12 He sought his home with love for all, 

For they had been a sorrowing band — 
Said to his wife, " A New Year's gift ! " 
And placed a paper in her hand. 

13 A pledge ! and well she knew who wrote 

The name so boldly signed below ; 
" I thought that I had lost my will," 
Was added, " that 'tis found I'll show." 

14 That New Year's gift, what joy it brought 

To six tried souls I may not tell ! 
Husbands restored, and fathers saved — 
Their wives, their children know it well. 



15 Say not the drunkard's doom is sealed — 

That only fancy paints him saved ; 
A word, a look, a tear, a prayer, 

May break the chain that long enslaved. 

16 Seek out the man by many scorned ; 

Plead with him — he is human still. 
'Tis not all fancy; many have, 

And many more may find their will ! 

17 The snow lies heavy on the ground, 

And heavy on the poor man's hut ; 
O ye who pity human woes, 

Leave not the door of hope quite shut ! 



MRS. JULIA P. BALLARD. 



"AM I MY BROTHER'S KEEPER?" 



1 With tottering step, and frenzied eye, 
The sad inebriate hurries by, 

To the accursed den 
Where Lucifer's high priest awaits, 
To lure, through the infernal gates, 

His faltering fellow men. 

2 The victim enters — grasps the cup, 
And quaffs the demon nectar up ; 

He drinks, to drown his care. 
O thou, who standest on the rock, 
Above the surging billow's shock 

See thou, thy brother there. 

3 Withold thy censure, taunt and frown, 
His sins and woes have borne him down 

To effortless despair, 
He sinks beneath his heavy load — 
He's prostrate, on a thorny road ; 

Say, shall we leave him there ? 

4 Shall we not lend a kindly hand, 

And with our strength help him to stand, 

And find some safer way 
For the poor harrassed, trembling feet, 
Some shelter from the burning heat 

And burden of the day ? 

5 Oh! by the power of word and deed, 
Show him how human hearts can bleed 

At sight of human woe ; 
Show him a love that will not shrink 
To snatch from folly's foulest brink, 

The wanderer, lost, below. 

6 So, shalt thou lift thy brother up — 
So, in thy measure, taste the cup 

Thy Saviour drained for thee ; 
So life shall bridge on from the tomb, 
And in Love's warm, perennial bloom 

The captive shall be free. 

MRS. "D. LANTION. 1884. 



604 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



, IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN. 

1 Say not "it might have been," would you discern 

The deep significance of that which is. 
No lot so humble that it may not learn 
Its share of joy, its modicum of bliss. 

2 " It might have been " will drift you far away 

From the strong moorings of a Father's love ; 
For only He can safely guide the way 

Through channels where life's hidden currents move. 

3 He knows how weak we are, how broad, how high, 

The powers He lends which all our natures hem. 
He knows what stress and strain may wrench and try, 
And we the stronger tides of beings stem. 

4 And what He asks is, that when sorely pressed, 

We reach our hands, and trustful place them where 
His own may grasp them. Here alone is rest, 
And comfort, and emergence from despair. 

5 Tempted and fallen, steeped in sin and shame, 

Plunged to very depths of infamy, — 
Lift up your eyes, behold the heavens aflame, 
With the bright promise of what yet may be. 

MRS. ANNIE TURNER. 

Haunibal, Sept. 7th, 1873. 

THE TEST. 

"Nay, not till Christ hath the whole being fraught." 

1 It looks a goodly ship, the favoring breeze 

Filling its sails, above the cloudless sky, 
The peaceful sea beneath ; no danger nigh. 
It is a goodly ship, but not by these 
'Tis judged. Wait till the storm-king frees 
Its ministers ; the winds, the waves, the shock 
Of mountain billows and the treacherous rock, 
Shall say if it be strong to ride the seas. 

2 Not till the bitter storms of life have sought 

Vainly to whelm : not till the waves of wrong. 

Sorrow and loss, despair and doubt have fought 
For mastery ; not till the siren throng 

In vain their all-entrancing wiles have wrought, 
Dare any soul to say, Lo, I am strong ! 

CARLOTTA PERRY. 
Milwaukee. 



A PLEA. 

After reading of a drunkard who was highly connected and held hon- 
erable position in the army, the account ending with the remark, "He 
is a ruined man." 

1 Call him not ruined while life's tide is flowing 

Warm through his veins, 
And reason, by sure signs, is daily showing 

It still retains 
Its throne within the mind once strong and noble, 

Once brave and true, 
To will and plan, direct, command and venture, 

Decide and do. 



2 Call him not wholly ruined, noble brothers, 

You, who are strong, 
Temptations to resist, and bravely battle 

With vice and wrong, 
Hasten to him and kindly tell him, others 

Who fall, arise, 
Eegain all they had lost and add unto it 

Much which men prize. 

3 Call him not ruined, though so lowly fallen, 

Remember that 
While there is life, hope firmly may be cherished 

Still to combat, 
Resist and re-resist the tempter's sieges, 

Man has grown strong, 
And joins, from degradation resurrected, 

Earth's noble throng. 

4 Call him not ruined, tell him of his darlings, 

His parents dear, 
His brothers, sisters, friends and soldier comrades, 

Then when a tear 
Drops from his eye, speak tenderly, speak softly, 

Of wife and child, 
Who love him still, and wait to kiss him welcome 

Though so defiled. 

5 Call him not ruined, tho' so nearly perished, 

Remember that 
While life remains hope rightly may be cherished, 

And we combat 
With men or demons who with selfish fury 

Struggle and strive 
Away from God and all things pure and holy, 

To drag or drive. 

ANGIE FULLER. 

HELP THE DRUNKARD TO REFORM. 

1 Scorn not the drunkard if he falls, 

But reach him out a helping hand, 
Set him upon his feet again, 

And bid him try again to stand. 
Tell him that as the little child 

First learns to walk, so he must learn 
Each time he falls to rise again, 

And from temptation bravely turn. 

2 Tell him that effort is the price 

Of all success, and he must try 
Over and over, till he grows 

Able to pass temptation by, 
Able to say the firm word, " No," 

And stick to it, whoever sneers, 
Able to be a brave, true man, 

In spite of ridicule or jeers. 

3 Tell him that millions daily pray 

For him and every tempted one, 
That Heaven awaits to give him grace 

Temptation to resist and shun, 
Aye, tell him this, and tell him more, 

But never pass him by with scorn, 
Lest he, despairing, fall again, 

Cursino- the hour that he was born. 



TEMPERANCE. ENTERTAINMENTS. HOPE FOR THE FALLEN. 



605 



4 Scorn not the drunkard, tho' he fall, 

He is thy brother, just the same, 
And holds upon thy love and aid 

A double, yes a treble claim. 
While life continues, there is hope 

That reason will assert its sway, 
Will with temptation bravely cope, 

And gloriously your toil repay. 

ANGLE POLLER. 
Id the " Venture." 1882. 

FIGHT ON, BRAVE HEART, FIGHT ON. 

1 Fight onward to the breach, brave heart, 

When till victory o'er life is won ! 
To mourn is but the coward's part — 

Thou hast the warrior's now begun ; 
Pour out thy last, best, ruddiest drops ; 
But till thy wild pulsations stop, 

Fight on, brave heart, fight on ! 

2 The knight of old, sought Christ's dear grave, 

When joy from earthly home had gone ; 
For this, he dared the wintry wave, 

And roamed o'er burning waste alone ; 
Make then a wiser pilgrimage 
To thine own grave in youth of age ; 

Fight on, brave heart, fight on. 

KATE R. ODEN. 



Jditt C lemtmp 



Was born in Worcester, Mass. Her father was a clergyman, settled in 
various parts of that state for thirty seveu years. At the age of eight, 
her hearing was entirely lost through an attack of scarlet fever. Hered- 
ucstion has been chiefly carried on at home, and through her own efforts. 
For four years she attended the Horace P/Iann School in Boston. After 
being connected three years with the Society to Encourage Studies 
at Home, she was offered a position as teacher, which place she has ac- 
ceptably filled for seven years, and which she now occupies. She began 
writing In 1871, and her poems already number one hundred. For fifteen 
or twenty years, her's has been a silent life. No melody from human 
voice, or song of bird, has reached her ear; yet I doubt not the divine 
harmonies and the still small voice of God have been all the sweeter and 
richer to her immost soul and understanding. In 18S0 she published a 
volume of poems entitled Heart Echoes, a book of rare merit, without 
one poor or limping bit of verse within its pages. She is about to issue 
another volume, for winch we predict an extensive sale. 

SPILT WATER. 

II. Sam. xiv : 14. 

1 Because the joy has run to waste 

That our life-goblet bore : 
Wilt thou upon the scattered drops 
Look downward evermore ? 

2 Behold, a hundred brimming cups 

Thy God prepares for thee : 

And richer for the loss of one 

The sweetness lelt shall be. 

3 In weeping for our vanished hours 

The passing ones we slight ; 
In mourning o'er our unused powers 
We give them deeper blight. 



4 Each fleeting moment earnest pleads 

That present duty claims 
Our fullest strength, our worthiest deeds, 
Our highest, holiest aims. 

5 No rocks or stones a cause supply 

To make the stream recede ; 
They only lift its waves more high — 
They cannot check its speed. 

6 So following Nature's changeless laws, 

When bitter things we meet, 
Our lives should flow without a pause 
Above them, strong and fleet. 

7 Then stoop no more with fond design 

To raise the drops from dust : — 
They are not lost — a hand Divine 
Holds every one in trust. 

8 But though the joy has run to waste, 

That one life-goblet bore ; 
Unto the eternal Fount of Life, 
Look upward evermore. 

' ALICE C. JENNINGS. 1884. 

In " The Christian Secretary." 
Hartford, Conn. 

ONLY A BIRD'S NEST. 

1 Weary and heartsick, with wasted form 

And eyes that glowed like a smouldering fire, 
Scarcely heeding the fierce, cold storm 

That swept along with unflinching ire, 
While the bare trees shivered, and moaned, and 

swayed, 
'Neath the cutting fury the storm-king made. 

2 But through it all, with an angry tread 

And lips that trembled with curses deep, 
A heart with all of its bright dreams dead, 

And eyes that looked as not made to weep, 
A woman wandered through a city's street 
While the storm-winds of winter against her beat. 

3 The people passing her turned to see, 

With sneering lips and scornful eye. 
" O God !" she cried ; " in Thy scorn hear me, 

And grant my prayer — that I long to die ! 
While dying I curse them with latest thought 
For the cruel misery they have wrought ! 

4 " Once I was pure and free from care, 

The days passed by like swift, sunny dreams ; 
No coarser place than the country, fair, 

Filled full of flowers and birds and streams ; 
Where innocence reigned, and prayer and praise 
Swept up to heaven. Those perfect days ! 

5 " But now I never dare to pray, 

All men are cruel, and life is cold. 
My faith and innocence swept away ; 

Lost, almost, the thought of the days of old ! 
O God, to die !" and against a tree 
In the gathering darkness staggered she. 

6 " God pity me — pity !" in accents faint 

She cried, as hot tears suffused her eyes. 



606 



WOMAN IN SACREP SONG 



When, lo, as in answer to her complaint, 

There fell at her feet — while in glad surprise 

She caught and pressed it upon hpr breast — 
A poor little storm-torn sparrow's nest ! 

7 And as it rested there on her breast, 

It wafted her back to her childhood's home ; 
Away, from the city's busy mart, 

Away, to the country's peace and bloom. 
And she murmured faintly, as tears fell fast : 

" O God, I pray Thee, forgive the past ! 

8 " Wipe out all the crime, and shame, and sin, 

And give me some of Thy love arid rest 
In the better life that I'll begin 

Just for the sake of this sparrow's nest ! 
Give back the faith of my youthful days 
In the life that stretches in rugged ways !" 

9 Five years, and far in that better life 

That she had chosen, she's living now; 
A loving mother, a happy wife, 

With smiling lips and care-free brow — 
Living in God's full peace and rest 
That came to her with that sparrow's nest! 

MISS J, K. LUDLUM. 

In "The Advance." New York, Aug. 1885. 

REPENTANCE. 

1 If the Lord were to send down blessings from heaven 

as thick and as fast as the fall 
Of the drops of rain or the flakes of snow, I'd love 

Him and thank Him for all ; 
But the gift that I'd crave, and the gift that I'd keep, 

if I'd only one to choose, 
Is the gift of a broken and contrite heart, and that 

He will not refuse. 

2 For what is my wish and what is my hope, when 

I've toiled and prayed and striven, 
All the days that I live upon earth ? It is this — to 

be forgiven. 
And what is my wish and what is my hope, but to 

end where I begin, 
With an eye that looks to my Saviour, and a heart 

that mourns for its sin ! 

3 Well, perhaps you think I am going to say I'm the 

chief of sinners, and then 
You'll tell me, as far as you can see, I'm no worse 

than other men. 
I've little to do with better or worse, I haven't to judge 

the rest ; 
If other men are no better than I, they are bad 

at the best. 

4 I've nothing to do with other folks ; it is n't for me 

to say 

What sort of men the Scribes might be, or the Phar- 
isees in their day ; 

But we know that it. wasn't for such as they that the 
kingdom of heaven was meant ; 

And we're told we shall likewise perish unless we do 
rejient. 



5 And what have I done, perhaps you'll say, that I 

should fret and grieve ? 
I didn't wrangle, nor curse, nor swear ; I didn't lie 

nor thieve ; 
I'm clear of cheating and drinking and debt. Well, 

perhaps, but I cannot say ; 
For some of these I hadn't a mind, and some didn't 

come in my way. 

6 For there's many a thing I could wish undone, though 

law might not be broken ; 
And there's many a word, now I come to think, that 

I could wish unspoken. 
I did what I thought to be the best, and I said just 

what came to my mind ; 
I wasn't so honest that I could boast, and I'm sure 

that I wasn't kind. 

7 Well, come to things that I might have done, and 

then there'll be more to say ; 
We'll ask for the broken hearts I healed, and the 

tears that I wiped away. 
I thought for myself and I wrought for myself — 

for myself and none beside ; 
Just as if Jesus had never lived, as if He had never 
, died. 

8 But since my Lord has looked on me, and since He 

has bid me look 
Once on my heart and once on my life and once on 

His Blessed Book, 
And once on the cross where He died for me, He has 

taught me that I must mend, 
If I'd have Him to be vay Saviour, and keep Him to 

be my Friend. 

9 Since He's taken this long account of mine and has 

crossed it through and through, 
Though He's left me nothing at all to pay, He has 

given me enought to do ; 
He has taught me things that I never knew, with all 

my worry and care, 
Things which have brought me down to my knees, 

and things that will keep me there. 

1 He has shown me the law that works in Him and 

the law that works in me. 
Life unto life and death unto death, and has asked 

how do these agree ; 
He has made me weary of self and of pelf ; yes, my 

Saviour has bid me grieve 
For the days and years when I didn't pray, when I 

didn't love nor believe. 

11 Since He's taken this cold, dark heart of mine, and 

has pierced it through and through, 
He has made me mourn both for things I did and 

for things I didn't do ; 
And what is my wish and what is my thought, but 

to end where I began. 
With an eye that looks to my Saviour, and a heart 

that mourns for its sin ! 

DORA GREENWELL. 



TEMPERANCE ENTERTAINMENTS. HOPE FOR THE FALLEN. 



607 



A TURKISH TRADITION. 

1 'T is said the Turk, when passing down 

An Eastern street, 
If any scrap of paper chance 
His eyes to greet, 

2 Will never look away, like us, 

Unheedingly, 
Or pass the little fragment thus 
Regardless by. 

3 But stop to pick it up because, 

Oh ! lovely thought ! 
The name of God may thereupon 
Perchance be wrought. 

4 In every human soul remains, 

However dim, 
Some image of the Diety, 
Some trace of Him. 

5 And how can we, then, any scorn 

As foul and dark, 
That bear, though frail and lowly, still 
That holy mark ? 

6 And since His impress is upon 

All nature seen, 
How can we aught disdain as common 
Or unclean ? 

MYRA POLLARD. 



WASTED FOUNTAINS. 

And their nobles have sent their little ones to the Waters ; they 
to the pits and found no water; they returned with their vessels ei 
Jeremiah xiv: 3. 

1 When the youthful fever of the soul 

Is awakened in thee first, 
And thou goest like Judah's children forth 

To slake the burning thirst, 
And when dry and wasted like the springs 

Sought by that little band, 
Before thee, in life's emptiness, 

Life's broken cisterns stand ; 

2 Up and onward ! toward the East 

Green oases thou shalt find, — 
Streams that rise from higher sources 

Than the pools thou leavest behindo 
Life has import more inspiring 

Than the fancies of thy youth ; 
It has hopes as high as Heaven, 

It has labor, it has truth. 

3 It has wrongs that may be righted, 

Noble deeds that may be done ; 
Its great battles are unfought, 

Its great triumphs are unwon. 
There are crushed and broken spirits, 

That electric thoughts may thrill ; 
Lofty dreams to be embodied 

By the might of one strong will. 



4 There are God and Heaven above thee, 

Wilt thou languish in despair ? 
Tread thy griefs beneath thy feet, 

Scale the walls of Heaven by prayer. 
'T is the Key of the Apostle 

That will open Heaven below ; 
'T is the ladder of the Patriarch, 

Whereon angels come and go. 

ANNE CHARLOTTE LYNCH. 

SHE SAILS BY THE STABS. 

1 She is launched on the wave — the good ship Prohibi- 

tion, 
The wave of humanity boundless and free ; 
Around her staunch gunwale in fierce ebulition 

The mad waters foam as she heads out to sea ; 
White floats her canvas with bi'isk breezes fanning 

her, 
Straight steers her rudder, with strong sinews man- 
ning her. ' _ v 
Safe shall her voyage be — cool courage planning her ; 
" God and our country," her watchword shall be. 

2 What does she sail by, the ship Prohibition ? 

How meet the breakers, the shocks and the jars ? 
How safely steer off- the reefs of sedition ? 

How shun the iceberg that shatters and mars ? 
Justice, her guiding star, shines through the darkest 

night, 
Peace and prosperity lend her their lambent light, 
Health, hope and happiness shine on her ever bright, 

Truth is her compass — she sails by the stars. 

3 What does she carry, the ship. Prohibition, 

Under her breastplate of staunch iron bars ? 
What treasure rare does she hold in transition, 

Guarded by strong arms of veteran tars ? 
Hope for the hopeless, now weeping so wearily, 
Help for the helpless, whose hands hang so drearily, 
Homes for the homeless — glad news ringing cheerily ; 

She carries good tidings, who sails by the stars. 

4 She is out on the sea — the good ship Prohibition, 

The treacherous sea of political wars ; 
Sweet baby hands clasped in childish petition, 

Sad woman eyes watching her broad streaming 
bars ; 
Their souls deepest sympathies seaward are wending, 
Their sad supplications in unison blending, 
Its earnest beseechings to heaven ascending, 

" God speed the sailors who sail by the stars." 

5 Ho ! send out your pilot ! the ship Prohibition 

Has sighted the land, coming back from the wars ; 
Proud floats her pennant above competition, 

Loud ring the cheers from her jubilant tars ; 
Arms are stretched seaward from waiting hearts 

yearning, 
Souls lifted upward with high purpose burning, 
Victory sails with her, homeward returning, 

God's beacons guide her — she sails by the stars ! 

MRS. LIDE MF.RRIWETHER. 

In "Union Signal." 
Memphis, Tenn.. Aug., 1884. 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



JOIN THE HOME PROTECTION ARMY. 



Duet. 



1. In the si -lent mid-night watch-es, Comes to me 

2. Ye who ne'er have had a loved one Led by tempt 

3. Ah! ye know not of the anguish 'lhat must rend 

... : r r f p | ; _i„^ ^| = pfeT : F ^ 



"Words and Music by Mrs. GEO. CLINTON SMITH. 



a vis - ion fair, Ko - sy 

er's art a - way, From the 

a moth - er's soul, W hen she 

*1-*- -m- 




cheeks and eyes of a - zure ; Smiles like those 
so - ber paths of vir - tue, Know not of 
finds hei loved ones yield - ing Blind - ly to 



the an - gels wear. Ah ! my boy was 

our grief to - day, Or your hearts would, 

the mad'ning bowl. Ah! ye lit - tie 




brave and no - ble, Kind and gen - tie, fond and true, Till 
sym - pa - thiz-ing, Join with ours to right this wrong, That 
feel the sor- row That a sis - ter's heart must know, When 



the de - mon drink enslaved him, 
en - gulfs the land in mourning, 

she sees her fa - ther, brother, 



F* — J-bff^B-j*— }•= &_ * I J- * C ^ • r 



3M=i= 



-*-^ 



1 — f 



Then my heart first sor - row knew. Friends of temp'rance, rise with 
And calls forth a mi - nor song. 
Tread the path that leads to woe. 



vig - or, La - bor in 



the 




ho - ly cause. Join the Home Pro - tec 

home protection, home protection, 



Ar - my, Te who help to make the laws. 



-,JT^ 



TEMPERANCE PARLOR ENTERTAINMENTS. HOME PROTECTION. 



PROHIBITION. 

BEAD AT LAKE BLUFF CONVENTION, 1881. 

1 In the days that are past, 

When our grandsires were young, 
There were knights, strong and brave, 

Who to " faire ladyes " sung ; 
Who pledged on their lances 

Their honor and faith, 
And vowed to be constant 

And loyal till death. 

2 Those chivalrous days 

With their valor are gone, 
Yet modern knights 

With their full armor on, 
Are marshalled before her 

Their pledges to make 
To this, their fair lady, 

Our beautiful lake. 
She fills up each glass, 

As they bow at her shrine, 
Yet firmly forbids them 

To pledge her in wine. 
'T is clear sparkling water 

She lifts to their view, 
And urges them forward 

To dare and to do. 
Let this be the motto 

Engraved on your shield: 
"'Tis through Prohibition 

Rum's bulwarks must yield." 

3 Oh ! now, most of all, 

When a mother and wife 
Are bending in tears 

O'er a slow ebbing life, 
When the nation's great pulse 

Throbs and quivers with pain 
For him who, perchance, 

May not rally again, 
We think of the mourners — 

Pale, haggard and thin — 
Made widows and orphans 

By whiskey and gin ; 
Of manhood despoiled 

By a deadlier blow 
Than ever was hurled 

By a Booth or Guiteau. 

4 When the terrible truth 

That our Lincoln was dead 
Was flashed over the wires, 

We shuddered with dread ; 
But 'twas only the clay 

That we placed 'neath the sod, 
The soul of our chief 

Mounted upward to God, 
And angels came forth 

In a worshipping crowd, 
With snowy wings folded, 

And shining heads bowed, 



To touch but the hem 

Of the garments of one 
Whose life-work was grandly 

And fearlessly done ; 
Who dashed from the bondman 

His fetters and goad, 
And thus upon millions 

Blest freedom bestowed. 

5 And Garfield — know ye 

That such men cannot die ! 
The hero may wounded 

And suffering lie, 
But his courage and firmness, 

And patience and trust, 
Will live when the perishing 

Body is dust. 
And she, the worn watcher, 

Whose eyes may not dim 
While bravely imparting 

Fresh courage to him, 
Her anguish all hidden, 

Her grief so intense 
Concealed through these hours 

Of awful suspense. 
To what shall we liken 

The wound of the heart, 
Inflicted on her 

By the miscreant's dart ? 

6 And have we a type 

Of the mother whose arm 
Reached out for her " baby " 

To shield him from harm ? 
Who wondered why danger 

Should threaten her " boy," 
The light of her life, 

And her widowhood's joy ! 

7 Yes, yes ! there are thousands 

Of homesteads to-day, 
Where wives sit in tears 

By their idols of clay, 
Where wounds, deep and mortal, 

Show deadly work done, 
With weapons more fatal 

Than pistol or gun. 
Where silver-haired mothers, 

Half wild from alarms, 
Look vacantly down 

On their poor empty arms, 
And, shivering, sob, 

" my baby — my son ! 
Once noble and pure, 

But now lost and undone ! 
My child never harmed him, 

And yet he must fall, 
Pierced, wounded to death 

By the rumseller's ball." 



610 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



8 Poor mothers ! crushed wives ! 

Your petitions are heard, 
Jehovah is with you, 

Our camp has been stirred, 
We are sounding the Signal 

Of whiskey's defeat, 
And trust soon to make it 

Assured and complete. 



# 



* 



* 



13 Then, sisters, arouse ye ! 

Press forward to win ; 
Let your reformation 

In justice begin. 
By concert of action, 

Henceforward declare 
Your right, as free women, 

The franchise to share ; 
Your right to proclaim 

That the man-traps shall move 
Beyond reach of your son, 

And the husband you love ; 
Your right to assist 

With your votes and your purse 
In freeing our land 

Of this terrible curse. 



KATE HABBINGTOIT. 

Lake Bluff. 1881. 



10 And what shall we say 

To the women who stand 
Like cities of refuge 

Throughout our broad land ? 
Who tread the dark alleys — 

The bv-ways of sin — 
To lift up the fallen 

And gather them in ? 
Who murmur (dear hearts) 

O'er each wandering one, 
Smoothing back the damp locks, 

" He was some mother's son." 

11 Or, finding a starving 

And heart-broken wife, 
From sympathy moan, 

" She, perchance, was the life, 
The joy of the home 

That her presence once blest — 
By father protected, 

By mother caressed." 

12 This, this I would say 

To the grand working throng 
Who are rolling the ball 

Prohibition along: 
No woman with sons 

Or with daughters should pause 
Till she be a sharer 

In framing our laws ; 
Till the den of the gambler, 

The gilded saloon, 
Whose breath is more fatal 

Than fiercest simoon, 
Are swept from the land 

They have withered with blight, 
By the votes of the women 

Now pleading for right. 



BEFORE DAWN. 

1 Long is the night, and we ride 

Into the east, it seems, 
Friend and foe at our side, 

Through a land of shadows and dreams. 

2 Voices to left and right 

Out of the darkness call, 
" Travellers, what of the night ? " 
Wayfarers, wanderers, all ! 

3 From magical gardens behind, 

Songs and sweet echoes enthrall : 
" Lo, here are your idols enshrined ! 
Return for the flowers you let fall ! " 

4 Ah, never ! — forever away 

Through the dark and the mist we speed, 
Born on the unknown day, 
And the echoing songs recede. 

5 Loometh a watch-tower tall ; 

" Watchman, what of the night ? " 
For, behold, in the windowed wall 
Surely there shineth a light. 

6 But dumb is the oracle, cold 

Is the window empty and high, 
And the light it seemeth to hold 
Is a star in the eastern sky. 

7 Prophet, poet, and saint 

Have said that a dawn will break; 
But chilled by the darkness, we faint. 
Will those who are sleeping awake ? 

8 They have slept so long and so deep ! 

Our hearts are aweary, our eyes 
Are heavy : we too must sleep. 

Shall we wake with the Day in the skies ? 

ANNA. BOYNTOK. 
•' Lippincott's Magazine. ' 



TEMPERANCE. PARLOR ENTERTAINMENTS. HOME PROTECTION. 



611 



LE MENU. 

At a dinner-party given to one of our celebrated army officers on the 
occasion of his birthday, the "Menu," published in the papers of the 
next morning, was a poetical catalouge ofwines and viands.commenciug: 

" Fill up the glass ! we drink to-night 
To the dark days of the nation. 
We driuk to days we can't forget, 
Of camp, and gun, and ration." 
And suggested the following poem : — 
Drink, drink, drink ! 

Each brand of the Nation's curse ; 
Drink, drink, drink ! 

And deeds of the brave rehearse; 
But know — a natural law controls — 
Though you heed it not, you must swallow souls, 
For men are watching your ranks to swell 
Whose ruined lives may your influence tell. 

Drink, drink, drink ! 

In spite of our " woman's fears." 
Drink, drink, drink ! 

In spite of our prayers and tears. 
The foes of our home with a subtle dart, 
Have taken aim at the Nation's heart ; 
And many who fought by our brave who died, 
Are fighting now on the foeman's side. 

Drink, drink, drink ! 

Our boys ! — Must they follow still ? 
Drink, drink, driuk ! 

Ah ! worse than bullets can kill ! 
God speed the day when with might divine. 
Some bold, brave leader shall conquer wine, 
And win a victory pure that may 
Protect our homes and our loved for aye ! 

LYDIA H. TILTOH. 



PROHIBITION. 

1 Oh ! think of the homes made desolate 

By the ruby, sparkling bowls ! 
And think of the hearts that are breaking 

For the lost and ruined souls 
Of fathers, husbands, brothers, 

Led on to drunkards' graves 
By the Demon Drink, who bound them, 

His hopeless, helpless slaves ! 

2 In mercy snatch the brimming cup 

From thy faltering brother's grasp, 
And the hand that felt the serpent's sting 

In loving kindness clasp ; 
And lead him from the tottering brink 

Before it be too late. 
Be up and doing ! There's no time 

To linger nor to wait. 



Then let us pray that God will bless 

The noble temperance cause ; 
That prohibition soon may be 

One of the Nation's laws. 
How grand 't would be for us to know 

That from each pole to pole 
The rulers of the world would pass 

A veto on the bowl. 



ELISE M. ADAMS. 

Pittston, Pa. 1884. 
In "Gems of Poetry." 



A STRIKE AGAINST ALCOHOL. 

1 A grand strike is surely pending, 

Rally, Christians, one and all ; 
Strike ! against the cruel wages 

Of the tyrant, Alcohol. 
He defrauds you of your earnings, 

Of your manhood, and good name, 
While he pays in wretched coinage, 

That can bring you only shame. 

2 He is asking for your favor, 

In the pittance that he pays 
For the privilege of murder 

In our alleys and highways ; 
For the blackest crimes committed 

O'er the nation, one and all, 
Are incited by the fury 

Of the demon Alcohol. 

3 Our dark prison walls are telling 

Of his fearful deeds of blood ; 
And a tide of crime is surging 

O'er the nation, like a flood ; 
Fraud, 'mid splendor in high places, 

Want and wretchedness, in low, 
Is the price that we are paying 

For our liquor revenue. 

4 He alone could send the bullet 

Through our noble Lincoln's brain : 
He alone applies the torches 

To the fierce, death-dealing train ; 
Eagerly he clasps the pistol, 

Brandishes the glittering knife ; 
Thrusts aside the angel, Mercy, 

As she pleads for precious life. 

5 Will you longer serve the robber? 
Shall his stealthy jewelled hand 

the fetters that enslave you, 
Abject slave at his command ? 

Scorn his bribes, and spurn his proffers, 
Rally, brothers ! one and all ; 

Strike against the cruel wages 
Of the tyrant, Alcohol. 

MBS. LUCY H. WASHINGTON. 1878. 
From " Echoes of Song," by per. 



612 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



FALTER WHO MAY, FOLLOW WHO DARE I 

1 The voice is the voice of a leader, 

The words ring in the air ; 
" All ye who may not falter, 
Follow all ye who dare ! " 

2 To-day is the day of a battle, 

The brunt is hard to bear ; 
Stand back all ye who falter. 
Make room for them who dare ! 
8 The fight is the fight for Freedom, 
The colors are God's we wear ; 
O coward souls who falter, 

Make room for them who dare ! 

4 By twos and by threes we are stronger 

Than the powers of the air ; 
We need you not who falter, 
Stand off from them who dare! 

5 The thrones and the kingdoms are rocking, 

The tyrants in despair; 
For help to you who falter, 
Will flee from them who dare ! 

6 The voice is the voice of a leader, 

The words ring in the air, 
" All ye who may not falter, 
Follow all ye who dare ! 

7 For the cup in the Lord's hand gloweth, 

Follow ye on with prayer ; 
It is death if you but falter, 
It is life if you but dare ! " 

helen hunt. May, 1867. 



TO THE RESCUE. 

DEDICATED TO THE PEOPLE, ON BEHALF OF 
PROHIBITION. 

1 In a home of destitution, 

Lies a woman once so fair, 
That the Angels bending o'er her 

Kissed the bright threads of her hair : 
Watched how her soul's pure shadow 

Flitted o'er her baby face, 
Whispered " Near the Land of Calv'ry, 
Waits for her a shining place." 
Chorus. — To the rescue ! To the rescue ! 
Help her to that heavenly place ! 

2 But that hair now, dark and matted 

Lies upon the filthy floor; 
Straying from a brow besotted, 
Kissed by angel lips no more. 
And a dark and ghastly shadow 
Broods above her woman face, 
And the angels weep beside her 
For the vacant heavenly place. 
To the rescue ! To the rescue ! 
Help her to that heavenly place ! 



3 At her breast a puny infant ; 

And the baby's wail goes up, 
Crying to the God of Abel 
•'Gainst the alcholic cup. 
O ye wise and noble Statesmen ! 

O ye ladies fair and fine ! 
Stop your ears against its wailing, 

God shall close Ifis ears 'gainst thine. 
To the rescue ! To the rescue ! 
Save her child and God save thine. 

4 Listen! Hear that mother crying, 

" I am poisoning my child ! 
And I know it ! Oh ! I know it ' 
And it almost makes me wild ! 
' T is the rum-shops ! 'T is the dram-shops ! 

For I cannot pass them by ! 
Oh ! the demon drags me to them ! 
Will men never hear my cry ? 
To the rescue ! To the rescue ! 
Men and women, hear her cry ! 

5 ye Christian Legislators ! 

O ye freemen, ballot-armed ! 
List the wail of thousand mothers, 

And the infants in their arms 
Crying to the God of Abel, 

And He listens. Will ye not ? 
Drive the tempter from the nation ! 

Cleanse your brows of Cain's foul blot! 
To the rescue ! To the rescue ? 
Banish rum-shops ! Will ye not ! 

MRS. H. N. K. GOFF. by per. 

Set to Music by dr. thos. h. peacock. 
Published by Azro Goff, Philadeiphia. 



NOT ALONE. 

' Commit thy -way unto Him, trust also in Him and He shall bring it to pas 

Psalms; xxxvii : 5. 

"Casting all your care upon Him, for He careth for you." I Peter v: 7* 

1 O pilgrim worn and weary, 

Oppressed with toil and. care, 
When life seems dark and dreary, 

Bring all to God in prayer. 
He knoweth every sorrow 

He feeleth every pain, 
Then trust Him for the morrow 

Thou shalt not trust in vain. 

2 When tempests gather o'er thee 

And days grow chill and drear, 
When all seems dark before thee 

With scarce a ray to cheer ; 
Then go to Him who loves thee 

And tell Him all thy care, 
For He is strong and loving 

And He will hear thy prayer. 



TEMPERANCE ENTERTAINMENTS. ENCOURAGEMENT FOR THE TOILING ONES. 



613 



3 Go tell Him all thy sorrow, 

Tell Him thy toils and tears, 
Commit to Him to-morrow 

With all its hopes and fears. 
Trust Him who rules the tempest, 

Who trusts Him shall not fail. 
The Lord Jehovah reigneth! 

And Justice shall prevail ! 

4 Ah ! not alone we struggle ! 

We have a Friend on high ! 
Then bear to Him thy burden, 

He heareth when we cry. 
The weariness and watching 

Endure for but a night ! 
A brighter day is dawning, 

Joy cometh with the light ! 

ANNA HOLYOKE HOWARD. 1883. 

DAILY STRENGTH FOR DAILY DUTIES. 

1 Open the East Gate now, 

And let the day come in, 
The day with unstained brow, 

Untouched by care or sin. 
For her we watch and wait, 

Wait with the birds and dew ; 
Open the Eastern Gate, 

And let the daylight through. 

2 Unlift thy daily toil 

With brain all fresh and clear, 
Strong hands that have no soil, 

And heart untouched by fear. 
Marching unto thy noon, 

Marching unto thy rest — 
When shadows lengthen, soon 

Comes calm and peaceful rest. 

3 Open the Western Gate, 

And let the daylight go 
In pomp of royal state, 

In rose and amber glow. 
It is so late, so late, 

The birds sing sweet and low- 
Open the Western Gate 

And let the daylight go. 

4 Lay down thy daily toil, 

Glad of thy labor done, 
Glad of the night's assoil, 

Glad of thy wages won ; 
With hearts that fondly wait, 

With grateful hearts aglow, 
Pray at the Western Gate 

And let the daylight go. 

5 Pray at the Eastern gate 

For all the day can ask ; 
Pray at the Western Gate. 

Holding thy finished task. 
It waxeth late, so late, 

The night falls cold and gray ; 
But through Life's Western Gate 

Dawns Life's Eternal Day. 

MARY A. BURR. 



OUR FAILURES, HIS SUCCESSES. 

1 When we have tried with all our best endeavor, 

And spared our work no cost, 
It is not well to sit us down for failure, 
And count the battle lost. 

2 For God may have a surer way of reckoning, 

And call our losses gain. 
Better to save our strength for untried conflicts, 
Not waste in bootless pain. 

3 I think the God of justice will not ask us 

To open His closed door ; 
Unless He swing it wide for our ingoing, 
We need not watch it more. 

4 I think the God of pity our hand closes, 

Lest we cast down our pearl 
Before the feet he knows would only trample, 
And back our sweet gift hurl. 

5 I think the watchful Father stays our footsteps 

When just outside love's door, 
And see us wreck our boat against the quicksand 
In sight of longed-for shore. 

6 And still He says to us : "Ye are my children, 

If ye do my commands." 
. We haste to do them, but His bands surround us, 
And hold our willing hands. 

7 But if the heart is loyal, willing, eager, 

And turns the appointed way, 
If we begin, and God's cross-purpose frustrates, 
He calls it, we obey. 

8 Our evening time may be all light with glory 

Our day's success has won, 
Since God has counted all our faithful efforts, 
As finished work, well done. 

MISS A. C. SCAMMELL. 

Milford, Mass. 1882. 



MARINERS. 

1 We are mariners and God the sea, 

And though we make false reckonings and run 
Wide of a righteous course and are undone, 
Out of His deeps of love we cannot be. 

2 For, by those heavy strokes we misname ill, 

Through the fierce fire of sin, this tempering doubt, 
Our natures more and more are beaten out, 
To perfecter reflections of His will. 

ALICE CARY. 



NIGHT BRINGETH COUNSEL. 

1 To tired brain and aching head, 
To those who through the day, 
With mind distressed, have toiled for bread, 
Well-nigh too weary e'en to pray ; 
To such night bringeth counseL 



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WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



2 To those perplexed alone in mind, 

Whose doubts have banished sleep, 
Who weary watch and vigil keep ; 
Who've sought in vain, all day, to find 
The needed strength or Helper kind, 
To such night bringeth counsel. 

3 Perchance they find night's quiet rest 

Can all their doubts dispel ; 
And learn to say, " He knoweth best 

Who doeth all things well ; 
And surely He will give the light 
We seek to do our work aright." 
To us night bringeth counsel. 

4 O blessed night ! with darkness crowned, 
In thy sweet silence we have found 

Help in our precious need. 
Refreshed we rise to meet the strife 
'T wixt right and wrong in daily life 

Which waits us all. To us indeed 
Night hath brought counsel. 



MABGAJIET H. 



COUNSEL. 

1 Strive not to fill an angel's part 

Without an angel's wing ; 
But, as it is, thy human heart 

To God, thy Maker, bring. 
His patience never doth abate 

Howe'er we sin and fall ; 
Be patient with thyself, and wait 

Till patience conquers all. 

2 Grieve never that thy daily task 

A homely outline shows ; 
For bulbs unsightly oft may mask 

The sweetest flower that blows. 
The work so light esteemed may gain 

A place, and claim a power 
That works far grander seek in vain 

Though unto heaven they tower. 

3 Look not without for blame or praise, 

Look upward and within ; 
And through the swift revolving days, 

With each thy task begin. 
And lo ! as grows the kingly tree 

By force of upward might, 
Thy life to those around shall be 
tic, strong and bright. 



4 With patience work, with gladness love, 

Nor seek results to scan ; 
Who works, but will not wait, must prove 

A discord in God's plan. 
Let body, mind, and soul and will 

To labor be addressed — 
Press thou with courage onward still, 

And leave to Him the rest. 

ALICE C. JENNINGS. 1883. 

From " The Chautauquiti." 



ONE SEED. 

1 It chanced — upon a certain time, 
A traveller, in an Eastern clime, 
Whirling away an idle hour, 
Roaming the woods— espied a flower ! 

So strangely beautiful, he gathered, pressed with 

care, 
To study with more time, its beauty rare. 

2 Returning homeward to his native land, 
The book was opened by a careless hand. 
The flower — crushed — was thrown away. 
Lost was it ? wait ! One spring-time day 
A tiny leaflet peeped above the ground ; 
The coming days, another and another found. 

3 Warm winds, sun, rain, and dew, 
Nourished the plant, until it grew 
Its natural size : to buds gave birth ; 

And from the buds, fair, glorious blooms burst 

forth ! 
Again the traveller idly passing by, 
Delighted, the strange flower again does spy ! 
Gazes bewildered ; " It is but a dream I fear, 
How is it possible, the plant is here ? " 

4 He did not know a seed lodged in the book 
With the crushed flower, fell in this sunny nook, 
Took heart, and sunward groped and pushed its way, 
Grew stronger, taller each returning day. 
Unwavering, steadfast, it performed its duty, 
Until a sturdy plant grew, robed in wondrous 

beauty. 

5 Of trusting perseverance, a memorial odorous ; 
A cheering symbol to weak hearts, and dolorous. 
With every bloom the seed was multiplied, 
Gathered, and scattered far and wide ; 

Till over all the world its mates were sown; 
The plant, admired and loved wherever known. 

6 Let us, 'gainst intemperance strive to cope, 
A lesson learn from this of faith and hope. 
Though we be few, and met with scorn and sneer, 
Keep we our lights a-burning bright and clear. 

A constant dropping wears and clefts a stone, 
A constant warfare will King Alcohol dethrone. 

7 Be not discouraged ! Take for guide, the seed ; 
Remembering this ! The greater is the need 
Of work, the stronger must we work ; 
Leave not a cranny where the curse may lurk. 

8 E'en though our eyes may not behold the day 
That sees intemperance lose its wretched sway. 
Stand firm ! Let us not weary be 

In doing well. Some will the reaping see ; 
Let us faint not ! but work, hand clasped in hand, 
" For God, and home, and native land ! " 

MRS. EMMA L. A. PUFFER. 1885. 



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AWAKE TO EFFORT. 

1 Awake to effort while the day is shining, 

The time to labor will not always last ; 
And no regret, repentance, nor repining, 

Can bring to us again the buried past. 
The silent sands of life are falling fast ; 

Time tells our busy pulses, one by one, 
And shall our work, so needful and so vast, 

Be all completed, or but just begun, 

"When twilight shadows vail life's dim departing 
sun? 

2 "What duties have our idle hands neglected ? 

What useful lessons have we learned and taught ? 
"What warmth, what radiance have our minds re- 
flected ? 

What rich and rare materials have we brought 
For deep investigation, earnest thought ? 

Concealed within the soul's unfathomed mine, 
How many a sparkling gem remains unwrought, 

That Industry might place on Learning's shrine, 

Or lavish on the world, to further God's design. ! 

3 The smallest bark on life's tumultuous ocean, 

Will leave a track behind for evermore ; 
The lightest wave of influence, set in motion, 

Extends and widens to the eternal shore. 
"We should be wary, then, who go before 

A myriad yet to be, and we should take 
Our bearing carefully where breakers roar, 

And fearful tempests gather ; one mistake 

May wreck unnumbered barks that follow in our 
wake. 

4 To effort ! ye whom God has nobly gifted 

"With that prevailing power, undying song ; 
For human good let every hand be lifted, 

For human good let every heart be strong, 
Is there no crying sin, no grievous wrong, 

That ye may help to weaken or repress ? 
In wayside hut and hovel — 'midst the throng 

Down-trodden by privation and distress — 

Is there no stricken heart ye can cheer and bless ? 

5 Sing idle [songs] lays to idle harps no longer : 

Go peal an anthem at the gate of heaven — 
Exertion makes the fainting spirit stronger — 

Sing till the bonds of Ignorance are riven, 
Till dark Oppression from the earth is driven ; 

Sing till from every land and every sea 
One universal triumph-song is riven, 

To hail the long-expected jubilee, 

"When every bond is broke and every vassal free. 

6 And ye, whose birthright is the glorious dower 

Of eloquence, to thrill the immortal soul ! 
Use not unwisely the transcendent power 

To waken, guide, restrain, direct, control 
The heart's deep, earnest feelings ; let the goal 

Of your ambition be, a name enshrined 
By love and gratitude upon the scroll, 

Where generations yet unborn shall find 

The deathless deeds of those who loved and blessed. 

SARAH T. BOtTON. 



Ito. m. 1. Milk. 



Lady Wilde, a woman of high attainments, was born in Ireland, a- 
bout the year 1830, and is at present a resident of London, England. 
Her son, Oscar Wilde, is well known as the apostle of beauty. 

Mrs. Wilde has published a volume of poems, many of which appeared 
years ago under the nom de plume of "Speranza," in the Dublin Nation. 
She is very patriotic, and in full synip athy with all movements that 
have for their object the best interests of her native land. 

MAN'S MISSION. 

1 Human lives are silent teaching, 

Be they earnest, mild, and true ; 
Noble deeds are noblest preaching 

From the consecrated few. 
Poet-Priests their anthems singing, 
Hero-swords on corslet ringing, 

When Truth's banner is unfurled; 
Youthful preachers, genius gifted, 
Pouring forth their souls uplifted, 

Till their preaching stirs the world. 

2 Each must work as God has given 

Hero hand or poet soul — 
"Work is duty, while we live in 

This weird world of sin and dole. 
Gentle spirits, lowly kneeling, 
Lift their white hands up appealing, 

To the throne of heaven's King; 
Stronger natures, culminating 
In great actions, incarnating 

What another can but sing. 

3 Pure and meek-eyed as an angel, 

We must strive — must agonize ; 
We must preach the saint's evangel 

Ere we claim the saintly prize. 
Work for all — for work is holy ; 
We fulfill our mission solely 

When, like heaven's arch above, 
Blend our souls in one emblazon, 
And the social diapason 

Sounds the perfect chord of love. 

4 Life is combat, life is striving, 

Such our destiny below — 
Like a scythed chariot driving 

Through an onward-pressing foe. 
Deepest sorrow, scorn and trial, 
Will but teach us self-denial ; 

Like the Alchemists of old, 
Pass the ore through cleansing fire 
If our spirits would aspire 

To be God's refined gold. 

5 We are struggling in the morning 

With the spirit of the night, 
But we trample on its scorning — 

Lo ! the eastern sky is bright. 
We must watch. The day is breaking; 
Soon, like Memnon's statue waking 

With the sunrise into sound, 
We shall raise our voice to heaven, 
Chant a hymn for conquest given, 

Seize the palm, nor heed the wound. 



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WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



6 We must bend our thoughts to earnest, 

Would we strike the idols down ; 
With a purpose of the sternest 

Take the Cross, and wait the Crown ; 
Sufferings human life can hallow, 
Sufferings lead to God's Valhalla — 

Meekly bear, but nobly try, 
Like a man with soft tears flowing, 
Like a God with conquest glowing, 

So to love, and work, and die ! 

SPERANZA (MBS. W. R. WILDl), 



GOD'S WORK. 

Gathering brands from the burning, 

Plucking them out of the fire, 
Lifting the sheep that have wandered, 

Out of the dust and the mire ; 
Bringing home sheaves from the harvest 

To lay at the Master's feet, — 
Lord, all Thy hosts of angels 

Must smile on a life so sweet. 



with fear of no man, 

Speaking with love for all, 
Warning the young and thoughtless 

From the wild beast, " Alcohol ; " 
Showing the snares that the tempter 

Weaveth on every hand, — 
Lord, all Thy dear, dear angels 

Must smile on a life so grand. 

3 Fighting the bloodless battle 

With a heart that is true and bold, 
Fighting it not for glory, 

Fighting it not for gold, 
But out of love for his neighbor, 

And out of love for his Lord ; 
I know that the hands of the angels 

Will crown him with his reward. 

4 For whoso works for the Master, 

And whoso fights His fight 
The angels crown with a star-wreath, 

And it glows with gems most bright, 
They wear them forever and ever, 

The saints in that land of bliss, 
And I know that heaven's best jewel 

Is kept for a soul like this. 



SELF. 

1 Pale in the distant view, 
Where the horizon's blue 

Measures its rim, 
Low lies the far away, 
Veiled in the hazy day, 
Hamlet and forest grey, 

Outlined and dim. 



2 Semblances weird and bright, 
Castles of prince and knight, 

Palaces fair, 
Ships that go sailing by, 
And on the bending sky 
Turrets and domes on high, 

Loom in the air. 

3 Thus rise serene, sublime, 
Through the soft haze of time, 

Far o'er the plain, 
Temples of regal thought, 
Castles of conquests wrought, 
Ships with life's treasures fraught, 

Sailing the main. 

4 Oh ! vision soft and fair ! 
Oh ! treasures rich and rare ! 

They shall be won. 
Only as thought shall blend, 
Only as friend with friend, 
Seeking a noble end, 

Battle we on. 

5 Life hath its evil days, 

Time hath its changeful ways, 

But, purpose high, 
Truth set in perfect thought 
Great deeds in concert wrought, 
(Thou may'st be counted naught), 

These shall not die. 

MBS. E. E. MAROY. 



CONSECRATION. 

1 I will work with all my might, 
While the Lord shall give me light, 
Soon will come the silent night. 

2 Soon my toil on earth must close 
In that hour of calm repose, 
Undisturbed by friends or foes. 

3 Should I therefore now complain 
Of my weariness or pain, 

Or of labor done in vain ? 

4 Rather let me strive to be 
More devoted, Lord, to Thee, 
Thou who hast done all for me ! 

5 Grant that I may not repine ; 
Make my will conform to Thine ; 
Keep me by Thy grace divine. 

6 Then, though humble be my place, 
If Thy footsteps I can trace, 

I shall yet behold Thy face. 

7 Patient let me work and wait ; 
Come the summons soon or late, 
I shall gladly meet my fate. 



KATE CAMERON. 



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THE RIVER. 

1 Far up on the mountain the river begins, — 

I saw it, a thread in the sud. 
Then it grew to a brook, and through dell and 
through nook 

It dimpled and danced in its fun. 
A ribbon of silver, it sparkled along 

Over meadows, be-sprinkled with gold ; 
"With a twist and a twirl, and a loop and a curl 

Through the pastures the rivulet rolled. 

2 Then on to the valleys it leaped and it laughed, 

Till it stronger and stiller became ; 
On its banks the tall trees rocked their boughs in the 
breeze, 

And the lilies were tapers aflame. 
The children threw pebbles and shouted with glee, 

At the circles they made in the stream, 
And the white fisher-boat, sent so lightly afloat, 

Drifted off like a sail in a dream. 

3 Deep-hearted, the mirth of its baby-life past, 

It toiled for the grinding of corn ; 
Its shores heard the beat of the lumberman's feet, 

His raft on its current was borne. 
At inlet and cove where its harbors were fair, 

Vast cities arose in their pride, 
And the wealth of their streets came from beautiful 
fleets, 

Forth launched on its affluent tide. 

4 The glorious river swept on to the sea, 

The sea that engirdles the land, 
But I saw it begin in a thread I could spin, 

Like a cobweb of silk in my hand. 
And I thought of the river that flows from the throne ; 

Of the love that is deathless and free ; 
Of the grace of His peace that shall ever increase, 

Christ-given to you and to me. 

5 Far up on the mountain and near to the sky, 

The cupful of water is seen, 
That is brimmed till its tide carries benisons wide 

Where the dales. and the meadows are green. 
Is thy soul like a cup ? Let its little be given, 

Not stinted nor churlish to One 
Who will fill thee with love, and thy faithfulness prove, 

And bless thee in shadow and sun. 



MARGARET E. SANGSTER. 

New York, 1880. 
"S. S. Times." 



3 Only a cup of water, 

But with it, words she gave, 
Of One who lived a pilgrim, 
And died a world to save. *• 

4 Only a cup of water, 

'T was all she had to give ; 
But while life and sense remain 
That memory will live. 

5 Then wait not for abundance, 

Give of your little store ; 
With gentle word, and willing hand,- 
He asketh nothing more. 

JTOIA M. BENNETT. 1884. 
Hannibal, Mo. 

THE SUNRISE NEVER FAILED US YET. 

1 Upon the sadness of the sea 
The sunset broods regretfully ; 
From the far, lonely spaces, 
Withdraws the wistful after-glow. 

2 So out of life the splendor dies ; 
So darken all the happy skies ; 

So gathers twilight, cold and stern : 
But overhead the planets burn. 

3 And up the east another day 
Shall chase the bitter dark away ; 

What though our eyes with tears be wet ? 
The sunrise never failed us yet. 

4 The blush of dawn may yet restore 
Our light and hope and joy once more. 
Sad soul, take comfort, nor forget 
That sunrise never failed us yet ! 

# CELIA THAXTER. 



AS ONE HIS MOTHER COMFORTETH. 

1 Thy way lies over the mountain road, 
The end thou canst not see ; 

And, child, thou hast a weary load, 
Wilt pause and rest with me ? 

As one his mother comforteth, 
So will I comfort thee. 



A CUP OF COLD WATER 

1 Only a cup of water, 

But it was cool and clear, 
And given with a pleasant smile, 
A kindly word of cheer. 

2 Only a cup of water, 

But as the pilgrim quaffed, 

He felt refreshment in the cup, 

And healing in the draft. 



2 The night grows dark, the storm is wild, 
Thy burden hard to bear ; 

Why stagger on, thou weary child, 
When I am here to share ? 

Nay, as a mother comforteth, 
To take myself thy care. 

3 To be thy refuge from all harm, 
To take thy grief and smart ; 

To me the pain, for thee the balm ; 

Thou of myself a part ; 
I make thy cradle in my arms, 

Thy pillow is my heart. 

She has written and had published several volumes of poetry and prose. She is a contributor to the 



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WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



4 There rest thee now ; in every sound 

Of wind, or wave or tree, 
Hear thou my whisper ! " I have found 

A child ! " Stay close by me ! 
As one his mother comforteth, 

So will I comfort thee. 



MARY L.DICKINSON. 



CONSECRATION. 

When with sorrow the costly anointing is made, 

And all worldly and selfish ambitions are laid 

On the altar of burning, and there sacrificed, 

Then the soul with the blood of the offering baptized 

May enter the Holy of Holies ; draw near 

To the wonderful Presence, and hear 

In that hollow seclusion, the message divine 

To the people without, who seeking a sign 

Can see but a cloud, not the glory within, 

The people who wait in their blindness and sin 

For the words of forgiveness and hope. Blest is he 

Whom the Lord hath appointed His high priest to be. 

MATTIE R. PEARCE. 



THE MORNING PSALM. 

1 " Read us a psalm, my little one." 
An untried day had just begun, 
And, ere the city's rush and roar 

Came passing through the closed home door, 
The family was hushed to hear 
The youngest child, in accents clear, 
Read from the Book. A moment's space 
The morning look died from each face, — 
The sharp, keen look, that goes to meet 
Opposing force, nor brooks defeat. 

2 " I will lift up mine eyes," she read, 
"Unto the hills." Who was afraid? 
What had the psalm of pilgrim life 
To do with all our modern strife 

" Behold, he that doth Israel keep 
Shall neither slumber, nor shall sleep. 
The Lord thy keeper is, and He 
Thy shade on thy right hand shall be ; 
The sun by day shall not thee smite, 
The moon shall hurt thee not by night." 

3 And the child finished the old psalm ; 

And those who heard grew strong and calm ; 

The music of the Hebrew words 

Thrilled them like sweet remembered chords, 

And brought the heights of yesterday 

Down to the lowlands of to-day, 

And seemed to lend to common things 

A mystery as of light and wings ; 

And each one felt in gladsome mood, 

And life was beautiful and good. 



4 Then forth, where duty's clarion call 
Was heard, the household hastened all. 
In crowded haunts of busy men 

To toil with book, or speech, or pen, 
To meet the day's demand with skill 
And bear and do and dare and will, 
As they must, who are in the strife 
And strain and stress of modern life, 
And would succeed, but who yet hold 
Honor of higher worth than gold. 

5 These are the days of peace we say, 
Yet fiercest fights are fought to-day ; 

And those who formed that household band 

Had need of strength that they might stand 

In firmness and unruffled calm ; 

But sweetly did their morning psalm 

Amid the clamor loud and long, 

Like echo of a once-loved song, 

Rise in their hearts and make them strong. 

5 At close of day they met again, 

And each had known some touch of pain, 
Some disappointment, loss or care, 
Some place of stumbling, or some snare. 
" And yet the psalm is true," said they, 
" The Lord preserveth us alway. 
His own were safe in days of yore, 
And from this time and evermore, 
If skies be bright or skies be dim, 
He keepeth all who trust in Him." 



MARIANNE FARNINGHAM. 
In " London Christian World." 



WHEN THE DAY BREAKS, THE SHADOWS 
FLEE AWAY. 

The night is dark, O Lord ! I cry to Thee ! 
How black it is, no one but Thou canst see, 
For years the gathered darkness has increased, 
Each year in vain I thought to be released. 

" Let patience have her perfect work," I said, 
As from each sorrow broke my soul in dread, 
" For time, however long, must pass away, 
And then will come eternity's bright day ; 
I then the beauty of the King shall see, 
In that far distant land forever be ; 
How petty all my cares shall there appear, 
From every eye He'll wipe away each tear. 
Then clear as noon-day shall we stand revealed, 
Through His great power every wound be healed, 
All clouds shall vanish, each misjudgment flee, 
Beholding Him, like Him we changed shall be. 
No sordid care or grief shall then restrain 
The godlike powers of the heart or brain ; 
Then they'll grow more than we can understand, 
For love is the pure climate of that land. 
If we are faithful in this field of strife. 
We'll reach the garden of immortal life.'" 



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" 'Tis but a little while," our Lord cloth say, 
When darker grows the gloom and our dismay. 
On ! holy, loving, truest Lord and Friend, 
Thou trod'st the bitter journey to the end, 
That I might feel less lonely in my grief, 
And as 'tis best, will make it long or brief ; 
Oh ! help me now in this my darkest night, 
'Till all earth's shadows flee before Thy Light. 



HEROES. 

1 Our world has battle-fields where truth and right 
Find heroes nobler, greater in Ood's sight, 
Than they who fall foremost in gory fight. 

2 Great hours bring forth great souls, but bugle-call 
Summons a host poor, impotent and small, 

To that God sends forth in his cause to fall. 

3 Beyond the smoke of battle lies the prize, 
The meed of strife and toil and sacrifice ; — 
Some gain it here, but others in the skies. 

4 The man who braves the world's neglect and scorn, 
To lift the lowly, succor the forlorn, 

Who conquers self — he is the hero born. 

5 His name may die, forgotten by his peers, 
But yet the seed he sowed in care and tears, 
Shall bear rich harvests through immortal years. 



THE TIME IS SHORT. 

1 I sometimes feel the thread of life is slender, 

And soon with me the labor will be wrought ; 
Then grows my heart to other hearts more tender — 
The time is short. 

2 A shepherd's tent of reeds and flowers decaying 

The night-winds soon will crumble into naught ; 
So seems my life, for some rude blast delaying — 
The time is short. 

3 Up, up, my soul, the long spent time redeeming ; 

Sow thou the seeds of better deeds and thought ; 
Light other lamps while yet thy lamp is beaming — 
The time is short. 

4 Think of the good thou might'st have done when 

brightly 
The suns to thee life's choicest season brought ; 
Hours lost to God in pleasure passing lightly — 
The time is short. 

5 The time is short. Then be thy heart a brother's 

To every heart that needs thy help in aught ; 
Soon thou may'st need the sympathy of others — 
The time is short. 

6 If thou hast friends give them thy best endeavor, 

Thy warmest impulse and thy purest thought, 
Keeping in mind and word and action ever — 
The time is short. 



7 Where Summer winds aroma-laden hover, 

Companions rest, their work forever wrought, 
Soon other graves the moss and fern will cover — 
The time is short. 

8 Up, up, my soul, ere yet the shadow falleth ; 

Some good return in latter seasons wrought 
Forget thyself, when duty's angel calleth — 
The time is short. 

9 By all the lapses thou hast been forgiven, 

By all the lessons prayer to thee hath taught, 
To others teach the sympathies of Heaven — 
The time is short. 

ELIZABETH PKENTISS. 

Author of "Stepping Heavenward." 



MARTYRDOM. 

A spectral band ! 
Pale with the reflex of the dreamless land ; 
Star-eyed and holy as a summer's night. 

Scarred o'er with many a wound, 
Heart, brain, limb, sinew, marked by agony, 
Each in Fate's hour — alone ! 

Earth heaped her torments on them, ground 
Her teeth in execration ; none 
Were found to aid them in the withering blight 
Of life's long torture ; but the tongueless sea 
Bore witness, and the breeze that quivered by, 
The sun, that veiled its light, 
The inborn consciousness of right 
Sent up their protest to the throne on high, 
And Heaven heard the agonizing cry, 
While seraph voices chanted in reply, 
" To lose, but not to die ! " 

Earth's godlike ones ! 
Who would not rather wear the martyr's brow 
Than all the baubles of her favored sons 
Whose Wrong o'ermasters Right ? 
Alas ! for Earth ! 
Her common life is teeming o'er with dearth 
Of courage, such as that which gilds the Now 
Of woe and agony and mocking slight. 
With truer splendors than the Orient flings 
O'er tinsel kings, 
Whose gain shall be their loss. 

Glide on, pale haloes of the Past, 
Torture, and scorn, and cross 
Have crowned ye high at last ! 

Yet, ere ye pass away, 

Have none replaced ye here ? 
Is there no martyrdom to-day 
Upon this troubled sphere ? 
In words of flame 
The answer came, 
Stamped with the seal of Heaven's Imperial Name. 



620 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



" The suffering and the poor, 

The lowly of the land, 
The spirits that endure 

With fainting heart and hand, 
Who tempted sorely, overmuch and long, 
Still bravely choose the Right and spurn the Wrong; 
They who encounter hate 

For conscience borne, 
Breasting the waves of fate, 
. Despised, forlorn ; 

They who, alone, dare stem the seething tide 
Where black corruption's sin-clad navies ride, 
Yielding heart's love and life's bright hopes, to be 
To unborn souls the champions of the free ; 
They who serenely bear the false friend's frown, 
Injustice, cruelty that wrings the soul, 
Shall yet with us attain the glorious goal 
Where gleams the Martyr's crown ! " 

ISABELLA A. SAXON, 1884. 



A SONG FOR SORROWFUL WOMEN. 

1 Thou who for gloom of the future 

Art pressed with the boding care, 
And sick for the coming sorrow 
Dost utter the Master's prayer, 

2 Come walk in the ancient Garden 

In the early morning dim ; 
The few large stars of the twilight 
Are singing their ceaseless hymn. 

3 The small birds swing on the branches 

In the fresh day's new delight; 
And the air is spiced with sweetness 

Where the flowers have dreamed all night. 

4 But where the heart of the Garden 

Is heavy with evergreen fir, 

With cypress rising behind it, 

There standeth a sepulchre. 

5 And sorrowful women question, 

As they enter the flowery way : 
" Oh ! who from the tomb of the Master 
Shall roll us the stone ? " they say. 

6 "And why should the joy of creation 

Still rise with the incense-breath, 
When the Lord of life and glory 
Is sleeping the sleep of death ! " 

7 O weeping and loving women ! 

Come see where the Master lay ! 
From the sepulchre forever 

Has the stone been rolled away ! 

8 And He now walks in the Garden 

Who hung on the cross above ! 
And the tender hands that were wounded 
Are full of the gifts of love ! 



ONLY IN PART. 

"Lo, these are parts of His ways ; But how little a portion is heard of Him." 
Job xxv : 14. 

1 So near comes darkness to our light, 
So near lies weakness to our might, 
So near is sorrow to our bliss, 

So near death's dagger to life's kiss, 
That, when there dawns a fair and cloudless day, 
We look, at once, to see it pass away 
And dark night fall instead. And every joy 
Seems but to be a proof of its alloy, 
And life itself seems but the touch of de<>th, 
With which he searches for our fleeting breath. 
Aye true ; if life is only what we know, 
And see and touch and realize below ; 
If immortality be nothing more 
Than a false light upon a shadow-shore. 

2 So near to virtue lieth sin, 
So often jevil seems to win, 

So weak seems God, devils so strong, 
So false the right, so true the wrong, 

That, almost, it doth seem, if God would win, 

He must employ the enginery of sin ; 

And that, if man would know the truth, he must 

At first begin to doubt and to distrust 

All truth ; and that, if he would holy be, 

He first must feed upon impurity. 

Aye true ; if, from the standpoint of a man, 

You seek the heigh th and breadth of God to span ; 

You are too short in stature, and your eye 

Was not constructed for infinity. 

Contracted circles hedge our life about, 

And all is dark if faith gives place to doubt. 

3 Say, what is doubt but darkness ? Faith is light. 
And what is weakness but the lack of might ? 
And death, and sorrow, falsity, and sin 

Are nothing but the lack of God within ; 
And God is life ; and if that life be ours 
And in us dwells, then, by its sacred powers, 
All that we lack of purity or strength 
Shall flow into and fill our veins at length ; 
And we shall see and know all that unknown 
Brings doubt ; and faith to us shall be 
The very substance of reality, — 
The world of light, whose richness is our own. 

4 What if the world where God seems not, rolls near, 
With all it holds of darkness and of fear, — 

A wandering star, reserved to blackest night, 

Where truth seems false, and wrong seems only right ? 

Heed not the shade it cast in passing by ; 

'T will soon be lost in God's immensity. 

It has no orbit ; but as meteors fall 

Into the sun and are consumed, so all 

The worlds of darkness and of doubt shall tend 

Toward God, and in His truth and glory end. 

MRS. S. M. I. HENRY. 
By permission Dr. J. H. Vincent. 



TEMPERANCE. TRIBUTE TO OUR WOMEN. 



62 J 



$xm\m €. Miartr 



Was bom at Church ville, near Rochester, N. Y., in 1839. Her par- 
ents moved to Oberlin, O., when she was but three years old, and five 
years later settled on a farm near JanesviUe, Wis. When a child, her 
natural elocutionary gifts were conspicuous and she was fond of declaim- 
ing stirring poems to her associates. Thirteen years of her life were 
spent with her brother Oliver and darling sister Mary in the dear old 
farm home with its gables, dormer-windows.rambling roof, little porches, 
crannies and out of the way nooks, scattered here and there. Her 
father and mother were both educated and cultured people, and had 
been teachers. Consequently no pains were spared in the education of 
their children. In 1859 Miss Willard graduated with high honors from 
Northwestern Female Seminary. Soon after this she wrotj a beautiful 
memorial volume, a touching tribute to her devoted sister, who was 
called to " come up higher." This book is entitled "Nineteen Beautiful 
Tears," and has had an extensive sale. 

Afterteaching awhilein the Genesee Wesleyan Seminary, Lima, N. Y., 
Miss Willard spent two years or more in European travel, studying and 
observing, writing home graphic accounts of her experiences, which ap- 
peared in various papers. Her lecture on "The Pyramids" is prouounced 
by the press unusually fine. Soon after her return to America, she came 
into note as a public speaker, through giving an account of her travels in 
Palestine, at a missionary meeting held in Chicago. This led to invita- 
tions to lecture all over the northwest. In "Our Famous Women," Kate 
Sanborn says in her admirable sketch of the life of Miss Willard— 
"Up to the time of the 'Woman's Crusade' in Ohio, her attention had 
never been called particniarlyto the temperance ■inustion, but with that 
solemn crisis, there came to her what she calls, 'an arrest of thought,' 
and as a result she felt called to give up all her other interests and devote 
herself, heart, brain, body, to the work of saving men from the cruel 
temptations of the saloons." At this time she occupied the posi- 
tion of Dean in the Woman's Department of Northwestern University, 
and had been for several years (since 1871) President of the Woman's 
College, Evanston, 111. On two occasions, since entering upon the tem- 
perance work, she temporarily, for the sake of others, devoted herself to 
other work, viz:— when she assisted Mr. Moody in his evangelistic and re- 
vival meetings in Boston, and when after the sudden death of her brother 
Oliver, she assumed the editorship.of the Chicago "Evening Post." 

She is now serving her seventh term as President of the Woman's Na- 
tional Christian Temperance Union, and has visited every State in 
the Union, addressing grand mass meetings, and organizing Tem- 
perance Unions in all the principal cities, and has visited every 
territory. No surer proof of Miss Willard's eminent fitness and 
qualifications for her mission can be given, than reference to her 
reception by! the Southern people while on her tour among them. 
Notwithstanding their strong prejudice against Northern women, 
and especially those addressing audiences from pulpit and platform, 
the most fastidious ones, of both minister aud people, accorded her a 
cordial welcome when they had once seen aud heard her, and indeed it 
is not extravagant to say that her visit through the South and West was 
one continued ovation,— as Miss Sanborn so truly and beautifully says. 
By the way, it was she who first suggested that Haystack Mountain he 
christened Mount Garfield, during those last terrible days of our la- 
mented President's fearful suffering. She said :-"Surely he is entitled 
by the grandeur of his character, the height of his fortitude, and the 
depth of the people's love for him, to the apotheosis of their everlasting 
hills." Is it not just like our Miss Willard always to be thinking of, 
and doing for others ? Her praise worthy tact and continued determina- 
tion fiuds voice in the close of one of her many admirable lectures : — 
" We mean to go straight on. We mean to be as good-natured as sun- 
shine, but as persistent as fate." And again; " Success doesn't happen. 
It is organized, pre-empted, captured, by consecrated common sense." 

The attempt is vain to do Miss Willard anything like justice, and es- 
pecially in a short sketch of this kind. Lengthy ones do not fall within 
the province of this book, For further particulars I would refer the 
reader to Miss Kate Sanborn's biographical sketch of Miss Willard in "Our 
Famous Women," which is amoDg the best of the many articles written 
cencerning her and her life work. 

It is said that she frequently poured out her soul in verse, which has 
been termed "true poetry." But her standard as to what should he given 
to the public is go high, that it has been difficult to obtain any of her ar- 
ticles for this volume, though doubtless superior to some that it con- 
tains. As many know, Miss Willard's home has been for nearly thirty 
years at Evanston. Ill, where she resides with her aged mother at "Rest 



Cottage." Here her occasional days have been spent— since she entered 
upon her "life work," though at present she is spending more time there, 
with her faithful Anna Gordon ever by her side. One of Miss Willard's 
best poems is on the death of General Grant, and will be found in the 
patriotic department of this work. Her friends who have read it, pro- 
nounce it an inspiration. It was first published in the "Inter Ooean/'and 
has been extensively copied into other papers. Aug. 1885. 



1884. 

After Tennyson's " Ring Out, Wild Bells! " 

1 Ring out the grief that saps the mind, 

Whose thralldom dates from days of yore ; 
Ring out false laws from shore to shore> 
Ring in redress to all mankind. 

2 Ring out the contest of the twain 

Whom thou for noblest love didst make, 
Ring in the day that shall awake 
Their life-harp to a sweeter strain. 

3 Ring out false pride from manly blood, 

The social slander, and the spite ; 
Ring in the love of truth and right, 
Ring in the love of others' good. 

FRANCES E. WILLAED. 

IN THE MORNING. 

1 Just as the silvery dawning 

Is forecasting the day, 
'Tis sweet at early morning 

The coming hours to lay 
With all the sealed-up sorrow 

Or joy they may afford ; 
And strength to meet them bowing 

Before our loving Lord. 

2 For crowds of cares are waiting 

Outside th' unoped door ; 
Life's loving and its hating, 

Its warfare is not o'er ; 
We may not pierce the crowding 

All down the dusky street, 
But all God's love is shrouding, 

And all we calmly meet. 

3 As knights before the tourney 

Don helm and casque and spear, 
As travellers for the journey 

Booted and spurred appear, 
So here, for each day's warring, 

Our swords we sharpen bright ; 
So here our loins are girded 

For progress unto right. 

4 We may not read the writing 

The coming hours shall trace, 
But we hear the voice inviting 

Our footsteps to the race ; 
Since the conquest is not ever 

To the fleet foot and the strong, 
In Him is all endeavor, 

Which shall overcome the wrong. 



622 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



5 Tis sweet to be surrounded 

Like folded flowers at morn, 
By hazy mists unbounded 

From which the day is born ; 
To feel each glad pulse quiver 

Like ether far above 
The life touch of the Giver, 

Safe centered in His love. 

6 Sweet through the open portals 

Around the gates of day, 
To watch the sad immortals 

For whom we early pray ; 
Sweet from our Father's treasures, 

To draw our daily store 
Of what shall bring them pleasures, 

And safety evermore. 

7 Sweet in our early musings, 

Our daily work to plan, 
Not from our little choosing, 

But His good-will to man. 
To hear His voice of power 

Call for our service free, 
And answer in that hour, 
" Lo ! here am I,' send me." 

8 So, early in the morning 

When daylight conquers night, 
The golden flush of dawning 

To us shall be all bright 
"With hope of coming duty, 

With hope of coming strength, 
With hope of crowning beauty 

When we shall rest at length. 

9 So faith shall be our armour 

For all the coming strife ; 
And so the morning's glamour 

Shall gild the prose of life ; 
So, God unseen, beside us, 

Shall be our noontide rest ; 
And His dear presence guide us 

E'en to the promised rest. 

MARGARET E. WINSLOW. 1884. 

OUR LIEGE LADY.' 

1 In that fair room, her work shop, 

Are carved rare thoughts of gold, 
And as she wills she sends them, 

Glad story to be told. 
The south land and the north land, ■ 

The east and the far west 
Hear how she gathers round her 

Mem'ries she loves the best. 

2 Sometimes she has sad visions 

Of fair young hopes that die, 
Lives that by sin were blighted, 

Homes that in ruins lie. 
The Rum Fiend's track she noteth, 

Each footprint leaves a grave, 
And her heart aches with longing 

The dying souls to save. 



3 So, she praying, plans a rescue, 

Rallies her loyal band, 
The pure white ribbon army, 

For God and native land. 
Their march from Maine to Texas 

Is heralded with songs, 
From east to west the clan-call 

To every home belongs. 

4 Sad souls their hands have rescued 

And lifted the bowed head, 
In His name raised their banners 

Who brought to life the dead. 
His cross their strength and glory, 

The promise fast they hold, 
While mem'ries of Hillsboro' 

The weakest can make bold. 

5 Our lady questions softly, 

" North land, what of the night ? " 
The east sends back for answer, 

"The day is growing bright?" 
" Is it well, fair south land 'i " 

Then swift on fragrant breath, 
'" 'Tis well," the south makes answer, 

" Christ has redeemed from death ! 

6 " Praise God ! " says loving Frances, 

" Yet there are more to save. 
Work ! " is the word she speedeth 

From rolling wave to wave. 
" Work, for the homes beloved, 

For the land we hold so dear, 
Until Rum's last, last victim 

Shall shed shame's last sad tear/' 

7 Thus works, plans, prays Our Lady, 

Worketh, yet not alone, 
She sways a hundred thousand ; 
In true hearts is her throne. 



TRIBUTE TO FRANCES E. WILLARD. 

1 Noblest of womankind — loved of the good and true ; 

Brave in thy gentleness, meek in thy might ; 
Thou of the trusting heart, ready to dare and do, 
Ready to die for the weak and the right ! 

2 Lo ! where the hallowed cross shadows life's weary 

way, 
Where sweet exotics bloom, fragrant of heaven ; 
Where faith and hope and love blossoms without 

decay, 
There all thy treasures to Christ thou hast given. 

3 Thrilled with his mystic love, glows thy glad heart 

anew, 
Touched by the sorrow He bore for our race ; 
Closer His footsteps, now, thou dost with joy pursue, 
Sharing His bounty, sustained by His grace. 



TEMPERANCE. TRIBUTE TO OUR WOMEN. 



023 



4 Soothing the stricken heart, guiding the erring one, 

Lifting the fallen and leading the blind ; 
Nobly forgetting self, joying in labor done ; 
.Yielding thy life for the weal of thy kind. 

5 Reason, at thy command, O, queen of royal thought ! 

Brings of her priceless wealth, owns thy control ; 
Rare flowers of sentiment from bowers of beauty 
brought, 
Wake, with their perfume, the rythm of the soul. 

6 Noblest of womankind, loved of the good and true ; 

Brave in thy gentleness, meek in thy might ; 
Thou of the trusting heart, ready to dare and do, 
Long may'st thou live for the weak and the right. 

ELLEN C. BARNETT. 
Westville, Conn. 1882. 



A "WOMAN'S HAND. 

READ BEFORE THE ANNIVERSARY MEETING OF THB 
SOUTH SIDE Y. W. C. T. TJ., CHICAGO. 

1 In that far country of the East, 

Whose skies were heaven's gate 
Through which bright angels came and went 

God's will to consummate, 
Dwelt Deborah, the prophetess 

And judge of Israel, 
Her tent pitched 'neath a stately palm 

Whose tossing plumes could well 

2 From Ephriam's mount, wave high in air, 

A signal, far and wide, 
To dwellers on the plains below 

Their steps to thither guide, 
For judgment, counsel or complaint. 

And she whose woman's heart 
Failed not, with the oppressed to plead, 

To take the wronged one's part, 

3 Was oft with righteous anger stirred, 

And often did she hold 
Communion with the Lord and beg 

His mercy, as they told 
How Jabin, King of Canaan, 

By Sisera, his strong 
And savage captain, scourge the land 

With deeds of cruel wrong. 

4 Nine hundred iron chariots 

Had Sisera, whose hosts 
Swept o'er Esdraelon's fertile plains 

From Acre's barren coasts, 
And not a child of Israel, 

And not maid, but feared 
When e'er the sound of wheels foretold 

The cruel captain neared. 

5 For twenty years the Isralites 

Had groaned beneath their yoke, 
And none were brave or strong enough 
To break it off, 'till spoke 



Their judge — wise Deborah — 

"Send Barak unto me ; 
Ten thousand men, up Tabor's mount, 

Shall march and set us free ! " 

6 " If thou wilt go, then I will go," 

Said Barak. So they twain 
Up Tabor went, with their brave men. 

Below, upon the plain, 
They fell on Sisera's great host, 

Who fled in sore dismay 
To ancient Kishon, which swelled high' 

And swept their ranks away. 

7 And lo ! ere yet the evening fell, 

From Kishon's banks there 
Songs of deliverance and praise, 

For Sisera lay dead. 
Not drowned by Kishon's stormy flood 

Nor slain by Barak's band 
Of valiant men, but smitten by 

A woman's slender hand. 

8 And Deborah's and Barak's song 

Still sets our hearts aglow. 
They sang how God by storm and star 

Had helped them fight their foe; 
How Sisera was stricken down 

By Jael " 'bove women blest," 
And thus the land, by women freed, 

"For forty years had rest." 



9 Far from Mount Tabor's woods of oak, 

Far from that epoch old, 
We in this nineteenth century, 

In our new world still hold 
In proud remembrance, each brave 

Heroic woman's deed, 
And praise the hearts and hands that saved 

Their country in its need. 

10 But deadlier than Sisera, 

More awful than the woe 
Which Israel bowed under when 

King Jabin was their foe, 
Is King Alcohol, our tyrant, 

And woes which on our land 
He poureth out from a full cup 

With a remorseless hand. 

11 No home in all the country broad 

That hath not kith or kin, 
Struck down by this fell conqueror, 

Whose gilded paths within 
Are full of bones of dead men, lost 

"In their dishonored graves 
To God, and home, and native land. 

O cursed ! O hopeless 






624 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



12 All, maiden in thy happy home, 

Thy hands upon the keys 
That waken at their skillful touch 

Enchanting symphonies, 
To life's full diapase without, 

Bow down thine inner ear, 
And tell me midst the mingled tones 

Dost thou not clearly hear 

13 The wail of children sorrowful, 

The heartbreak of sad wives, 
The faltering step of myriads 

Whose sin-stained ruined lives 
Are going out in darkness dread, 

Blown by the fiery breath 
Of the cruel tyrant Alcohol, 

Whose way leads down to death ? 

14 Ah, maiden ! I conjure thee now, 

For God and native land, 
Thy music and thy broidery leave, 

Reach down thy gentle hand 
To children standing, unaware, 

On paths that lead astray, 
Oh ! lift them up, and set them safe 

Upon thy King's highway. 

15 Teach them to hate King Alcohol, 

Whose hands are red with gore, 
Whose grasp is like an adder's sting 

And serpent's bite — yea, more, 
O woman, if thou wilt, thou canst 

Put forth thy slim white hand 
And slay this monster, fell and strong, 

That's ravaging our land. 



MARIA W. JONES. 1883. 



THE WOMEN OF THE SOUTH. 

Dear sisters of the south-land, my heart turns back to 

thee, 
As I sit in quiet musing, beside the northern sea ; 
And tender recollections come thronging to my mind 
Of all thy loving ministries — thy welcome true and 

kind; 
And hope grows large and vision clear for that fair, 

sunny land, 
With vales like dreams of Paradise, and mountains wild 

and grand. 
I see the coming glory of a nation yet to be, 
In which a new-born south shall rise from all its shackles 

free ; 
By all its sorrows purified — by all its pain made strong — 
More tender to all suffering — more fierce against all 

wrong. 
[ see those glorious regions filled with homes of thrift 

and ease, 
I hear the busy whirl and hum of new-born industries. 
And in that new world's lifted life, by voice of pen and 

tongue, 
O women of the south-land, I hear thy praises sung. 



Thy energies, thy faith, thy love, from dust and ashes 

rose 
To lift another banner high, and conquer fiercer foes. 
" For God and Home and Native Land," rings now thy 

rallying cry, 
We'll save our youth for God and truth, our homes we'll 

purify. 
Brave women of the south-land, thy conquest hath 

begun ; 
Show forth thy high-born courage now, and soon the day 

is won. 
God bless thee, noble workers, we'll join thee, heart 

and hand, 
Till all our sin-cursed land is free, from Maine to Rio 

Grande ; 
Till righteousness shall rule in law, and wrong's injus- 
tice cease; 
Till unity and love shall bring the grand millennial 

peace. 

UBS. MARIA tTPHAM DRAKE. 
Brooklyn, N. Y. 1885. 



WHAT SHE IS NOW. 

1 Her hair is a lovely brown, that turns 

To gold when the sunshine on it lies, 
And, fringed with lashes of darker hue, 

A golden brown are her radiant eyes, 
And the milk-white teeth that her smiles disclose 
Are like pearls enshrined in the heart of a rose. 

2 As fair as the snow are her helpful hands, 

And her low broad brow, and her slender throat, 
And she flits about with a fairy grace, 

And her voice is sweet as a wild bird's note — 
Ay, sweeter you'd say, if you heard her speak 
In the cheeriest way to the weary and weak: 

3 To the weary and weak, for her life is passed 

In scenes the saddest that one could find, 
And the many prayers that are prayed for her 

Are breathed by the maimed and the halt and 
the blind. 
Some day, up in heaven, a saint she will be ; 
Now, only a hospital nurse is she. 

MARGARET EYTINGE. 1885. 

In " Harper's Weekly." 



HOME. 

1 They are not most at home who stay 

Beside the hearth forever ; 
The heart, and not the absent hands, 

The home ties hold or sever. 
And they who guard for other homes 

The bliss themselves have tasted, 
Hold far too dear love's priceless gold 

To let it e'er be wasted. 



TEMPERANCE. TRIBUTE TO OUR WOMEN. 



625 



2 We do not fear, then, for your home, 

We know, because you love it ; 
A thousand hearts unite to pray 

That angels watch above it. 
All Christian life is richer for 

Broad duties well attended ; 
And light from many a rescued home 

With your home life is blended. 

3 What wonder, then, that artist hands 

Bring here their best endeavor, 
To place upon home's smiling walls 

Your memory forever. 
God bless your home ! God bless your work ! 

Be these to you our token 
Of Christian love and loyalty, 

That words could not have spoken. 



Read at the District of Columbia State Convention at the presentation 
the portraits of the President and her husband to the latter, Oct. 12, 1882. 



Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame, 
With conquering limbs astride from land to land, 
Here at our sea-washed sunset gates shall stand 
A mighty woman, with a torch whose name 
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name, 
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon hand 
Gleams world-wide welcome ; her mild eyes 

command 
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame. 
" Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp," cried she, 
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor, 
Your huddled masses, yearning to breathe free — 
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. 
Send there the homeliest tempest-tossed to, me ; 
I lift my lamp beside the golden door! " 

* EMMA LAZARUS. 

May the lamp of this beautiful Colossa cast new light 
on the liberty to abstain. 

* Died November 19, 1887. Ed "° r " Si£Uai " 



TO MRS. LUCY WEBB HAYES. 

1 With reverent love and gratitude 

God bless thee, noble Christian ! who in faith 
sublime, 
Hath dared to stand between the living and the 
dead, 
And, unappalled by sin's magnificent array, 

From out the darkness into the glorious light hath 
led ! 
The loving angels praise this grandest act of thine, 
As watching o'er our world, they mark its bitter 
woes, 
" Oh ! Heavenly deed of Christ's heroic child, 
Hurled in His strength against His treacherous 
foes ! " 

2 God bless thee, noble Christian ! bless both thee and 

thine, 
Long as there dwells on earth one of thy sainted 
race — 
And grant that each descendant of thy royal blood 

May valiant stand for God in his appointed place. 
The thanks of hearts long trampled in the dust 
Ascend for thee to God's eternal throne — 
" Praise God for calling to her high estate, 

A Christian warrior, fearing God, and God alone ! " 

HELEN MAR MACKENZIE. Jan. 1881. 



THE NEW COLOSSUS. 

The Bartholdi statue is now the talk everywhere. It 
occurred to a woman, Emma Lazarus — who was appro- 
priately asked to write the poem for the opening 
ceremonies at the art loan exhibition in aid of the 
enterprise — to call it the New Colossus, and to say : 



FOR OTHERS' SAKE. 

"Live pure, speak true, right wrong, follow 
The Christ— else wherefore born 1 " 

Idyls of the King. 

1 Around King Arthur's table came 

Brown stalwart men, who soon or late 
Won for themselves a famous name 

And climbed up to a knight's estate. 
And each one sought some maiden's smile, 

Her "favor" on his helmet wore 
On deeds of errantry, — the while 

She praised and loved him more and more. 

2 And poets' idyls new and old 

Cease not to tell the wondrous tale, — 
How these good knights so true and bold 

Rode forth to make some tyrant quail 
In his stronghold, — for ladies fail- 
Risked life and limb, and thought no deed 
Too hard for them to do or dare, 
Could they but win the hero's meed. 

3 Oh ! grand the story of brave deed, 

And sweet the guerdon bravely won. 
So brave ! so sweet ! that as we read 

Electric currents swiftly run, 
From noble lives of ages past, 

And thrill our hearts, until we fain 
Would live as they, as they at last, 

Such love, such praise, such honor gain. 

4 Nor are there wanting men of might, 

Nor wrongs to tilt a free lance for ; 
Nor now need maidens, out of sight, 

Wait weeping till the battle's o'er. 
Some cycles nearer has earth rolled 

To the eternities, whose light 
On us more broadly falls. Behold ! 

God's truths shine out in clearer sight. 



626 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



And gentle woman now has found 

To do is finer than to be, 
That our King at whose " Table Round " 

Their sitteth " neither bond nor free, 
Nor male nor female " — He doth make 

Us " one in Him " — gives unto all 
Something to do for others' sake, 

Some blows to strike for error's fall. 

For others' sake, O men of might ! 

For others' sake, O women fair ! 
Spurn from your taste, your touch, your sight 

Circean draughts, where lurks a snare 
That robs the nation of its men, 

Wives of their husbands and their sons, 
Yea, God of His earth-born — and them, 

Of heaven and its shining ones. 

For others' sake ! O strong ! O sweet ! 

O common tie ! that binds our way 
To God's great throne, when we repeat 

In such small measure as we may 
The earth-life of His own dear Son, 

Who lived and died for others' sake, 
For others' sake God's heaven won 

By cross and curse none else could take. 

MARIA -W. JONES, 181 



Extract from a paper read at the Crusade Anniversary, Dee, 23, 1883 
Mrs. E. T. Housh, Editor of the Woman's Magazine. 

Will you hear with me while I tell you of a thought vision of twenty 
years ago, interwoven with prophetic token of what now the Lord hath 
wrought? —the vision of 



THE BANNER AND THE CROSS. 

1 It was the hour of deepest gloom, 

When war held sway, 
And peace seemed hidden in a tomb, 
Beyond the day ; 

2 When in the stillness of the hour, 

Mid doubt and fears, 
There came a vision of the power 
Of coming years. 

3 Lost every sound in midnight's hush, 

Gone every star ; 
Night without hope of morning's blush 
Near or afar. 

4 Ah ! what was night, or what was day, 

To us who wept, 
Above the blue, above the gray, 
Where low they slept ! 

5 And our dear land, so rent with strife, 

What the to be ? 
What mighty force from death to life 
Wins victory ? 



6 God is in the darkness ; God is in the night ; 
From the deepest gloom He can wake the light; 
Call a world from chaos by His mighty power, — 
Sang the voice of faith in that solemn hour. 

7 God was in the darkness, for He bid the night 
Hide her gathered clouds, and show her gems of light, 
As His thought to vision grew for our blinder sense, 
Making plain the wonders of His Providence. 

8 Lo ! a cross of pearly white spans the eastern sky, 
White against the blue, nor a cloudlet floating by, 
White as crystal snows, when the sunshine shim- 
mers down, 

Girt about with stars for a golden crown. 

9 And an angel coming in a woman's guise, 
Coming near and nearer from the western skies, 
With our royal banner, our royal banner true, 
With its stripes and stars, its bonny folds of blue. 

10 Coming near and nearer where the white cross shone, 
Round its pillared beauty was the banner thrown ; 
Ah, my eyes are misty with the flow of woman's 

tears, 
As I call this vision o'er the score of years ! 

11 O'er the dreary discord, o'er the weary strife, 
Waved the glorious banner of our nation's life ; 
To the cross it clingeth, truth alone makes free, 
And in woman's hand shall Love the standard be. 



12 God teas in the darkness ; God vias in the night ; 
From the deepest gloom He has called the light, — 
And His name is honored from the shore to sea, 
Where our banner waves — the emblem of the free. 

13 Ah, my heart is heavy with the weight of woman's 

tears, 
Heavy with the memories of a score of years, 
When I count the homes where our loved ones weep, 
When I count the graves where our heroes sleep ! 

14 But my heart is joyous with the joy of woman's 

tears. 
Joyous with the memories of a score of years, 
When I count the altars where our heroes stand, 
Heroes true for "God, and Home, and Native 

Laud." 

15 God hath called thee, sister woman, by His power, 
God hath called thee, sister hero, to this hour, 
Not till victory comes lay thy armor down, 
■Bear the burden till the cross shall be a crown ! 

16 Pledge we then our faith and love ! Pledge it still 

anew! 
To each other, to our homes, to our God, be true ! 
If in Him we trust, our land shall know no loss, 
While woman's hand shall clasp the Banner and the 

Cross. 

ESTHER T. HOUSH. 
Brattlehoro', Vt., 1883. 




ESTHER T. HOUSH. 



TEMPERANCE. TRIBUTE TO OUR WOMEN. 



627 



HER GIFTS. 

1 "What did she give ? 

Scant store of gold she gave to church or poor ; 

She bought with wealth nor piety nor lame. 
Her foot scarce crossed the threshold of her door ; 

A plaything to the childish world, her name 
She never gave. 

2 What did she give? 

She gave to greedy Toil her tender hands, 

That other palms his roughened grasp might shun ; 

Alone she trod Pain's dreary desert lands, 
That other feet in pleasant paths might run, 
All this ? Ay ! more, 

3 "What did she give ! 

She gave up blessed love for others' sake ; 

Desire she kissed and bade good-by. Joy, Grace 
Her side forsook ; her tryst with hope she brake, 

And turned to Poverty a smiling face. 
Yes, more than this. 

4 What could she more ? 

Yes, one thing more. She left at last her ways. 

Unhindered now her patient feet might run 
To bear the undeserving hands the praise 

A blind world gave for work that she had done. 
None could do more. 

5 Life hath no more. 

No more, dear heart, is thine to give. Thine all 
Is God's and on His altar laid. His rod 

And staff are thine. They only wait thy call. 

Ah ! no ; thy hand doth hold them fast. Thy God 
Himself gives thee. 

ANNIE M. I/IBBY. 

In "Boston Transcript," Sept. 1884. 

THE YET TO BE. 

1 I stand on the treshhold, I plainly see 
The glorious things of the " yet to be." 
"What prophet, priest, and sage has told, 
In theme and rhyme and sermons old, 
Flame out on my vision grand and free 
As I sing in joy of tbe "yet to be." 

2 When man is purged of passion's fire, 
And his soul is great with high desire, 
To be like heroes and sages old 

In the blessed time in the age of gold ; 
Woman free from her long worn chain, 
Entered her high estate again ; 
Mother crowned with her blessed crown 
That fadeth not, no leaves turned brown ; 
Then son- and sire will joy to see 
The queen that is the "yet to be." 

3 When war is over and love untold 
Will fill the heart — no thirst for gold 
Will coil and sting like a serpent there, 
In the time of bloom in a land so fair ; 
Where unveiled eyes will plainly see 
God's rule of Love in the " yet to be." 

ELIZABETH L. SAXON. 

New Orleans, 1884. 



COMRADESHIP. 

The great heart of Mrs Leavitt claims the whole round world for tbe 
blessed comradeship of the W, C. T. IT. 

Frances E. Willard. 

1 Years ago there came a footfall from an open door, 
Faltering, feeble, fearful ; but the mighty love it bore 
Waked sweet music whose resounding echoes ever- 
more. 

2 Earth so dull and step so tender, whence did music 

wake ? 
Hidden keys of sensate wires that could their silence 

break, 
Underneath the step of woman, all for love's sake ! 

3 Love that brings a new translation to the high and 

lowly ! 
Love, the Midas touch of gold, that transmutes us 

wholly ! 
" For God, and home, and native land," says the 

legend holy ! 

4 Love that twines her mystic letters in a four-fold 

chain ! 
And a little knot of ribbon white, in and out again, 
Tied so strong that all the world can never break in 

twain. 

5 Love that binds the homes together of the east and 

west, 
Links the north and south as one ; ah, you know the 

rest, 
You dear women with the badge of white upon your 
' breast ! 

6 Know how, that if but spoken the mystic letters o'er? 
The cabalistic letters in the chain of letters four, 
The hearts who know their meaning can ne'er be 

strangers more. 

7 Know how the faithful workers true, keep the light 

aglow, 
On the path where human feet are wandering to and 

fro. 
Poor feet, so weak and halting ! poor feet that 

stumble so ! 

8 Know of her, our leader, who more than all hath 

bound us 
Heart and hand together where ever duty found us ; 
And who makes our burdens light with her love 

around us. 

9 Know how speeds she, our brave hero, to the far off 

lands, 
With the pledge of sister love from the praying bands, 
'Till the " whole round world " be gathered in our 

circling hands. 
10 O " Comradeship," so " blessed ! " what words can 

e'er portray 
The help and strength thou bringest along life's 

toilsome way ? 
Thou art the sunrise of the dear millennial day ! 

MRS. ESTHER T. HOTJSH. 

Brattleboro', Vt, July, 1885. 



628 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



TRIBUTE OF ESTEEM TO COL. GEO. W. BAIN. 



The Canada temperance women appreciate Col. Bain. One gifted 
singer, Mrs. M. H. Wright— sends this bit of verse after him : Signal. 



TRIBUTE OF ESTEEM. 

1 Work on ! Kentucky Brother, 

For Canada's fair fame, 
And every wife and mother 
Shall bless thy honor'd name. 

2 If broad and noble waters 

Roll twixt your land and ours, 
Though broader were those waters 
We'll bring Immortelle flowers — 

3 The laurel, and the queenly rose, 

To strew where thou shalt tread, 
Like perfume of thy noble acts, 
When thou art with the dead. 

MRS. M. H, WRIGHT. 1884. 



<fe%r C 3m%\ 



Is the able and successful editor of the Woman's Magazine, published 
at Brattleburo', Vt. It was formerly called Woman at Work, and was 
published at Louisville, Ky. Her management of that grand magazine 
is most excellent, and does honor to womanhood. Mrs. Housh is a wo- 
man of rare genius and poetic talent.coupled with an energv and expcutive 
ability not often found. The editor of this volume had the pleasure of 
meeting her at the National Convention of W. C. T. IT. workers, Oct. 
22, 1884, and found her to be most charming in person and conversation. 
She is rather petite in figure, a decided brunette, with most winning 
womanly ways. She has proved a very valuable friend to Woman in 
Sacred Song, in more ways than one. The following beautiful poem, 
which has been much admired, was written for the California Medical 
University's Alumnae Evening, 1883. 



WOMAN'S GOLDEN HOUR. 

Listen to the echoes stealing 

Through the years ! 
Echoes evermore revealing 

All the fears 
Of the first brave-hearted woman, 
Loving, earnest, tender, human, 

At the gate, 
Where the rusty lock a-creaking, 
And the voice of man a-speaking, 

Bids her wait. 

Wait ! outside the door of learning ; 
Wait ! her plea forever spurning ; 

Wait alway ! 
Wait, because she was a woman, 
Loving, earnest, tender, human, 

Till the day 
When the chains should all be broken, 
For the Lord himself had spoken : 

" Bond nor free," 
But " one in Christ " the world shall be. 



3 " Knock ! It shall be opened " to thee ; 

Knock alway ! 
This was truly woman's duty 

To obey. 
So the echoes came a stealing, 
All her faith and love revealing, 

Till the door, 
Barred and bolted ere before, 

Barred no more, 
Now swings a welcome open wide, 
To man and woman side by side. 

4 Shall we count the battles fought when the victory's 

won ? 
Chant the dirges while the song of triumph floating 

on ? 
Tell of crosses by the way, tell of sorrow's power, 
While the bells are pealing out the glorious woman's 

hour? 

5 Blending with the joyous paeans are the echoes of the 

years, 
Speed they with a message of the brave heart's hopes 

and fears ; 
Crowns await the soul that conquers foes without, 

within ; 
Cowards win not in the race, but victors enter in. 

6 Woman's hour ! Ah, can it be my longing eyes behold 
Woman standing on the threshold of the age of gold, 
With the gift of healing, taught of mind and trained 

of hand, 
Woman, queenly in her right to " comfort and com- 
mand " ? 

7 The motherhood of woman is her richest boon of life ; 
Her holiest birth-right is to be a loved and honored 

wife; 
In her bosom is the refuge for the sick and tempest 

riven, 
In her faith that holds to God the surest hope of 

Heaven. 

cian to the body worn 

that each daily dews 

, manna of a Father's 

title written 



8 Ah! she could not be 
and ill 

Without bringing of the 

distill, 
Manna of her love and 

care, 
He who comforts as a" mother, 

there ! 

9 With glad hosannas then we hail the age, the age of 

Gold, 
When purer laws and purer love shall human life 

enfold, 
When all the doors of sin are barred, the doors of 

wisdom wide 
With welcome for the woman who can stand by 

manhood's side — 
He crowned a king by rightful rule, she queen by 

regal power 
Of royal self-hood in the noon of woman's golden 

hour ! 






TEMPERANCE. TRIBUTE TO OUR WOMEN. 



629 



Irs. Mlit f . 



Of Charleston, South Carolina, State President of the Woman's 
Christian Temperance Union, is one of the South's most brilliant wo- 
men, and one of the foremost of those who were enlisted in the iuter- 
ists of temperanee, south of the dividing line. She is a most entertain- 
ing platform speaker, and is probably doing more than any other one 
woman, of the many devoted workers now in the South, to advance the 
cause of Prohibition. Among her first public utterances was the fol- 
lowing pathetic peroration. 

'•O, the anxiety we have passed through, south of Mason and Dixon's 
line ! Such wasting and mildew ! The graves that have hidden in their 
darkness brilliant, talented men we loved so dearly, brave and heroic, 
tenderhearted; their .eyes brilliant as stars, their carriage erect and 
manly; chivalrous to a fault, and self-sacrificing; and these not only our 
own beloved, but those of our sisters in every state. King Alcohol 
brought low those loved ones, filled these victims at.the last with mortal 
terrors, and then they died. 

The voices of the martyred dead are being heard, and we men and 
women will avenge their murdered reason and debased bodies. Hence- 
forth southern women's children shall not be cast into the arms of 
Moloch, or be made to pass through the fire. The strong men and wo- 
men must mount up to a higher plane of existence than that of Mam- 
mon, debasing strong drink and politics, and clasp hands with our dear 
northern sisters in seeking the utter overthrow of King Alcohol." 



A WOMAN'S PLATFORM FOR 
NORTH AND SOUTH. 

Mrs. Sallie P. Chapin closed her address in the amphitheater at Chau- 
tauqua, with the following unique and beautiful orignal poem. It is a 
platform worthy of the age.— Union Signal, 1884. 

1 Then, women, build what men in vain 

Have tried to build these hundred years, 
And failed in throes of heart and brain, 

And torture deep, and blood and tears ; 
A platform broad as all the land, 

Where north and south, and east and west 
In grand and high accord may stand, 

Arm linked with arm, and breast with breast. 

2 Where Maine may bring her plank of pine 

To mortice with palmetto beam, 
And round the stately elm entwine 

Vines from the bayou's turbid stream ; 
While stanchions set in granite rock, 

From old New Hampshire's bosom brought, 
Will stand all storms nor heed their shock, 

With Alabama iron wrought; 
Where Mississippi, hand to hand 

With Minnesota, asks to be, 
Seeking redemption for our land, 

Struggling to set the nation free ; 
And Florida, from out her groves 

Of tropic fruit and towering palm, 

3 Joins with brave Kansas, whom she loves, 

And sings with her the inspiring psalm. 
Where all the old and grand thirteen, 

Who broke, as one, the tyrant's sway, 
May with their sister states be seen 

Engaged again in deadliest fray. 
The cruel gulf, by carnage made, 

Too long has severed kindred blood ; 
But where our banners are displayed 



An arch of peace now spans the flood. 
With every sound of discord stilled, 

High on that glorious arch we stand, 
With one resolve each heart is filled 

To strike for home and native land. 

4 We hold alone the place sublime, 

No claims of section, creed or pride, 
Nor thought of color, class, or clime, 

Our love-embattled ranks divide ; 
Deep unto deep, with answering cry, 

Atlantic to Pacific pleads ; 
Hold women to your purpose high, 

And show your faith, by word and deed; 
Then, women, build, for be you sure 

You build far better than you know, 
And that you are building shall endure 

Till time itself shall be no more. 

MRS. SALLIE F, CHAPIN. 



ANNIVERSARY HYNN. 

Tune— "Auld Zanrj Syne." 

DEDICATED TO THE WOMAN'S NATIONAL CHRISTIAN 

TEMPEEANCE UNION ON ITS SIXTH ANNIVERSARY, 

AUGUST 15, 1880. 

[At Chautauqua, Sabbath, August 15, after a magnificent sermon on 
temperance, by Joseph Cook, four thousand voices made grand melody 
singing these words to the tune of "Auld Lang Syne,"] 

1 Where green Chautauqua's arches bend 

To kiss her lake-bound shore, 
From east, from west, from north we wend, 

Hand clasped in hand once more. 
To kneel again where once we knelt, 

When God's inspiring call, 
Forth from these shades our women sent 

To rescuing work for all. 

2 Up from our sowing far and near, 

The quickening seed of God, 
We come to lay our reaping here, 

Upon Chautauqua's sod, 
And weave our chaplet of high praise 

Before Chautauqua's Lord, 
For blessings in these " latter days " 

On His hand-maidens poured. 

3 God of this forest temple, lo ! — 

Thy daughters kneel to Thee ; 
Pour out upon us ere we go, 

Thy Spirit rich and free ; 
That strong to fight hell's strongest arm, 

Almighty in Thy might, 
Our words of love all hearts may warm, 

Our lives fill earth with light. 

MISS MARGARET E. WINSLOTf. 



630 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



HOW THE WORK GOES FORWARD. 

Toiling on mid the ripened grain 

Of the yellow and bending fields, 
Many a skillful laborer 

A glancing sickle wields. 
Shineth the sun at morning hour 

On busy hearts and hands. 
The noontide glow and westering beams 

Light a myriad toiling bands. 
Nor tarrieth long enough the day 

For the zeal of these workers true ; 
In the moon's clear light and in sombre night 

They are found at their tasks anew. 
Are these reapers unwearied, of stalwart strength 

And forms of giant mould ? 
Does the harvest they glean bring rich return 

In wealth of shining gold ? 
Why, look ye well ! They are womankind 

Who are toiling night and day, 
And the harvest gains they eagerly crave 

Are the souls of men, they say. 
Where the demon of drink a battle has gained, 

And men have gone down in the fight, 
Where youthful hosts, unscathed as yet, 

The enemy's blows invite ; 
Where tears are flowing, and hearts are rent, 

And desolate homes stand sombre and grim ; 
Where Heaven bends low if souls repent — 

Wherever He leadeth they follow Him. 
With head and heart and hand they work, 

With word persuasive, with song and prayer, 
With dauntless endeavor and spirit brave 

To rescue the fallen they all things dare. 
When the sheaves are gathered and the garnerei 
grain 

Is safe from the blight and the blasting storm, 
With the Women's Reaping, — a record strange,— 

In story and song will our hearts grow warm. 

MISS JULIA A. WIIXAKD. 



2 For Israel's sake He divided the sea, 

And said, " Go forward, I'll fight for thee." 
Through the pillar of fire He troubled the host 
Of Egyptians, and chariots and horsemen were lost ; 
We will see His salvation and stand at our post. 



3 The Jordan o'erflowed, its waters were wide, 
But the priests stood firm in the lapping tide. 

God moved back the waters, they heaped far away, 
His children went over, and dry was the way, 
And the land of promise was Israel's that day. 

4 No foe can withstand when the Lord leadeth on ; 
Their hearts melt with fear, their cities are won ; 
His anger consumes, His wrath doth abide 

On sins that in darkness doth secretly hide ; 

But the faithful and loving shall walk by His side. 

5 Awake ! see what His salvation hath wrought ; 
What victory o'er sins with His blood He hath 

bought ; 
His kingdom shall stretch over land and o'er sea, 
And peoples and nations shall all bow the knee, 
And truth, love and righteousness ever shall be. 

6 His splendor shall dawn on the nations that sleep, 
And hearts tune to gladness that only could weep ; 
The billows that toss over life's troubled sea 

Shall be still, when He speaks, as the sweet Galilee, 
And the earth and the heaven His glory shall see. 

EMMA E. ORENDORFF. 

Delaran, HI., 1883. 



COMFORT IN BEREAVEMENT. 



W. C. T. U. 



1 Who cometh from Edom— our chosen guide, 
W. C. T. U. 
From the vintage of Bozrah with garments dyed ? 

W. C. T. U. 
In strength and righteousness Lord and King 
He cometh His children salvation to bring, 
He cometh His own to avenge, Oh ! sing. 
W. C. T. U. 
Chorus.— W. C. T. U. W. C. T. U. 

Our God is our Leader, our Saviour is Kmg, 
Ye lame leap for joy, ye sorrowful sing ; 
Ye nations make haste, and hosannas shall ring. 
W. C. T. IT. 



1 So fades the lovely blooming flower, 
Frail, smiling solace of an hour ! 

So soon our transient comforts fly, 
And pleasure only blooms to die. 

2 Is there no kind, no lenient art 
To heal the anguish of the heart ? 
Divine Redeemer, be thou nigh : 
Thy comforts were not made to die ! 

3 Then gentle Patience smiles on Pain, 
And dying Hope revives again ; 

Hope wipes the tear from Sorrow's eyes, 
And Faith points upward to the sky. 



TEMPERANCE. THE WORKERS CROSSING THE RIVER. COMFORT FOR THE BEREAVED. 



381 



HYMNS AND READINGS SUITABLE FOR THE FUNERAL OR 
MEMORIAL SERVICES OF OUR WORKERS. 



CROSSING THE RIVER TIME. 

1 They're crossing the river ; and one by one 

Are launching their boats away, 
And some of the number are aged ones 

Whose tresses are streaked with gray ; 
They've gone to the river with tot'ring steps— 

These pilgrims weary and old : 
They saw not the waters, but looked across 

To the gleaming gates ©f gold. 

2 They're crossing the river, — these trav'lers all- 

Some entering manhood's prime ; 
And eagerly, firmly, they grasp the oars 

And glide down the river Time. 
They carefully steer 'round rocks and crags, 

Nor shrink from the cloud or wind, 
While the vessel that bears the aged ones 

Is drifting soon, far behind. 

3 They're crossing the river ; and some are young 

And blithe as the birds in May, 
Their happy voices with laughter and song 

Make merry the weary way. 
And their eyes are bright with the glow of youth, 

So they pass the old folks by 
And leave but the echo of joyousness, 

To mingle with tear and sigh, 

4 They're crossing the river ; this river Time — 

Sweet babies, iu robes of white ; 
And they watch the eddies that come and go 

With crows and coos of delight. 
They lave in the waves with their dimpled hands 

And soon they are seen no more ; 
But the dear old pilgrims sail slowly on 

And are last to reach the shore. 

5 So the river is white with driftiug sails, 

And the boats are large and small, 
But some of them strike on the cold, gray rocks, 

And never anchor at all : 
Oh ! we too are going the self-same way — 

Old, young, and in life's bright prime ; 
And we hope to anchor our tremb'ling barques 

Beyond, — in the Better Clime ! 

IDA SCOTT TAYLOR. 1879. 

HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP. 

Psalm cxxrii : 2. 

1 Poor mourner, tempted oft and tried 

With all the ills that life beset, 
Misfortune, want and humbled pride, 

With sinking heart and cheek all wet, 
A little longer persevere, 

There comes a time thou wilt not weep, 
For He'll remove thy grief and fear, 

And give to His beloved, sleep. 



2 Brave soldier on Life's battle-field, 

Where all contend, as best they may, 
To vanquish wrong — the right to shield, 

Fight manfully till close of day ; 
Bally, once more, thy failing powers, 

And when Night's shadows onward creep, 
Sweet rest comes with its darkening hours,— 

He gives to His beloved, sleep. 

3 Thou on the couch of racking pain, 

No ease, no rest by day or night, . 
Whose fainting heart, whose throbbing brain 

Sees in the future nothing bright, 
He hath a listening, pitying ear ; 

His promise He will surely keep, 
That, if thou callest, He will hear 

And give to His beloved, sleep. 

4 Oh ! blessed thought, when tired and worn 

With toil, temptation, or with grief, 
However weary, or forlorn, 

That ready hand can bring relief ; 
And, with the tenderness of love, 

Wipe tears from eyes long used to weep, 
Sorrow and weariness remove, 

By giving His beloved, sleep. 

5 Ah ! 'neath His lifted wing, may I 

Find shelter, too, and calm repose : 
And to His sure protection fly 

In all my sorrows, all my woes ; 
In time to come, remembering 

If a pure, spotless heart I keep, 
Beneath His broad o'ershadowing wing 

Securely I may sink to sleep. 

A DELIA C. GRAVES. 1883. 

Mary Sharp College, Winchester. Term. 



A DIRGE. 

1 Calm on the bosom of thy God, 

Young spirit ! rest thee now ; 
Even while with us thy footstep trod 
His seal was on thy brow. 

2 Dust to its narrow house beneath ! 

Soul to its place on high ! — 
They that have seen thy look in death, 
No more may fear to die. 

3 Lone are the paths, and sad the bowers, 

Whence thy meek smile is gone ; 
But Oh ! a brighter home than ours, 
In heaven is now thine own. 

MBS. HEMAKS. 



• 



632 



WOMAN IN S ACRED SONG. 



JESUS IS CALLING FOR THEE. 

1 When, as of old, in her sadness 

Mary sat weeping alone, 

Softly the voice of her sister 

Whispered, " The Master has come." 
So, in the depths of thy sorrow, 

Gall though its fountain may be, 
List ! there cometh a whisper, 
is calling for thee." 



2 Oh ! when thy pleasures are flowing, 

Fading thy hope and thy trust, 
When of the dearest earth-treasures 

Dust shall return unto dust : 
Then, though the world may invite thee, 

Vain will its offering be ; 
List ! for there cometh a whisper, 
"Jesus is calling for thee." 

3 Down by the shore of death's river, 

Some time thy footsteps shall stray 
Where waits an angel to bear thee 

Over to infinite day. 
What then, though dark be his shadow, 

If when his coining thou see, 
Cometh there softly a whisper, 
" Jesus is calling for thee." 

GRACE GLENN. 

In "Wreath of Praise," by Asa Hull. 



WHY? 



LET ME GO. 



1 Let me go ! — The day is breaking, 

Morning bursts upon mine eye, 
Death this mortal frame is shaking— 
But the soul can never die ! 

2 Let me go ! — That day-star beaming, 

Gilds the radiant realms above ; 
Its full glory on me streaming, 
Lights me to that land of love ! 

3 Let me go ! — My warfare's ended ; 

Night's dark shades have passed away j 
All in view is glory splendid, 
Boundless and eternal day ! 

4 Let me go ! — My Master's chariot 

Waits in state to bear me home- 
Purchase of His grace and merit, — 
Alleluia ! Lord, I come ! 

5 Now I am Thine, and Thine forever, 

While eternal ages roll ; 
Sense and sin no more shall sever 
Thy blest presence from my soul 

6 Now, amid the sacred splendor 

Of the glorious hosts above, 
Everlasting praise I'll render 

To that God, whose name is Love ! 



MARY PYPER. 



IN MEMORIAM. 

1 Why do we always mourn, O Death, 

When thy soft hand shuts out the night 
Of earthly woes, and opes the gates 
Of everlasting joy and light ? 

2 Why do we sorrow those who find 

From all their toil a grateful rest, — 
When aching heart and throbbing head 
Have found at last a Father's breast ? 

3 Why do we weep, when yearning souls 

At last are free, at last can go 
Beyond the clouds that hid their Sun, 
Each woe and heartache left below ? 

4 Why do we grieve ? do we not know 

That we shall follow bye-and-bye ? 
Though fainting 'neath a heavy load 
We soon shall know the reason why. 

5 O souls in deepest anguish bowed, 

Ye weep, — but Jesus wept, He knows 
Your every pang, on His dear breast 
You may pour out your bitter woes. 

6 Close to His wounded side, O hearts 

All bruised and torn, you may draw near ; 
Breathing a hope of that dear Heaven 
Where God shall wipe away each tear. 

MARTHA PEARSON SMITH. 1 

* Martha Pearson Smith was born at North Conway, New Hampshire, 
done considerable in secular and sacred verse; one of her best songs is "i 
greatest flnanoial helper " Woman in Sacred Sons" has bad. July 1, 188 



THE SUMMER LAND OF BLISS. 



1 Beyond this land of parting, losing, and leaving, 

Far beyond the losses, darkening this, 
And far beyond the taking and the bereaving, 
Lies the summer land of bliss. 

2 Beyond this land of toiling, sowing, and reaping, 

Far beyond the shadows, darkening this, 
And far beyond the sighing, moaning, and weeping, 
Lies the summer land of bliss. 

3 Beyond this land of sinning, fainting, and falling, 

Far beyond the doubtings, darkening this, 
And far beyond the griefs and dangers befalling. 
Lies the summer land of bliss. 

4 Beyond this land of waiting, seeking, and sighing, 

Far beyond the sorrows, darkening this, 
And far beyond the pain, and sickness, and dying, 
Lies the summer land of bliss. 

MRS. M. E. C BLADE 1880. 

}, 1836, of Puritan descendants, both Christian and patriots. She has 
which was set to music by Prof. Towne. Thus far she has been the 



TEMPERANCE. THE WORKERS CROSSING THE RIVER. COMFORT FOR THE BEREAVED. 

I WILL NOT LEAVE YOU COMFORTLESS. 

FIRST SUNG ON THE OCCASION OF MRS. DR. WM. JAYNE'S FUNERAL, 

Woids and Music by Mrs. GEO. CLINTON SMITH. Springfield. HI. 



633 



:g:"I will not leave you com - fort - less," My prom 

" I will not leave you com - fort - less," Tho' sore 

What though the storms of earth may lower, Their ter 

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rest, 
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Copyrighted, by Henry Huck, 1877. 



WE SHALL SLEEP, BUT NOT FOREVER. 

1 We shall sleep, but not forever : 

There will be a glorious dawn ; 
We shall meet to part, no, never ! 

On the resurrection morn ! 
From the deepest caves of ocean, 
From the desert and the plain, 
From the valley and the mountain, 
Countless throngs shall rise again. 
Chorus — We shall sleep, but not forever ; 
There will be a glorious dawn ; 
We shall meet to part, no, never ! 
On the resurrection morn ! 

2 When we see a precious blossom 

That we tended with such care, 
Rudely taken from our bosom, . 

How our aching hearts despair ! 
Round its little grave we linger, 

Till the setting sun is low, 
Feeling all our hopes have perished 

With the flower we cherished so. 

3 We shall sleep, but not forever, 

In a lone and silent grave ; 
Blessed be the Lord that taketh, 

Blessed be the Lord that gave. 
In the bright eternal city 

Death can never, never come ; 



In His own good time He'll call us 
From our rest to Home, Sweet Home. 

MRS. M. A. KIDDER. 

Copyright, 1865, in the "Diadem," and set to Music by s. j. vail. 
Used by permission Blglow & Main. 

NOW AND AFTERWARDS. 

1 Two hands upon the breast, 

And labor's done ; 
Two pale feet crossed in rest, 

The race is won ; 
Two eyes with coin-weights shut, 

And all tears cease ; 
Two lips where grief is mute, 

And we're at peace. 
So pray we oftentimes, mourning our lot, 
God, in His kindness, answereth not. 

2 Two hands to work addrest, 

Aye for His praise ; 
Two feet that never rest, 

But walk His ways ; 
Two eyes that look above, 

Thro' all their tears ; 
Two lips still breathing love, 

Not wrath nor fears ; 
So pray we afterwards, low on our knees ; 
Forgive those erring prayers, Father, hear these. 

DINAH MULOCH. 



634 



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CAST THY BURDEN. 



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TEMPERANCE. WORKERS CROSSING THE RIVER. COMFORT FOR TBE BEREA VED. 



635 



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TEMPERANCE. THE WORKERS CROSSING THE RIVER, COMFORT FOR THE BERliA VED. 



637 



FATHER. WHO IN THE OLIVE SHADE. 



MEMORIA. 



1 Father ! who in the olive shade, 

When the dark hour came on, 
Didst, with a breath of heavenly aid, 

Strengthen thy Son, — 
Oh ! by the anguish of that night, 

Send Thou us blest relief ; 
Or to the chastened, let Thy might 
Hallow this grief ! 

2 And Thou, that when the starry sky 

Saw the dread strife begun, 
Didst teach adoring faith to cry, 

Thy will be done ! 
By Thy meek spirit, Thou of all 

That e'er have mourned the chief — 
Thou Saviour ! if the stroke must fall, 
Hallow this grief ! 



MRS. FELICIA HEUAMg. 



NO MORE PAIN, 



1 Where shall we make her grave ? 
Oh ! where the wild flowers wave 

In the free air ! 
Where show'r and singing bird 
'Midst the young leaves are heard— 

There, lay her there. 

2 Harsh was the world to her — 
Now may sleep minister 

Balm for each ill ; 
Low on sweet nature's breast 
Let the meek heart find rest, 

Deep, deep and still. 

3 Oh ! then where wild flowers wave 
Make ye her mossy grave 

In the free air ! 
Where show'r and singing bird 
'Midst the young leaves are heard — 

There, lay her there. 



1 O suffering souls that long for ease, 
That cry for rest on bended knees, 
Your sighs and tears are not in vain, 
Beyond there shall be no more pain. 

2 In quiet, happy mansions there, 
Far from the tu rmoil and the care, 
O weary hearts that watch and weep, 
He giveth His beloved sleep. 

3 Rest, rest He saith, thy race is run, 
The battle fought, the victory won, 
Henceforth there is laid up for thee 
Love, joy and immortality ! 

ANNA H. C. HOWARD. 



ONE BY ONE. 

1 One by one life's zephyrs waft us 

Far away upon the main ; 
One by one rise its great billows, 

Filling us with fear and pain. 
One by one clouds gather o'er us, 

Sending sadness to our hearts ; 
One by one the sparkling sunbeams 

From hope's sun bid grief depart. 

2 One by one the workers leave us, 

To progress without their aid ; 
One by one their dear forms vanish, 

But their mem'ry will not fade. 
One by one we step up bravely 

On the stage of human life , 
One by one we win the laurels, 

As we conquer in the strife. 

ANNA BLANCK. 



HOME AT LAST. 



• In my Father's house are many 
for you. 



'And there shall be no more death, neither i 
xxi: i. 



nor crying."— Rev. 



1 " Home at last " on heavenly mountains, 

Heard the " Come and enter in ; " 

Saved by life's fair flowing fountains, 

Saved from earthly taint and sin. 

Refrain — u Home, sweet home," our home forever ; 

All the pilgrim journey past , 

Welcomed home to wander never, 

Saved through Jesus — " Home at last." 

2 Free at last from all temptation, 

No more need of watchful care ; 
Joyful in complete salvation, 

Given the victor's crown to wear. 

3 Saved to greet on hills of glory 

Loved ones we have missed so long ; 
Saved to tell the sinner's story. 
Saved to sing redemption's song. 

4 Welcomed at the pearly portal, 

Evermore a welcome guest, 
Welcomed to the life immortal, 
In the mansions of the blest. 

MRS. MAJRIA P. A. CROZIER. 

Set to Music by ira D. sankey. 






638 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Wm f Mi» 



Is the daughter of one of the early missionaries to Calcutta. She 
wrote the following well-known hymn, so appropriate for funeral oc- 
casions, about the year 1863. It has been set to beautiful and artistic 
music by Prof. W. A. Ogden. 



GATHERING HOME. 



' Ye shall be gathered one 1 



. O ye children of Israel."— Ps. xxvii: 42. 



1 They're gath'ring homeward from ev'ry land, 

One by one ! one by one ! 
As their weary feet touch the shining strand, 

Yes, one by one ! 
They rest with the Saviour, they wait their crown, 
Their travel-stained garments are all laid down ; 
They wait the white raiment the Lord shall prepare 
For all the. glory with Him shall share. 
Refkain — Gath'ring home ! gath'ring home ! 
Fording the river one by one ! 
Gath'ring home ! gath'ring home ! 
Yes, one by one ! 

2 Before they rest they pass thro' the strife, 

One by one ! one by one ! 
Thro' the waters of death they enter life, 
- Yes, one by one ! 

To some are the floods of the river still, 
As they ford on their way to the heavenly hill ; 
The waves to others run fiercely and wild, 
Yet they reach the home of the undefiled. 

3 We too must come to the river-side, 

One by one ! one by one ! 
We are nearer its waters each eventide, 

Yes, one by one ! 
We can hear the noise and dashing stream, 
Oft now and again, thro' our life's dream ; 
Sometimes the dark floods all the banks overflow, 
Sometimes in ripples and small waves go. 

4 Jesus, Redeemer, we look to Thee, 

One by one ! one by one ! 
We lift up our voices tremblingly, 

Yes, one by one ! 
The waves of the river are dark and cold, 
We know not the place where our feet may hold ; 
O Thou who didst pass through the deepest midnight, 
Now cmide us, and send us the staff of light. 



THERE'S A CITY, BRIGHT AND GOLDEN. 

Tune— "Come, Thou F mint." 

1 There's a city, bright and golden, 

Builded by a Father's hand, 
And I hear sweet angel music 

Floating from that heavenly land ; 
Softly now the sweet, low chanting, 

Cometh o'er the shining way, 
To the harp's harmonious music, 

God shall wipe all tears away. 



2 In that city, bright and golden, 

Jesus is the life and light ; 
We shall see His face forever, 

We shall know no sin nor night ; 
Still the golden harps are ringing 

O'er the city pure and bright, 
Chiming with the sweet, low singing, 

Singing, There shall be no night. 

3 In that city, bright and golden, 

Sweetest anthems shall we sing, 
Casting down our crowns before Him, 

In the palace of the King ; 
Louder, fuller swell the anthems, 

Sweet the glad harps ring again, 
Unto Him who bought our pardon, 

Glory, honor be, amen. 

ELIZA SHERMAK. 
By per. D. C. Cook. 

Itas. asait, 

Who died some three or four years since, was one of the most talented 
and earnest workers in the temperance ranks. At her funeral obse- 
quies, one, among her many Essays, entitled "Life," was read by 
Miss Mary Allen West. The following poem and touching tribute was 
written and read by Mrs. Helen Dietreich. 

ANOTHER REAPER GONE. 

1 Once more has the sea of sorrow 

O'er our hearts in billows rolled, 
While another precious reaper 

Has been gathered to the fold ; 
For the pilot, white and frigid, 

Came with floating sails arrayed, 
And the hopes of her trusting spirit 

In his cruel hands were laid ; 
But now, in life's sweet greeting, 

We received her warm embrace, 
As we pressed the lips that loved us, 

And gazed on the saintly face. 

2 There's a light gone from our presence, 

Like a star from out the sky ; 
Yet a silver halo, beaming 

Through the darkness, lingers nigh ; 
And the voice of our companion, 

From that realm so strangely near, 
Comes back with its gentle patience 

And its wealth of sunny cheer ; 
Where relieved of life's great burden, 

In the glow of woman's prime, 
She has won her crown of glory. 

In Messiah's wondrous clime. 

3 As the past wells up before us 

In a picture clear and bright, 
We behold her toiling upward 

Toward Zion's fertile height ; 
By the light of faith supernal 

Strewing truthful seed, that fell 
On the lone and barren mountain, 

In the deep and shaded dell, 



TEMPERANCE. TRIBUTE TO OUR WOMEN. 



639 



And amid the ripened harvest 
Left the gleaming sickle thrust, 

As she sought her Father's kingdom 
For the waiting post of trust. 

4 When we reach that glowing mansion, 

May the pearly gates divide 
For our sisters to receive us 

With a welcome by their side, 
And in closer bonds continue 

In the labor here begun, 
In that land of fadeless blossom 

Up beyond the rising sun ; 
Where, surpassing noonday splendor, 

Clasped by tender hands of love, 
Walks the Lord with His anointed 

In the golden streets above. 

MRS. HELEN DIETREICH. 
Galesburg, 111., 1862. 

FALLEN AT NOONTIDE. 

IN MEMOEIAM OF A WORKER. 

1 Fallen at noontide ! Time has set 
No silvery signet on thee yet. 
The crown of womanhood but now 
Rested refulgent on thy brow ; 

And, mightier than the sword, the pen 
Foremost among the ranks of men 
Had placed thee. Broad before thee lay 
An open path to fame to-day — 
Yet thou hast fallen. 

2 Fallen in harness ! War and strife, 
The conflict and the rush of life, 
Around thee surged ! No hour was thine 
For evening rest, for calm decline. 
Each sand recorded, as it run, 

Some task commenced, some duty done. 
In broken threads of gorgeous dyes 
Her half completed life-web lies, 
For she has fallen. 

3 Fallen 'mid loved ones ! Girlhood's tear 
Has dropped its pearl upon thy bier. 
The floral offerings which we lay 
Around thy quiet form to-day 

Bear love's rare perfume in their breath, 
And lend a softened line to death. 
No storied marble need we rear, 
For grateful love enshrines thee here, 
Where thou hast fallen. 

4 Fallen, yet risen ! Grand it seems 

To pass from shadow land, from dreams 
To open vision. Grand to see 
The laurels that are twined for thee ! 
Grand from the fleld of deadly strife 
To spring at once to endless life, 
In faith's fruition, there to prove 
A mightier than human love. 
Thus thou art fallen. 



5 Fallen among us ! So we bear 
The mantle thou wert wont to wear. 
So we the ravelled life-web take 
And patient weave for thy dear sake, 
And should some stitches prove to be 
But copies poor and faint of thee, 
Still other workers yet may come 
And bear the finished pattern home, 

When we are fallen. 

6 Fallen in Jesus ! sweetly sleep ! 
We bid no angels round thee keep 
Their solemn watch. For safely He 
Will keep thee to eternity ; 

And never weariness or pain 
Will break thy quiet rest again. 
There lurks no strife, no toil, no loss, 
In that calm shadow of the cross, 
Where thou art fallen. 

7 Fallen for a moment ! Lo ! the day 
When eveiy shadow flees away ! 

The morning comes, whose welcome dy 
Flood earth with hues of Paradise. 
Then shall we see thee bright and fair, 
As all Christ's ransomed angels are, 
And earthly love shall joy to see 
The heavenly love which set thee free, 
When thou seemed'st fallen. 

MARGARET I 



TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. DR. BERGEN. 

1 In the evening of life her sunset drew near, 
And, bright as the tints when autumn is here, 
Gleamed the gold of her soul in the glow of its sheen, 
When the Angel of Death hovered over the scene. 
And the name of Jesus still dwelt on her tongue, 
The praises, so many long years she had sung. 

2 In life she built not for ambition and p ower : 
God was her strength, her fortress and tower ; 

And she laid up her store where the moth and the rust 
Can never consume nor crumble to dust. 
Sainted and blest, she lived but to fill 
Her mission of love, unobtrusive and still. 

3 She comforted the sick, the sorrowing, the sad, 
With her soul's overflow their hearts she made glad ; 

. She sought out the abodes of sin and distress, 
And pointed *to Jesus who only can bless. 
An evangel, she went with the " water of life," 
" Be still " she said softly to sorrow and strife, 

4 In the highways and hedges, though weary, she went, 
Whispering low to her own heart " the Master hath 

sent ; " 
How her example rebukes all display ! 
For, humble and meek, she went on her way, 
Oh ! may her mantle on some of us fall, 
And her gentle teachings be heeded by all. 



640 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



5 She bore to the homes of the wounded and sore 
Sweet consolation from out her rich store ; 
And who shall tell what wanderers have caught 
High inspiration from all she hath wrought ? 

" She hath done what she could," and she rests now 
secure, 
In the home of the holy, the happy and pure. 

6 W. C. T. U. we placed on her grave, 

All deftly woven in the flowers we gave ; 
By loving hands the offerings were given, 
And e'en now their odor smelleth to heaven ; 
But a far sweeter fragrance her spirit hath shed, 
That still will live on when the flowers are dead. 

7 This sisterhood here will greet her no more, 
Nor wait for her coming through yon open door ; 
Nor list to her voice in the breathings of prayer ; 
But could she to-day, from her " home over there," 
Send a message the mystic chasm across, 

She would tell of her gain outwrought from our loss. 

8 She would bid us advance our cause, which she knew 
As noble and just, glorious and true ; 

While in God's own way the cure will be wrought. 



" Ours but to do " as Jesus has taught. 
Let us then labor on while nearing the shore, 
Till with her we clasp hands in the bright Evermore. 

MIRIAM H. WILSON. 
Springfield, III., 1879. 

IN MEMORIAM. 

Mrs. L. B, Barrett, Secretary nf the Massachusetts W. C. T. XL, died 
May 24, 1884. 

Above her placid brow th' immortelle twines, 

The victor's palm rests in her passive hand. 

Foremost among the strong, tried souls who stand, 

And wage a hopeless war 'gainst serried lines 

Of sin and woe, that ravage all the land, 

She still held place ; thrilled with a purpose grand, 

Yet calm, as one who all to God resigns. 

Out of the heat and burden of the day, 

Out of the stir, and throb, and ache of life, 

God called her ; and His loving hand stretched down 

To guide her, as she trod death's fearsome way, 

To greet her, weary from the bitter strife, 

With the blest words, "Well done, receive thy crown." 

ALICE CORA HAMMOND. 

Lynn, Mass. May 27, 1884. 



DEAR AS THOU WERT. 






INSCRIBED TO THE MEMORY OF MISS ALICE WEBB. 
*(FOR FUNERAL OCCASIONS.) 

Mrs. C H, SCOTT, by per, from "Royal Anthem Book." 



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TEMPERANCE. PARLOR ENTERTAINMENTS THE CRUSADE. 



641 



THE WOMAN'S CRUSADE. 
1873 1883. 

1 Lifting softly white tent curtains when the morning 

stars shone dim, 
Morning stars that sang together sweetly their eternal 

hymn. 
Looked they on the field of battle where Death 

reigned in triumph grim. 

2 And a cry came up before them, strong with terror, 

fierce with pain, 
From the stricken who were dying, from the mourner 

o'er the slain. 
Should they hasten ? should they linger ? — Ah ! the 

cry broke forth again ! 

3 One step forward, — one look backward, — there with- 

in the tent's white fold, 
Cradled children softly dreaming, love-enwrapped 

from harm and cold ; 
While o'er other mothers' darlings still the tide of 

battle rolled. 

4 Weaponless, unsandaled, feeble ; healing oil and bend 

ing rod, 

Only these and woman's weakness. Dared their 
frail feet touch the sod, 

Whence the right had slunk defeated, and its cham- 
pions sped to God ? 

5 Sing their story, stars of morning ; weak word-chaplets 

of renown 
Suit but feebly brows that bent them to the press of 

thorny crown ; 
God, who called them, knows, He only, what they 

bore, and what laid down. 

6 But He changed their rod of weakness to a scathing 

sword of might ; 
Filled their failing cruse of healing, fed by day and 

watched by night, 
Clad with armor, gave them weapons, strengthened 

them in every fight. 

7 Are they victors ? Ask the angels, who this long 

decade of fight 

Watched the slain and cheered the fainting, bending 
from their heavenly height ; 

Hark the answer dropping sweetly from the battle- 
ments of light. 

8 " Time is naught, nor death, nor sorrow ; fight thou 

on, but patient wait, 
Good is heir of the hereafter; triumph — glorious, 

ultimate, 
Hidden lies in God's to-morrow ; but can God's time 

be too late ? " 



THE WOMEN ANGELS. 

A LEGEND OF THE CRUSADE. 

1 In His tender love and pity 

Since the hoary days of old 
God's father heart is seeking 

Every wanderer from His fold. 
And His loving arms outstretching 

From the mountain to the sea, 
Send upon the winds His welcome ; 

" Bid my lost ones come to me." 

2 Bnt the murky clouds which gathered 

Over every wanderer's path, 
Shut out God's precious sunshine, 

Shut in His coming wrath ; 
While the accents of His pleadings 

Were unheard amid the roar, 
Which the mingled tones of conscience 

Were raising evermore. 

3 Then a smiling, sheeny figure, 

Most beautiful to view, 
Floated along the darkness 

Saying, " I will guide thee through ; " 
In her hand a brimming goblet 

Full of sparkling rosy wine 
In her eyes the baleful flamings 

Of graceless passions shine. 

4 Her voice was liquid silver, 

Its tones were low and sweet ; 
The flowers gleamed like jewels 

Which sprang beneath her feet. 
And the wanderers, bewildered 

By the perfume of her breath, 
All mirthmaking trod the pathway 

Whose end was endless death. 

5 Then the Father in His pity, 

From His golden throne above 
Gazing down upon His lost ones, 

Felt His heart o'erflow with love. 
"Who will go," He said, "down yonder 

Where the paths of ruin be, 
From the depths to save my darlings ? " 

And the women said, " Send me." 

6 Lo ! they went, those women angels, 

Plain of dress and sad of mien ; 
No halo light around them, 

On their robes no golden sheen ; 
But with resolute intention 

As on a high emprise, 
With the Father's loving pity 

Clear mirrored in their e\es. 

7 Plain words they spoke and homely 

As they went to call the lost, 
But they woke exultant echoes 

High among the seraph host ! 
And many a homesick wanderer 

Grasped tight the toilworn hand 
Outstretched to guide him safely 

To the distant fatherland. 



642 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONO. 



8 Then chanced — the legend tells us — 

This transformation rare : 
A shadow dimmed the beauty 

Of the maiden figure fair ; 
From out her brimming goblet 

Crawled swarms of loathsome things ; 
Her hot breath burnt the flowers 

And shrivelled up her wings. 

9 But on the homely women 

Flashed forth the Heavenly light, 
And silver wings unfolded 

And waved in open sight. 
The rescued wanderers blessed them, 

And the Father, in His love, 
Said : "Welcome be the angels 

Who guide my lost above." 
10 O brothers ! erring brothers ! 

Who have wandered from your way, 
Our Father's loving pity 

Still seeks you all to-day. 
Will you listen to the syren, 

Pursue the downward track? 
Or be won by women angels 

Whom God sends to call you back ? 

MARGARET E. WTNSLOW. 

Written for the first number of " Our Union." 

THE RUM-SELLER'S REMORSE. 

AN ECHO FKOM CRUSADE TIMES. * 

1 I have come home to you, mother. Father, your 

wayward son 
Has come to himself, at last, and known the harm he 

has done. 
I have bleached your hair out, father, more than the 

frosts of years, 
I've dimmed your kind eyes, mother, by many bitter 

tears. 

2 Since I left you, father, to work the farm alone, 
And bought a stock of liquors with what I called my 

own, 

I've felt ashamed to see you, I knew it broke you 
down, 

To think you had brought up a boy to harm his na- 
tive town. 

3 I've given it all up, mother ; I'll never sell it more, 
I've smashed the casks and barrels, I've shut and 

locked the door. 
I've signed the temperance pledge, while the woman 

stood and sang ; 
The clergymen gave three hearty cheers, and both the 

church bells rang. 

4 But one thing seemed to haunt me, as I came home 

to you ; 

Of all the wrongs that I have done not one can I undo. 

There's old Judge White just dropping into a drunk- 
ard's grave, 

I've pushed him down with every glass of whisky 
that I gave. 



5 And there is young Tom Elliott. He was a trusty 

lad, 

I made him drink the first hot glass of rum he ever 
had. 

And now he drinks night after night, and acts a ruf- 
fian's part, 

He has maimed his little sister, and broken his moth- 
er's heart. 

6 Then, there is Harry Warner, who married Bessie 

Hyde, 
He struck and killed their baby, when it was sick 

and cried. 
And I poured out the poison that made him strike 

the blow ; 
And Bessie raved and cursed me. She is crazy now, 

you know. 

7 I tried to act indifferent, when I saw the women come, 
There was Ryan's wife, whose children shivered and 

starved at home ; 
He had paid me, that same morning, his last ten cents 

for drink ; 
When I saw her poor pale face, it made me start and 

shrink. 

8 There was Tom Elliott's mother, wrapped in her wid- 

ow's veil, 

And the wife of Brown, the merchant, my whisky 
made' him fail. 

And my old playmate, Mary, she stood among the 
band, 

Her white cheek bore a livid mark, made by her hus- 
band's hand. 

9 It all just overcame me ! I yielded, then and there ; 
And Elder Thorp, he raised his hand, and offered up 

a prayer. 
I knew that he forgave me, and yet I had to think 
Of his own boy, his only son, whom I had taught to 

drink. 

10 So I have come back, father, to the home that gave 

me birth, 

And I will plow, and sow, and reap the gifts of moth- 
er earth. 

Yet, if I prove a good son now, and worthy of you 
two, 

My heart is heavy with the wrongs I never can undo. 



THE UNION SIGNAL, 

An answer to the question, -'What has the Crusade done for you? 

1 I've read its latest number through, 
Eagerly, as I always do, 
Rejoicing that there is unfurled 
A Signal true, to all the world, 
Warning that doom and ruin stand 
At door of " Home and Native Land." 



TEMPERANCE. PARLOR ENTERTAINMENTS. THE CRUSADE. 



643 



2 I've paused o'er many a cherished name, 
Have viewed the wondrous gentle flame 
That melts all creeds to pliant mould, 
Formed when the blessed Master told 
Who should accounted worthy be, 
Even those who " did it unto me." 

3 Although the hour be late at night, 
I take the pen and haste to write 
(Even while midnight oil must burn), 
That dear old workers all may learn 
Of one who went ten years ago, 
With firm resolve to face the foe ; 

Who ne'er has learned the cause to yield, 
Though changed her home to distant field. 

4 One who through screened or prison door 
Saw visions, all undreamed before, 

Who learned anew the power of sin, 
As these dark haunts she entered in, 
Sweetly sustained by Him who gave 
His precious life from sin to save. 

5 What hath the crusade done for me ? 
Shown doors of opportunity ; 
From restful home of quiet ease, 

Where friends and self I wrought to please, 
Led out to heights grand and sublime, 
Displayed new charts for life and time. 

6 As now I glance adown the years, 
Recall the songs, the prayers, the tears, 
In church, in prison, and saloon, 

•What wonder there has come so soon 
To be one mighty praying band, 
Whose faith and works circle our land. 

7 As I have read the annals through, 
Recalled the old, received the new, 
Which span the wonderful decade, 
The then and nov) of our crusade, 

The record glows with this one thought : 
Behold the wonders He hath wrought ! 

8 The prayer of faith, it does prevail ; 
We gathered then at marts of sale ; 
We're coming in this later hour 

To plead our cause in halls of power ; 
And while we come with voice of love, 
Bearing the emblem of the dove, 
We also rear on banners high, 
Our matchless eagle of the sky. 

9 Shall the proud pinions trail in dust, 
That hover o'er each sacred trust ? 
Remember, mightier than the sword 
Is declaration of our Lord : 

The nation that forsaketh me, 
That nation shall forsaken be. 

MRS. L. H. WASHINGTON. 
Essex, Conn., Jan. 7, 1884. 



TEN YEARS AGO. 

December 23, 1873-1883. 

1 From the hallowed hush of churches dim ; 
From wrestling prayer, and triumphant hymn ; 
From a self-surrender, wrought through pain, 
Of hopes deferred and efforts vain ; 

From a consecration fresh and new, 
And its baptismal, holy dew ; — 
Hushed and reverent, silent and slow, 
Out the devoted women go. 
Two by two march the praying brigade,-— 
Two by two to the holy crusade ! 

2 With faces lit with the olden glow, 
Still the marching myriads go ! 

Still fancy hears the low, rhythmic beat — 
The gentle fall of willing feet! 
All o'er the land, still memory sees 
The hosts that enlisted on their knees, 
In silence marching, softly and slow, 
As in the days ten years ago ! 

3 Then the bugle call to women came ; 
Then the fiery baptism's touch of flame ! 
Then the helpless on the Helper laid 
That woe too great for human aid ! 

Then they leaned with all their weight of care 
Heaven's altar on ; and offered there 
Each quivering fibre of their lives, 
Their very selves, for sacrifice ! 

4 O ye, who marched with a martyr's faith 
To meet earth's bitterest ban and wrath, 

. And dauntless, where the strong might flee, 
Met fiendish men with prayer and plea ! 
O gently reared, noble, pure and sweet — 
Dark paths grew hallowed 'neath your feet ; 
And, with your presence, came floating in 
A breath of heaven to dens of sin ! 

5 O band that walked 'neath the wondering skies, 
Clad in the robe of self-sacrifice — 

You touched with that shining robe's outline 

The border rim of the divine ! 

Nor is martyr's wreath too bright or good 

To crown such saintly womanhood 

As gave its all — aye, with joyful hand — 

For God, for Home, for Native Land ! 



AWAKENED. 

In answer to the question, " Do I dream, or is this real ? " 

1 No, ah no ! thou art not dreaming, 
Better far than simply seeming, 
Truer than dim faint ideal, 

Is the living present real. 

2 See ye not yon waving banner ? 
Hear ye not the glad hosanna? 
Sure it is no phantom throng, 

Which bears the flag and sings the song. 



644 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



3 Behold they march with rapid stride ! 
Each cheers the comrade by his side, 
With peace, joy, love and life to gain, 
And all to lose, if basely slain. 

4 With arms presented now they stand, 
In one long phalanx brave and grand; 
And bid defiance to the thrall 

Of that grim tyrant Alcohol. 

5 Oh ! blest awak'ning of this hour, 
To see him shorn of his dark power ; 
To see strong men throw off his chain,— 
The weak and faint take heart again. 

6 Then bid adieu to darksome night, 
And hail with joy the breaking light, 
Behold the dawn is grandly beaming ! 
Ah no ! my friend, this is not dreaming. 

MRS. LUCY WASHINGTON. 

Jacksonville. 111. 1878. 
In "Echoes of Song." 

THE OLD AND THE NEW CRUSADE. 

FOK MEMORIAL DAY. DEC. 23, 1S73. — DEC. 23, 1883. 
DEDICATED TO THE W. C T. TJ. 

1 Tell us not, song of poet, tales of how their white 

plumes tossed 
Like the snow-capped waves in sea-storm, when the 

knightly lances crossed, 
And Christian warred with Saracen for tomb, beloved 

and lost. 

2 Blood and anguish little counted, life and courage all 

unpriced, 
Gave they to this holy warfare, — nought too much, 

yet nought sufficed ; 
For an empty tomb they battled, these — the living 

Christ. 

3 Christ, the Christ alive, yet buried, wrapped and 

hidden in His own, 
Under fold on fold of evil, till the heart, meant for His 

throne, 
Is a grave from whose dark doorway none could roll 

away the stone. 

4 By such tombs watched weeping women, darksome 

night and dreary day, 

For one sight of Christ the Master, through the fold- 
ing shroud of clay, 

For the coming of an angel who could roll the stone 
away. 

5 And God sent, not one but many, soft of word and 

sweet of face, 
And the stony portal trembled at this miracle of grace, 
Till the buried Christ awakened, and His presence 

filled the place. 

6 From that day, where'er the evil shrouds the good in 

hearts of men, 
Is this miracle of wonder wrought afresh, until again 
Good, that stifled in its grave-clothes, reappears to 

mortal ken. 



7 And defeated souls and fettered, loosed from bonds, 

in freedom stand, 
Ready both to do and suffer at the King's divine 

command ; 
And the angel touch that frees them — is a lovino- 

woman's hand. 



MAKY L. DICKfNSON". 



MUSTERING THE BOYS. 

1 Hark ! they come, hear the beating and the throbbing 

of the drum, 
To muster up the boys at dawn ; they come, yes, here 

they come. 
Our country is in danger, boys, Oh ! rouse ye, every one, 
To meet the foe we now must go, nor wait the rising 
sun. 
Chorus — Hark ! they come ; hark ! they come ; 

Hear the beating and the throbbing of the 
drum ; 
Hark ! they come ; hark ! they come ; 

Hear the beating and the throbbing of the 
drum. 

2 Hear the tread, firm and steady, and the solemn, lone- 

some tones, 

The music cleaves the misty air and mingles with our 
moans ; 

May heaven bless our soldier boys ; they love their 
friends and home, 

But hear the call, their country's call — let every pa- 
triot come. 

3 Cruel war — love is bleeding and thou heedest not, 

O war. 
But gaily float your flags on high, and to destruction 

draw. 
You loudly prate of glory won, and lead with fiery 

breath. 
And bugle blast and cannon's roar, into the jaws of 

death. 

4 Pride and power are thy pinions, and they float their 

raven wings 

Where hissing shot and shrieking shell doth pierce 
with deadly stings, 

'Mid throbbing drum and battle-cries the crimson life- 
tide flows, 

Till pale and cold and still they lie, and night with 
starlight glows. 

5 Yet they left home and loved ones, and so firmly i 

marched they on, 

For country's sake they fought, they fell ; — the vic- 
tory was won. 

The cry to arms we cease to hear ; the booming of 
the gun 

O'er peaceful fields no more shall sound, for well their 
work was done. 



TEMPERANCE. COLD WA TEE ARMY SOJYGS. 



645 



6 Hero boys, we will ever with our grateful songs of 
. praise 
Float freedom's flag of hallowed stripes, and costly- 
starry rays, 
And proudly we will trace your names on marble and 

on stone, 
While lonely hearts shall dirges chant, and sighing 
say they're gone. 
Chorus — They are gone, they are gone ; 

They were dying 'mid the throbbing of the 
drum. 
They are gone, they are gone ; 

They were dying 'mid the throbbing of the 
drum. 

EMMA E, ORENDORFF. 
Delavau. 111. 1884. 
Set to Music by Prof. J. R. Sweney, Chester, Pa. 



THE RIGHT WAY. 

C. M. 

1 At home, abroad, by day or night, 

In country or in town, 
If asked to drink, we'll smile and turn 
Our glasses upside down. 

2 The ruby wine, or bright champagne, 

Or lager rich and brown, 
We'll never touch, but always turn 
Our glasses upside down. 

3 If friends shall say 'tis good for health, 

'T will all your troubles drown, 
We'll dare to differ and to turn 
Our glasses upside down. 

4 Companions gay and maidens fair, 

And men of high renown, 
May sneer ; but never mind, we'll turn 
Our glasses upside down. 

5 We mean to conquer in this strife, 

To win the victor's crown, 
And so we'll always bravely turn 
Our glasses upside down. 



Refrain — We are coming, we are coming, our native 
land to save, 
We are coming, O Columbia, the young, the 
true, the brave. 

2 You may see us onward marching adown the path of 

time, 
Our bands increasing day by day — a multitude sub- 
lime ; 
From hillsides and from valleys you may hear our 

tramping feet, 
Like the billows of the ocean as upon the .rocks they 

beat. 
A mighty host advancing, we wax each clay more 

strong, 
How its echoes glad resounding from each hill, and 

rock, and glen, 
" For God and home and native land ! " Loud swells 

the grand "Amen." 

3 Oh ! the conflict is before us with a fearful giant foe, 
But our armor bright is ready, we will give him blow 

for blow ; 
In the strife we will not falter, for the victory is sure ; 
Even we shall yet behold it, if we to the end endure. 
Quail then, monster, at our onset, O thou demon fierce 

and strong, 
Thou who dar'st our land to darken with the foul and 

bitter wrong ; 
Like returning tides that slowly, surely sweep along 

the strand, 
We will hurl thee, hateful tyrant, from our own, our 
native land. 
Refrain — We are coming, we are coming, home and 
native land to save ; 
In the name of God we're coming, we, the 
young, the true, the brave. 

META E. E. TBORNE, 1884. 



HELEN E. BROWN. 



THE CHILDREN'S RALLYING SONG. . 

Tune— "We are coming. Father Abra'm." 

1 We are coming, O Columbia, a brave ten million 

more, 
From Mississippi's winding streams and from New 

England's shore, 
From rocky northern hilltop, from sunny southern 

plain, 
From Mexico's blue waters, and from far Pacific 



COLD WATER ARMY PLEDGE. 



1 God help me evermore to keep, 

This promise that I make ! 

I will not chew, not smoke, nor 

Nor poisonous liquors take. 

2 For poison drinks are very bad, 

I know the names of some ; 
Ale, brandy, whisky, wine and beer, 
With cider, gin, and rum. 

3 I'll try to get my little friends, 

To make this promise too ; 
And every day I'll try to find 
Some temperance work to do. 



ANNA GORDON. 



646 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



TO THE COLD WATER ARMY. 

Tune— "Salfhas never been told." 

1 We can hear the glad sound of their coming, 

The fall of their feet by the way, 
And we know by the murmurs which reach us, 

That numbered by thousands are they. 
'T is a right royal road they are treading, 

These children so sturdy and true, 
And above them floats out a bright banner — 

The banner of red, white and blue. 

2 'T is the army of children, yet ever 

To conquests anew they march on, 
And though many the enemies conquered, 

Their warfare is hardly begun. 
Not a fear of the demon Intemperance 

Lurks near them as onward they go ; 
But they cry, " We are valiantly ready 

To strike at the heart of our foe." 

3 O children ! be brave and be steadfast ; 

To you do we look to fulfill 
All these hopes which the heart of the nation 

Now feels but the embryo thrill. 
To the winds toss your banner out proudly, 

The red, white and blue, let it wave ; 
For no flag was there ever unfolded 

More worthy to shadow the brave. 

BELLE KELLOGG TOWNE. 1884. 



COLD WATER ARMY MARCHING SONG. 

1 Hark ! hark ! the battle-cry 

Is sounding o'er the hiH, 
Quick to your duty now, 

And haste the ranks to fill ; 
Let us rally round our standard, 

Like the heroes of the past, 
And to those who fight with courage bold, 
There's victory at last. 
Chorus — Marching on together, 
Singing ever as we go, 
Truth shall be our watchword, 

And the world our traitor foe ; 
But' salvation is our helmet, 

And our sword can never fail, 
For our Captain we will nobly fight, 
And in His strength prevail. 

2 Who will join our army ? 

Hark ! we call for volunteers, 
Yonder in the distance see, 

Our beacon light appears ; 
When our way is dark and dreary, 

We will keep it still in view, 
And we'll fight the battle of the cross, 

And bear our colors true, 

3 Who will join our army ? 

Though the struggle may be long, 
Nobly we will brave it, . 

For our hearts in God are strong ; 



If we trust our great Commander, 

Aid and comfort we shall find, 
And he'll drive the foe before us, 

Like the chaff before the wind. 
Onward, ever onward, 

Then our steady course we'll keep, 
Onward, ever onward, 

Till we climb the mountain steep ; 
For our Captain's gone before us, 

And the war will soon be past, 
He has promised all His faithful ones 

A glorious crown at last. 

FAJiNY CROSBY. 

Set to Music by t. e. perkins. 
By per. Biglow & Main. 



THE COLD WATER ARMY, 
OR THE ROYAL ARMY. 

" Put on the whole armor of God." Eph, vi : 7, 
Old Tune—" Memories of Earth" 

1 We're a band of valiant soldiers, 

And we're out upon review, 
We have joined the royal army, 
And we ever will be true. 
Chorus — Come and hoist the flag for Jesus, 
Marching to the heav'nly land ; 
Come and hoist the flag for Jesus, 
Come and join our temperance band. 

2 We're a band of merry marchers, 

As have ever trod the field, 
And with Jesus as our Captain, 
Then we know the foe must yield. 

3 And we're every one reciting, 

Come and gird the armor on, 
For we want to muster forces now, 
To gain the promised crown. 

4 Come and rally round our banner, 

For we every one must fight, 
And our war- cry is Hosanna, 

Trusting in our Captain's might. 

MAY CLIFTON. 

Set to Music by w. A. ogden. 
Copyright 1883, by Emma Pitt. In "Gospel Light." 



TRUE COURAGE. 

Tune—" Never be afraid to work for Jesus." 

1 Never be afraid, O patient workers, 
Though thy foes are gathering fast ; 
Darkest hour proclaims the daylight, 
Then be faithful to the last. 
Chorus — Never be afraid ! never be afraid ! 
Never, never, never ; 
Our good cause is blessed by Jesus, 
Then, Oh ! never be afraid. 



TEMPERANCE. COLD WATER ARMY SONGS. 



647 






2 Never be afraid, O weary workers, 

Stronger power than man's shall sway, 
Overturning wicked plotters ; 

Brief their triumph, brief their day. 

3 Never be afraid, faithful workers, 

For thy cause is just and right, 

Higher wisdom seek to guide thee, 

Truth is power, truth is light. 

MRS. S, M. S. WOODIN. 
Detroit, Mich., Jan., 1884. 
The Chorus may he omitted, if desired.) 



TREMBLE, KING ALCOHOL. 

THE CHILDREN'S TEMPERANCE MARCH. 

Respectftilly inscribed to Miss Frances E. Wfflard. 

1 From the North and the South, from the East and the 

West, 
We, the boys and the girls, are enlisting for life, 
And are rising by thousands a foe to contest, 

While the Lord, who hath called us, is leading the 
strife. 
Chorus — We now do our utmost this evil to quell, 

We've enlisted to war 'gainst the fiend of 
the cup, 
And the daj r will soon come which our elders 
foretell, 
Tremble, King Alcohol, we shall grow up. 

2 Now this foe may grand palaces build yet awhile, 

And may deck them with gold from his traffic in 
souls ; 
But the doom shall be sealed of an evil so vile, 
When the child of the present shall stand at the 
polls. 

3 Then let trumpets of victory sound through the land, 

And this king plead in vain while his minions shall 
rave ; 
For the conquest is sure when the Lord doth com- 
mand 

All His earnest recruits who their country would 
save. 

miss m. e. seryoss, by per. 
Set to Music by adam geibel. 



MARCHING ORDERS. 

DEDICATED TO THE COLD WATER ARMY. 

Tune— "Christmas." 

C. M. 

1 The marching orders we've received, 

The children's temp'rance band ; 
Our color blue, our motto true, 
The soldiers of the land. 

2 Already has the war begun, 

Many the battles fought, 
And many vict'ries have been won 
Against the fatal draught. 



3 So right and left we onward move, 

All keeping place and time, 
The army brave, marching to save 
From the liquor traffic's crime. 

4 And as we move in rank and file 

We'll drum for volunteers ; 
And far and wide, on every side, 
Shall ring our welcoming cheers. 

5 No longer will our homes despair, 

Nor children cry for bread ; 
With frugal care and toil to share, 
All will be clothed and fed. 



WE ARE COMING. 

COLD WATER ARMY SONG. 

1 We are coming, we are coming, 

An army bright and strong ; 
We are coming, we are coming, 

To help the cause along. 
Our hearts are young and hopeful, 

Our motives pure and true, 
So, men and women, if you wish, 
We'll march along with you. 
Chorus — We'll march along with you, 

We'll march along with you, ' 

So, men and women, if you wish, 

We'll march along with you. 

2 We are coming, we are coming, 

Like David, long ago, 
We are coming, we are coming, 

To lay the giant low ; 
For when we cast our ballots, 

He'll surely lose his head, 
And on our banners we will write, 

That wicked king is dead ! 

3 We are coming ; yes, we're coming, 

An army bright and strong ; 
We are coming ; yes, we're coming, 

To help the cause along. 
We're proud to show our colors. 

The red, the white, the blue, 
So men and women, if you wish, 

We'll march along with you. 

MRS. ALEXANDER COOPER. 1884. 



CAPTAIN "NO! 



Old Tunes—" I want i 



>e an Angel," (E flat). 
Breaking," (B flat). 



1 The Morning Light is 



1 Come, join the famous army 

That's soon to lead the world, 
And let its glorious banner 

Be proudly now unfurled ; 
For we've a gallant captain 

Who leads where'er we go- 
Hurrah for our brave captain ! 

Our gallant Captain " No ! " 



648 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



2 We want the best and bravest 

From every farm and town 
To trample on the evil, 

And put its mischief down ; 
We'll have no sneaking coward 

Who is afraid to go 
Right in the fiercest battle 

With gallant Captain " No ! " 

3 Our men are brave and hearty, 

Well fed, and staunch, and true; 
The day you come among us 

You'll never learn to rue, 
For we are never ragged, 

Black eyes we never show ; 
Oh ! we're a jolly army 

That follows Captain " No ! " 

4 The enemy is watchful, 

He keeps his spies around — 
He'd laugh in fiendish glory 

To see us losing ground ; 
But we will ever show him 

We are not dull nor slow ; 
We'll vanquish him by shouting, 

" Hurrah ! for Captain ' No ! '" 



MATTIE PEARSON SMITH. 1883. 

WHO WILL JOIN OUR ARMY? 

1 Oh ! we are all engaged in the great and noble strife, 
That's always being waged on the battle-field of life ; 
We've girded on the sword and our armor is all bright, 
And these our marching words, " For the Truth and 

for the Right." 
Chorus — Oh ! come and join our army, 
Oh ! come and join our army, 
Oh ! come and join our army, 
" For the Truth and for the Right." 

2 Our leader is the Lord, in the greatness of His might, 
The spirit is the sword that conquers in the fight, 
No weapons could avail us that were of earthly power, 
When hosts of sin assail us, and trying is the hour. 

3 Then let us look to Jesus whose arm is strong to save, 
And who can free us from death and from the grave ; 
And when the strife is ended our glory then shall be, 
By angel bands attended, dear Lord, to rise to Thee. 

KATE CAMERON. 
Copyright, 1869, in " Notes of Joy." T/sed by per. Hubert P. Main, Mus. Doc. 

COME AND HELP US. 

1 Don't you know how much you're needed 

In the army for the right ? 
Loud the bugle notes are calling, 
Full the enemy's in sight. 

Wont you come and join our army, 
Join God's army for the right ? 

2 Don't you see their hosts advancing, 

Flushed with riot, pride and wrong ? 
Shouting loud they'll surely triumph, 
Full of ribald jest and song. 



3 Don't you know who is our Leader ? 
Lord of Hosts, He is our King ; 
Stand before Him ! Pray while working ! 
Songs of victory soon we'll sing. 

MRS. SARAH M. SYKES WoODIN. 

Detroit, Mich., Jan., 1884. 

THE WHISKY-JUG'S REVELATION. 

1 Here is plenty of poverty, shame and disgrace, 
An imbecile mind and a red, bloated face, 

A cold, stony heart and a trembling hand, 
A strong man so feeble he scarcely can stand. 
Friend, look at these pictures awhile ere you pass, 
They cost little money — just ten cents a glass. 

2 Here are dirt and disorder, starvation and cold, 
And misery greater than words ever told ; 
Here are anger and hatred, contention and strife, 
A hell for a home and existence for life. 
Friends, think of these evils awhile ere you pass, 
And say if you'll buy them at ten cents a glass. 

3 Here are ruin, perdition, remorse and despair, 
Aye, wretchedness greater than words can declare 
Long ages of pain for short moments of mirth, 
Souls bitterly cursing the hour of their birth., 

O friend, dare you suffer such warnings to pass, 
And swallow destruction at ten cents a glass ? 



ANGIE FULLER. 



THE PLEASANT GLASS. 

Composed after reading the remark of a deaf-mute : 
" We went into a saloon to take a pleasant glass." 

Oh ! look not on the " pleasant glass," 

Though it most brightly gleams, 
For with a curse, a woe untold, 

Its every globule teems. 
Oh ! touch it not, the " pleasant glass," 

Though good it be to view, 
For it with sharp and cruel thorns 

Your path of life can strew. 
Oh ! drink it not, the " pleasant glass," 

Though warm and sweet it taste, 
For it has power to work more ill 

Than pencil ever traced. 
Oh ! dash it down, the " pleasant glass," 

As poison, ruin, death, 
Turn quickly from it as you would 

Turn from the spoiler's breath. 
Yes, dash it down, until it lies 

In fragments at your feet, 
For only thus will your escape 

From ruin be complete. 
And call it not the " pleasant glass," 

For ruined millions know 
That poisoned, cursed, are fitter words 

Its subtle power to show. 

ANOELINE FULLER. 

One of the Silent Sisterhood. 
Savanna, 111. 1883. 



TEMPERANCE ENTERTAINMENTS. COLD WATER ARMY. SONGS AND RECITATIONS. 



649 



ON THE LORD'S SIDE 



"Thine are we, David, and on thy side, thou sou of Jesse." I Chrou.— xii : 19. 

Words and Music 1 
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Miss F. K. HAVERGAL. 




1. Who is on the Lord's side? Who will serve the King? Who will be His help - ers Oth - er lives to bring? 




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Who will leave the world's side?Who will face the foe? Who is on the Lord's side? Who for Him will go? 



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Not for weight of glory, 

Not for crown and palin, 
Enter we the army, 

Raise the warrior-psalm. 
But for love that claimeth 

Lives for whom he died, 
He whom Jesus nameth 

Must be on His side. 
By Thy love constraining, 

By Tny grace divine, 
"We are on the Lord's side, 

Saviour, we are Thine i 

Jesus, Thou hast bought us, 

Not with gold or gem, 
But with Thine own life-blood, 

For Thy diadem. 
With Thy blessing filling 

Each who comes to Thee, 
Thou hast made us willing, 

Thou hast made us free, 
By Thy grand redemption, 

By Thy grace divine, 
We are on the Lord's side, 

Saviour, we are Thine ! 



4 Fierce may be the conflict, 

Strong may be the foe, 
But the King's own army 

None can overthrow. 
Round His standard ranging 

Victory is secure, 
For His truth unchanging 

Makes the triumph sure, 
Joyfully enlisting 

By Thy grace divine, 
We are on the Lord's side, 

Saviour, we are Thine ! 

5 Chosen to be soldiers 

In an alien land, 
" Chosen, called and faithful ' : 

For our Captain's band. 
In the service royal, 

Let us not grow cold, 
Let us be right loyal, 

Noble, true and bold. 
Master, Thou wilt keep us, 

By Thy grace divine, 
Always on the Lord's side, 

Saviour, always Thine! 



650 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



LIBERTY. 

Characters : — Goddess of Liberty, Fairies, Youth 
struggling with temptations, Band of Hope. 

PLAN OP STAGE. 



CURTAIN'S OP FLAGS. 




THRONE. 
ELEVATED PLATFORM. 




FIRST PLATFORM. 
CURTAINS. 



The stage, profusely decorated with flowers, flags, 
and shrubbery. Liberty dressed in the national colors, 
with red and blue predominating. Some of the fairies 
dressed in blue, some in red, and some in white. The 
little girls representing fairies should not be more than 
eight years of age. 

Band of Hope. — The girls dressed in three colors 
combined, white predominating ; the boys wearing blue 
scarfs. 

Liberty, Fairies, Band of Hope, all carrying flags. 

Before the curtain rises, instrumental music. Air : 
" The Star Spangled Banner." Liberty and Fairies 
occupy the elevated platform. Youth and Band of 
Hope occupy the first platform. They enter and pass 
before the elevated platform. 

Liberty standing before the throne when the curtain 
rises. 

Liberty. 

Again I greet this day with tender love, 

And pray the powers high to bless and keep 

The land. This Western world so bright with flowers. 

Has been my steadfast faith a hundred years. 

'Tis Joy, and Peace, and Love, that's Liberty ; 

They are the subjects of my watchful care. 

All, all that elevates the soul with beauty : 

The song of birds, the sunset's crimson clouds, 

The fragrant flowers, the gorgeous rainbows, 

Are earthly symbols bright of Liberty. 

The human mind in harmony with these, 

Has never need of laws that are restraint. 

As well restrain the sunshine and the air ! 

Far better these were banished from the earth, 

Than cherish that which drives out peace and joy. 

My soul rejoices over every deed 

Performed to fill the land with happy homes. 

I've seen the liberation of a race 

With such a joy as only gods can know ; 

Such deed as that is one uplifting wave 

That bears upon its crest a sinking ship, 

And casts it safely forward on the beach. 



Enter Fairies. (Drums heard.) 

Fairies. 
A mortal comes, 

We hear his moan, 
From distant drums. 

Why does he roam ? 
This joyful day 

All should be gay, 
And hail with mirth 

-The nation's birth. 

Liberty and Fairies conceal themselves behind flags. 
Youth. 

Weakness within; temptations without. A thousand 
demons are holding out the wine-glass as the surest way 
to secure my soul. Their open doors entice day and 
night. They scoff and jeer when I stand, and revel in 
fiendish delight when I fall. This solitude has witnessed 
a hundred resolves, but of what avail ? I go back to 
human companionship but to fall ! Oh ! for a hermit's 
cell! Oh ! for prison's bolts and bars ! Anywhere, any- 
where, to escape this whirlpool of temptation that is 
drawing me to its centre. Is this the boasted land of 
liberty? The stars and stripes are waving over a tyrant 
from Satan's dominions, that is working the ruin of 
America's sons, and overthrowing her freedom. We 
believe ourselves strong. We see the danger upheld by 
society and laws. We awake from our dream of safety 
to find ourselves bound. What is the bondage of labor ? 
The soul is free. Oh ! it isslavery indeed that debases 
honor and manhood— that dethrones reason. O God, 
have pity ! 

Liberty and Fairies appear. Liberty seated on the 
throne, her head bowed. 

Liberty. 

Alas ! alas ! Why are my powers fixed ? For one 
such moan the nation should arise. I must have human 
help. Away, away ! 

Fairies, disappear and re-enter. 
Fairies. 

They come, they come, 

A valiant band, 
A million strong 

Throughout the land. 
From South and North, 

And East and West, 
They rally forth 

At thy behest. 

Band op Hope (singing). 

Air— "Yankee Doodle." 

America's sons and daughters rise, 

When liberty is calling, 
Our hearts beat high, our steps are firm, 

Our souls with ardor glowing. 



TEMPERANCE. ENTERTAINMENTS. COLD WATER ARMY. SONGS AND RECITATIONS. 



Chorus — (waving flags). 

Wave our starry banners bright 
O'er nothing but the true ; 

Inspire our hearts to thus protect 

The red and white and blue. 

We've joined to make the land as free 

As sunshine and the air, 
Establish and maintain the cause 

That blesses everywhere. Cho- 
The aged look to us in hope, 

The children for protection ; 
The fallen plead for helping hands, 

We march in their direction. Cho. 
To voters, shame ! lo, in the dust 

They do our colors drag ; 
We'll soon make laws that will uphold 

The symbols of our flag. Cho. 
Three cheers for our dear native land, 

For slavery's abolition ; 
A greater blessing soon we'll hail, 

When we have prohibition. Cho. 

(Tableau, all waving flags and colored lights.) 

EMMA R. NORTON. 1883. 
In " Union Signal." 

SOWING SEED. 

1 " What shall it be ? " a pretty urchin said, 
As on his mother's knee he leaned his head, 
With some faint stirring of a future plan ; 

" What shall I be when I shall be a man ? " 
"My child," the mother smiled, "I could not tell, 
One cannot guess the future very well ; 
But high or low, or rich or poor, you can, 
My darling, be a splendid temperance man." 

2 A flash of wonder lit the hazel eyes, 
Uplifted to her own in swift surprise ; 

" You mean I must not drink, it is a sin ; 

Well, if I mustn't, couldn't I begin, 

Even as little as I am to-day, 

To be a ' splendid temperance man ' in play ? " 

She clasped him in the gladness of her joy, 

And whispered, " Yes, my dear, my precious boy." 

3 It was not long ago, counted by days ; 
But could you see his earnest, serious gaze, 
As oftentimes beside his mother's chair, 
He talks of drunkards with a childish air, 
And with his loving, rosy lips apart, 

He vows that he will never break her heart, 
And seals the vow with kisses, you would say, 
He is a temperance boy and not in play. 

4 I think some day a noble man will stand, 
And lift unto the world a warning hand, 

I think that he will paint with vivid tongue 

The sorrow that a million hearts hath wrung ; 

And this I know, whatever else may be, 

He learned his lesson at his mother's knee, 

And whatsoever may befall life's plan, 

That temperance boy will make a temperance man 



5 O mothers, in the sweetness of your home, 
Remember that your boy will sometime roam, 
That he will wander from your tender care, 
And where he cannot hear your voice in prayer ; 
And now before shall come that hour of woe, 
Train him to walk as you would have him go, 
And by and by the harvest you shall scan 
Will be a brave, God-fearing temperance man. 

MRS. O. W. WHITE, 1882. 

"Geneva Times." 

NOTHING AND SOMETHING. 

1 It is nothing to me, the Beauty said, 
With a careless toss of her pretty head ; 
The man is weak, if he can't refrain 
From the cup you say is fraught with pain. 

2 It was something in her after years, 

When her eyes were drenched with burning tears, 
And she watched in lonely grief and dread, 
And startled to hear a staggering tread. 

3 It is nothing to me, the Mother said ; 
I have no fear that my boy will tread 
The downward path of sin and shame, 
And crush my heart and darken his name. 

4 It was something to her when that only son 
From the path of right was early won, 
And madly cast in the flowing bowl, 

A ruined body, and sin-wrecked soul. 

5 It is nothing to me, the Merchant said, 
As over his ledger he bent his head ; 
I'm busy to-day with tare and tret, 
And have no time to fume and fret. 

6 It was something to him when over the wire 
A message came from a funeral pyre — 

A drunken conductor had wrecked a train, 
And his wife and child were among the slain. 

7 It is nothing to me, the young man cried ; 
In his eye was a flash of scorn and pride — 
I heed not the dreadful things ye tell, 

I can rule myself I know full well. 

8 'T was something to him when in prison he lay, 
The victim of drink, life ebbing away, 

As he thought of his wretched child and wife, 
And the mournful wreck of his wasted life. 

9 It is nothing to me, the voter said ; 
The party s loss is my greatest dread — 
Then gave his vote for the liquor trade, 
Though hearts were crushed and drunkards made. 

10 It was something to him in after life, 
When his daughter became a drunkard's wife, 
And her hungry children cried for bread, 
And trembled to hear their father's tread. 

11 Is it nothing for us to idly sleep 

While the cohorts of death their vigils keep, 
To gather the young and thoughtless in — 
And grind in our midst a grist of sin ? 



652 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



12 It is something — yes, all, for us to stand, 
And clasp by faith our Saviour's hand — 
To learn to labor, live, and fight, 
On the side of God and changeless right. 



MBS. FRANCES E. W. HARPER. 1882. 



THE PRICE OF A DRINK. 

1 " Five cents a glass ! " Does any one think 
That that is really the price of a drink ? 

" Five cents a glass," I hear you say, 

" Why, that isn't very much to pay." 

Ah, no, indeed ; 'tis a very small sum 

You are passing over 'twixt finger and thumb ; 

And if that were all you gave away, 

It wouldn't be very much to pay. 

2 The price of drink ! Let him decide 
Who has lost his courage and lost his pride, 
And lies a grovelling heap of clay, 

Not far removed from a beast, to-day. 

3 The price of a drink ! Let that one tell 
Who sleeps to-night in a murderer's cell, 
And feels within him the fires of hell. 
Honor and virtue, love and truth, 

All the glory and pride of youth ; 
Hopes of manhood, and wreath of fame, 
High endeavor and noble aim — 
These are the treasures thrown away 
As the price of a drink, from day to day. 

4 " Five cents a glass ! " How Satan laughed, 
As over the bar the young man quaffed 

The beaded liquor ; for the demon knew 
The terrible work that drink would do ; 
And ere the morning the victim lay 
With his life-blood swiftly ebbing away ; 
And that was the price he paid, alas ! 
For the pleasure of taking a social glass. 

5 The price of a drink ! If you want to know 
What some are willing to pay for it, go 
Through that wretched tenement over there, 
With dingy windows and broken stair, 
Where foul disease, like a vampire, crawls 
With outstretched wings o'er the moldy walls. 
There poverty dwells with her hungry brood, 
Wild- eyed as demons, for lack of food ; 
There shame, in a corner, crouches low ; 
There violence deals its cruel blow ; 

And innocent ones are thus accursed 
To pay the price of another's thirst. 

6 " Five cents a glass ! " Oh ! if that were all, 
The sacrifice would, indeed, be small ! 

But the money's worth is the least amount 
We pay ; and whoever will keep account 
Will learn the terrible waste and blight 
That follows the ruinous appetite. 
" Five cents a glass ! " Does any one think 
That that is really the price of a drink ? 

JOSEPHINE POLLARD. 1880. 

la ' N. O. " Christian Advocate." 
The colored poet,. Superintendent of -work among the colored people, Nat. W. C. T. 



A KNELL. 

' Be not deceived. God is not mocked ; for whatsoever a, man soweth, 
that shall he also reap." 

1 Down to the brink of hell, 
Led by the men who — well, 
Sing of the city bright, 
Pray for the robes of white, 
Which all the saints shall wear 
In that pure world ; and where 
Christ is the light. 

Then why link their votes with those 
Who, as the story goes, 
Care not for human woes ? 

2 Down to the depths of hell 
Once the bright angels fell, 
Now blighting this fair earth 
Under a mighty curse, 
Urging the saints e'en now 
Not to Christ's conquest bow. 
Keep back your vote and prayer, 
Still let the drunkard wear 
Cain's mark on cheek and brow 
One more year, anyhow. 

3 Let sin's gates open wide, 
Draw in its restless tide, 

Let the fields wave with grain, 
Mark of a drunkard's pain ; 
Brewers and maltsters tell 
How pockets plethoric swell 
While in the jaws of hell, 
March sixty thousand. 

4 Oli ! on that dreadful day 
When the books open lay, 

Four hundred and fifty-six they say, 
Paved the wide open way 
By their vote cast that day, 
That the fair youth might stray 
Into the loathsome way 
With sixty thousand. 



KATY'S PLEDGE. 

1 We stood one evening 'mid a crowd 

Of poor — made poor by sin — 
To tell them of the love that could 
Their souls from evil win ; 

2 And of the poison-drink that wrecked 

The body and the soul ; 
And bid them come and pledge themselves 
Against the maddening bowl. 

3 A little maid with sunny hair, 

And eyes of violet blue, 
Tripped from her seat with fairy step, 
And asked : " May I sign, too ? " 



TEMPERANCE ENTERTAINMENTS. COLD WATER ARMY. READINGS AND RECITATIONS. 



653 



4 " Oh ! yes," we said ; " but tell us first, 

What is the pledge you take ? 
You are so little ; do you know 
The promise you would make ? " 

5 A smile swept o'er the childish face ; 

Slowly she spoke, and clear : 
" It means to give my heart to God, 
And never taste of beer." 

6 Right willingly we put the pen 

Within the childish hand ; 

" If others fail," we softly said, 

•' Katy will surely stand. 

7 " For to the heart she gives to God 

Will come a holy power, 
To keep His little trusting child 
Safe in temptation's hour." 

MRS. HELEN E. BROWN. 1882. 

" Morning Light." 

A GRAPE. 

A BIDDLE FBOM THE SWEDISH. 

1 I have no wish to drink 

The sparkling, glowing wine, 
When I may taste a grape, 
More fragrant and more fine. 

2 It hath a pearly crown, 

Where reddest ruby glows : 
Its sweet aroma down 
In rosy wavelets flows. 

3 I drink with pure delight 

This nectar sweet of mine, 

Always more clear and bright 

Than all the rarest wine. 

4 And, though this grape is pressed, 

Almost each day and hour, 
To change its charming taste 
No time or clime hath power. 

5 What is this lovely grape 

I press so oft, so free, 

That from a pearly crown 

Its ruby gives to me ? 

LTOIA M. MILLARD. 1883. 
New York City. 

FOR WHAT DO WE LIVE? 

What do we live for ? Is it to be 

The sport of earthly power ; 
To launch our bark on fortune's sea, 

And float, perhaps, an hour ; 
To waste our time in idle dreams 

Of what may be to-morrow ; 
To glean with care from present scenes 

The source of future sorrow ? 
Nay, we were formed to search for truth 

Through paths made plain by 
To hail the light in earliest youth 

Which shines in every season ; 



Yea, we were made to work below, 
The prize hereafter given, 

To help dispel each wily foe, 
And find our home in heaven. 



ANNA ERVIN. 



IN ANSWER. 

" Madam, we miss the train at B 

" But can't you make it, sir ? " she ga 
" Impossible ; it leaves at three, 

And we are due a quarter past." 
" Is there no way ? Oh ! tell me, then, 

Are you a Christian ? " "I am not." 
" And are there none among the men 

Who run the train ? " " No — I forgot — 
I think this fellow over here, 

Oiling the engine, claims to be." 
She threw upon the engineer 

A fair face, white with agony. 

" Are you a Christian ? " " Yes, I am." 

" Then, O sir, wont you pray with me, 
All the long way, that God will stay, 

That God will hold the train at B ? " 

" 'T will do no good, it's due at three 

And " — " Yes, but God can hold the train ; 
My dying child is calling me, 

And I must see her face again. 
Oh ! wont you pray ? " "I will," a nod, 

Emphatic, as he takes his place. 
When Christians grasp the arm of God 

They grasp the power that rules the rod. 

Out from the station swept the train, 

On time, swept on past wood and lea ; 
The engineer, with cheeks aflame, 

Prayed, " O Lord, hold the train at B ." 

Then flung the throttle wide, and like 

Some giant monster of the plain. 
With panting sides, and mighty strides, 

Past hill and valley swept the train. 

A half, a minute, two are gained ; 

Along those burnished lines of steel 
His glances leap, each nerve is strained, 

And still he prays with fervent zeal. 
Heart, hand and brain, with one accord, 

Work while his pray'r ascends to heaven, 
" Just hold the train eight minutes, Lord, 

And I'll make up the other seven." 

With rush and roar through meadow lands, 

Past cottage homes and green hillsides, 
The panting thing obeys his hands, 

And speeds along with giant strides. 
They say an accident delayed 

The train a little while ; but He 
Who listened while His children prayed, 

In answer, held the train at B . 

ROSE HART WICK THORPE, 1880. 
•' Youth's Companion.' 



654 



WOMAN IN S ACHED SONG. 



BIDDY FLYNN'S REASON WHY. 

1 " Hurrah for the Foorth av July ! " 

" But where," said the priest, " is the b'y, 
Who can spake up and just tell me why 
Yez all shout for the Foorth of July ? " 

2 Says Barney O'Rourke, " It's not me ; " 
" Me nayther ! " says Micky McGree. 

" And it's not shpaking furst I would be." 
But " Hurrah ! all the same," thought all three. 

3 And so, up and down, through the class, 
The priest with his questions did pass — 
Till he came to a sweet little lass, 
With a smile like the dew on the grass. 

4 " Shpake up, Biddy Flynn ! not a b'y 
Remimbers the rale rayson, why 

We swing up the banners so high, 
And cilibrate Foorth av July." 

5 " 'Dade, Fayther," said Biddy O'Flynn, 
"It's because there's a battle to win, 



And Ameriky's bound to begin 
To drive out the whiskey and gin. 

6 " Me rayson, it may not be thrue ; 
But me taycher, she said ' it would do,' 
When she asked all us gurrls if we knew ; 
And me mother agrade wid me too. 

7 " The ould counthry owned us one day, 
But we licked ! And we drove thim away 
With the band Yankee Doodle to play — 
And the flags all a flyin' so gay. 

8 " But new masthers wint for us thin, 
They licked, — bastely whiskey and gin ! 
Thrue fradom can niver begin 

Till we bate 'em " — says Biddy O'Flynn. 

9 Says Barney O'Rourke, "Thrue for you ! " 
Says Micky McGree, " Faith, it's thrue ! " 
Says I, " When it comes, I'm the b'y 

To hurrah for that Foorth of July." 

MAB.X LOWE DICKINSON, 188i 



WHAT A HAPPY PEOPLE. 



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Words and Music by PEARL J. SPRAGTJE. 



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2. Let us sign the pledge and Ann - ]y stand, Let us be u - ni - ted heart and hand; 

3. Let us hope and pray the day will come Ve - ry soon, when all who now drink rum 



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Will the light of rea - son sure - ly hide, By a cloud that has no shin - ing side. 
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Will a- rise, and in their man -hood say, " We will sign the temp' ranee pledge to - day." 



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By permission D. C. Cook. 



glad! 



TEMPERANCE. ENTERTAINMENTS. COLD WATER ARMY. SONGS AND RECITATION* 



655 



A BOY'S HYMN. 

[Rev. Morlais Jones "wished he could write expressly for boys another 
Version of Charlotte Elliott's hymn, "Just as I am,' full of bright dreams 
and happy anticipations.] 

1 " Just as I am," thine own to be, 
Friend of the young, who lovest me ; 
To consecrate myself to thee, 

O Jesus Christ, I come. 

2 In the glad morning of my day, 
My life to give, my vows to pay, 
With no reserve and no delay, 

With all my heart I come. 

3 I would live ever in the light, 

I would work ever for the right, 
I would serve Thee with all my might, 
Therefore to Thee I come. 

4 " Just as I am," young, strong, and free, 
To be the best that I can be 

For truth and righteousness and Thee, 
Lord of niy life, I come. 

5 With many dreams of fame and gold, 
Success and joy to make me bold ; 
But dearer still my faith to hold, 

For my whole life, I come. 

6 And for Thy sake to win renown, 
And then to take my victor's crown, 
And at Thy feet to cast it down, 

O Master, Lord, I come. 



Which had burned up his noble manhood, 

And left him in grief and shame. 
He had broken away from the tempter; 

He stood on the rock again ; 
No longer the penniless drunkard, 

He stood a man among men, 
When only a glass of cider 

Threw open the gates again 
To a pathway of pain and sorrow, — 

To a death of hopeless pain. 



MRS. E. 3. RICHMOND 

"Our Union," 1881, 



ASK ME NOT TO DRINK. 



1 Oh ! ask me not to sip the wine, 

The sparkling, ruby wine, 
For though within the goblet bright 

It harmlessly may shine, 
A horrid spell, a fatal charm 

Unseen is lurking there, 
Which, if they once but touch the soul, 

Will lure it to despair. 

Chorus — Oh ! ask me not, Oh ! tempt me not 
To sip the sparkling wine, 
For, left within the goblet bright, 
It harmlessly may shine. 



ONLY NOW AND THEN. 

1 Think it no excuse, boys, 

Merging into men, 
That you do a wrong act 

Only now and then. 
Better to be careful 

As you go along, 
If you would be manly, 

Capable, and strong! 

2 When you have a habit 

That is wrong, you know, 
Knock it off at once, lads, 

With a sudden blow. 
Think it no excuse, boys, 

Merging into men, 
That you do a wrong act 

Only now and then ! 

MRS. M. A. KID: 

"ONLY A GLASS OF CIDER." 

It was only a glass of cider 

From the hands of a fair young girl ; 
How could he decline the kindness ? 

She would deem him a mannerless churl. 
It was only a glass of cider, 

Bn* i f kindled anew the flame 



2 Oh ! tempt me not to taste the wine, 

The sparkling, ruby wine, 
For though within the goblet bright 

It harmlessly may shine, 
In every drop a serpent lurks, 

To sting the trusting heart, 
And lure it from all lovely things 

Forevermore to part. 

3 Oh ! urge me not to drink the wine, 

The sparkling, ruby wine, 
For though within the goblet bright 

It harmlessly may shine, 
It holds a flame to wrap the life 

In more than midnight gloom, 
And set upon the precious soul 

The seal of hopeless doom. 

4 I dare not, will not, sip the wine, 

The sparkling, ruby wine, 
For though within the goblet bright 

It harmlessly may shine, 
If I should sip the treach'rous draught, 

A brother or a friend 
Might be thereby induced to drink, 

And ruin be the end. 



ANGIE FTJLLBB, 



656 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



WATCH THE BOYS. 

1 They laid him down with happy smiles 

In his tiny, curtained bed ; 
They gently smoothed the pillow fair 

Where reposed his little head. 
And loving words from every one 
Gave greetiug of joy to the first-born son. 

2 They watched around him day by day, 

Till the little limbs grew strong ; 
They taught. in simple, childlike words 

Of the ways of right and wrong. 
And loving hearts kept record sure 
Of each baby action so sweet and pure. 

3 They laid him down, with faces grave, 

In his coffin, cold and dread ; 
No loving hand to spread the pall 

O'er the strangely silent dead ; 
No word of hope, — in speechless awe 
They gazed on the face they should see no more. 

4 Far, far from home, in foreign soil, 

He was hid from mortal eye ; 
No record of his life on earth, 

But 'tis written up on high, — 
The story of a drunkard's shame, 
His wasted life and his blighted fame. 

CASSKLL, 1879. 



WHAT WE NEED. 

To be spoken before a collection is taken. 

1 To carry on the temperance cause 

And do the work we plan, 
Will take much time and labor hard 

If we do all we can. 
There are so many things we need 

To bring about success, 
Suppose I tell you what they are, 

For you might never guess. 

2 We need stout hearts and willing hands 

To do' the Master's work; 
Hearts that are filled with Christian love, 

And hands that never shirk ; 
A kindly feeling towards the poor 

Degraded slaves of drink ; 
Strong purposes to save them all 

From ruin's fearful brink. 

3 There is another thing we need, 

And cannot do without, 
And with it triumph sure will come, 

I have no fear or doubt. 
"The root of evil," some folks say, 

When it is sore abused, 
I think it can do so much good, 

If it is rightly used. 



4 Of course you know now what it is 

I'm going to ask of you ; 
To help us in our noble work, 

To aid our cause so true. 
'T is money, that you've surely guessed, 

Now, kind friends, one and all, 
Just look into your pocket-books 

For sums both great and small. 

5 Then cheerfully please give to us , 

From out your treasured store ; 
We'll use it in the wisest way, 

And thank you o'er and o'er. 
I know the mite you'll never miss, 

That helps God's cause along, 
That comfort brings to needy ones, 

And makes the weak man strong. 

IDA M. BT7XTON. 188 



THE BOY WHO SAVED HIS COUNTRY. 



A TRUE STORY FOB BOYS AND GIBLS. 

The land in Holland is flat and low 

And soon the sea would dash it away, 
Had not the Dutch outwitted their foe 

And built broad dikeo to keep it at bay. 
But the sea forevermore doth roll, 

Roll and dash, and beat hard 'gainst the wall, 
And if it could find the smallest hole, 

The country would not be safe at all. 
For the smallest hole might soon increase 

And let in the water more and more, 
And the work of ruin would not cease 

Till Holland became old ocean's floor. 
A boy, returning from school one day, 

Discovered the water trickling through 
A hole in the dike : — In sore dismay 

He wondered what in the world he"d do ! 
He screamed for help ! Not a soul came near! 

How could a boy the great sea control ? 
He sank on the ground in anxious fear 

And stuffed one small hand into the hole. 
And he dared not leave to go for aid ; 

So there all night on the cold, damp ground, 
In the dark he lay — brave though afraid ; 

And there in the morning he was found. 
Some workman passing at break of day, 

Heard his loud sobs and piteous dole 
As he wept the weary night away, 

Keeping his hand thrust tight in the hole. 
So his one small hand kept out the sea 

Till strong ones came to mend up the banks ; 
And evermore a hero was he — 

A hero to whom all Holland gave thanks. 



TEMPERANCE ENTERTAINMENTS. COLD WATER ARMY. READINGS AND RECITATIONS. 



657 



9 In our own dear land we've a greater foe 
Than e'en Holland had in the mighty seaj 
And it threatens to bring to endless woe 

And enthrall for aye " the land of the free." 

10 For it first enslaves, and then it despoils 

Of houses and lands, pride, honor and will : 
Both body and soul are lost in the toils 
Of this cruel, crafty " worm of the still." 

11 King Alcohol is this foe so dire, 

And the floods he loosens upon the land 
Both drown like water and burn like fire ; 
They poison the brain, and palsy the hand. 

12 But our Bands of Hope we'll train for the fight, 

And we'll drive out this foe from our dear land. 
We'll work with our wills, we'll work with our 
might, 
To help keep him out, we'll each give a hand ! 

ELIZABETH L. TATUM, 

Gleoelg, Md. 

JEM AND VELVET. 

1 Poor little Jem ! and yet not poor, 

With one rich treasure close beside him ; 
For Jem in Velvet had a friend, 

Though fortune many gifts denied him. 

2 And though the breakfast fare be slim, 

And dinner prove a morsel meagre, 
Still Jem a precious bit will save 
For Velvet's plea so keen and eager. 

3 Come, Velvet ; though the world is dark, 

And all about us grows so dreary, 
I'll take a lesson from your love, 
In acts of kindness not to weary. 

4 If but a half-filled cup you find, 

You never lose your playful cunning ; 
No snarling looks, though hunger bite, 
From eyes with mischief overrunning. 

5 Poor Jem ! like Velvet he is doomed 

To find full oft a scanty larder ; 
And he has many things to bear, 

To him than hunger-pangs far harder. 

6 It is not long since one sweet face, 

Where love for him was always beaming, 
Grew paler than its wonted white — ■ 

Grew stiller than when hushed in dreaming ! 

7 And when they bore from out his home 

The one he loved above all other, 
The world grew dark indeed to Jem — 
A drunkard's son— without a mother ! 

8 When harsh words fell upon his ear, 

If but a mother's smile could reach him ! 

When rude blows crimsoned his brown cheek, 

Could but a mother's patience teach him ! 

9 The quiet of his own bare room. 

With Velvet purring close beside him, 
What wonder if he learned to prize 

That love that all the world denied him. 



10 O ye whose walks in life are fair, 

And blooming all the way with roses, 
Search out the secrets of dark homes, 
Where rum its hidden sting discloses ! 

11 And if but vain you deem the task, 

To break the drunkard's chains in sunder- 
In vain the vender's ear to reach — 

Dead to soft tones, or tones of thunder — 

12 There yet remains within your power 

The words of friendliness to offer ; 
On aching, orphaned hearts bestow 
An open hand, with generous proffer. 

13 Take a few roses from your path, 

Along his cheerless way to scatter ; 

Your own will all the brighter bloom, 

And weary feet more lightly patter. 

14 To-day seek Jem, in his bare, room, 

With only Puss to share his sorrow ; 
Fill both his hands, and Velvet's cup, 
And look again on them to-morrow. 



MRS. JULIA. P. BALLARD. 



Irs. Jto 1. I#g, 



One of the most indefatigable temperance workers, is a lawyer, associ- 
ated with her husband in a successful practice at Effingham, 111. She is 
at the head of the German work, iu Illinois, and being herself of German 
extraction, is tireless in her efforts to educate her people up to a higher 
plane of thinking and living, as regards the great temperance issues of 
the day. Iu giving a description of the costumes of the children who 
gang the following ode on the Fourth of July, she says : — 

"The boys wore white and blue suits, with broad blue badges, on 
whicn 'Temperance' was printed, and they drew a small cannon after 
them. The girls were dressed in white, with blue badges, each child 
carrying a flag. While the chorus was being sung, the flags were waved 
by all. Large white banners, decorated with evergreen and scarlet flow- 
ers, with blue streamers attached, and bearing such mottoes as ' The 
Cold Water Army,' 'The Future Voters,' 'Death to King Alcohol,' 
'Tremble, King Alcohol, we shall grow up,' were carried aloft by some 
of the older boys, making a very spirited and inspiring display." 

This explanation may aid some other Cold Water Army in a Fourth of 
July celebration. 



ODE FOR THE FOURTH OF JULY. 

Tune— "Hold the Fort." 

1 Hail Columbia, Home of Freedom, 

Strong on land and sea, 
We, thy children, gladly greet thee, 
Mightier to be. 
Chorus — Wave your flags, the time is coming 
When our land shall be 
Free from vice, the Hydra-monster, 
Temperance, through thee. 

2 Hail fair natal day of freedom 

That our fathers won ; 
Base oppression flees before thee, 
Liberty's bright suu. 



658 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



East and West the guns are booming, 

North and South as one, 
Meet as brothers, greet as brothers, 

Whate'er their native sun. 
We, thy children, singing greet thee, 

Promising to be 
Faithful soldiers in thy armies, 

Truth and Liberty. 

ADA H. KEPLEY. 
Effiugham, 111., 1883. 

THE COLD WATER ARMY. 
A word to the little children, 

The children good and true : 
Come join the temperance army, 

And fight the battle through. 
Here's wine and beer and cider, 

Fair little snakes that creep 
Around our dear hearthstones 

And fatten while we sleep. 
Boys, set your heel upon them, 

Don't toy with them, I pray, 
For they'll sting you while you pet them, 

While they seem in sportive play. 
Here's the dirty page, Tobacco, 

Who waits on the rum-king, 
And to his treacherous clutches 

Does many a victim bring. 
Don't take a filthy meerschaum 

Or odorous cigar 
Into your rosy lips, boys ; 

'T were better, sirs, by far 
To lose your tops and marbles, 

Your skates and treasures, fine, 
Than to lose your hopes of manhood 

In tobacco or in wine. 
A true and noble boyhood 

Will make a manhood fine ; 
Then shun the treacherous cider, 

Tobacco, ale, and wine. 
And join you all together 

In a legion good and true, 
To fight for truth and temperance 

Till you see the battle through. 

MRS. E. J. RICHMOND. 
"Band of Hope Review," 1884. 

THE BREWER'S DOG. 

The brewer's dog is abroad, boys, 

Be careful where you stray ; 
His teeth are coated with poison, 

And he's on the watch for prey. 
The brewery is his kennel, 

But he lurks on every hand, 
And he seeks for easier victims, — 

The children of the land. 
His eyes gleam through the windows 

Of the gay saloon at night, 
And in many a grocer's window 

He crouches full in sight. 



Be careful where you enter, 

And if you smell his breath, 
Flee as you would from a viper. 

For his fumes are the fumes of death. 

3 O boys ! would you kill the bloodhound ? 

Would you slay the snarling whelp ? 
I know that you can do it 

If everyone will help. 
You must make a solemn promise 

To drink no ale or beer, 
And soon the feeble death-wail 

Of the brewer's dog we'll hear. 

4 For, if all keep the promise, 

YOU CAN STARVE HIM OUT, I KNOW, 

But if boys and men keep drinking 
The dog will thrive and grow. 

ELLA WHEELER, 



POOR LITTLE BLOSSOM. 



1 " Oh ! dear ! I's so tired and lonesome ; 

I wonder why mamma don't come ? 
S'e told me to s'ut up my b'ue eyes, 
And 'fore I waked up s'ed be home. 

2 " S'e said s'e was going to see g'andma ; 

S'e lives by the river so bright ; 
I 'spect that my mamma's fallen in there, 
And p'r'aps s'e won't turn home to-night. 

3 " I dess I'se af'aid to stay up here, 

Wivout any fire or light ; 
But Dod's lighted the lamps up in heaven ; 
I see 'em all twinkling and bright. 

4 " I dess I'll go down and meet papa ; 

I know he has stopped at the store ; 

It's a great pretty store, full of bottles, — 

Wish he wouldn't go there no more ! 

5 " Sometimes he's so sick when he comes home, 

He stumbles and falls up the stair ; 

And once, when he corned in the parlor, 

He kicked at my poor little chair. 

6 " And mamma was all pale and frightened, 

And hugged me close up to her breast, 
And called me her poor little Blossom, 
And, — des I forgetted the rest. 

7 " But I 'member he striked at poor mamma, 

His face was so red and so wild, 
And I 'member he striked at poor mamma, 
And hurted his poor little child. 

8 " But I loves him, and dess I go find him ; 

Perhaps he'll come home with me soon, 
And then it won't be dark and lonesome 
Waiting for mamma to come." 

9 Out into the night went the baby, — 

The dear little Blossom so fair, 
With eyes that were blue as the clear sky, 
With halo of golden-brown hair. 




POLITENESS. 
IFrom a Painting by V. Thirlon.] 



TEMPERANCE. ENTERTAINMENTS. COLD WATER ARMY. SONGS AND RECITATIONS. 



659 



10 Out into the night went the baby, 

Her little heart beating with fright, 

Till her tired feet reached a gin palace, 

All brilliant with music and light. 

11 The little haud pushed the door open 

(Though her touch was as light as a breath), 
And the little feet entered the portal 
That leads but to ruin and death. 

12 Away dowu the long floor she pattered, 

The pretty blue eyes opened wide, 
Till she spied in a corner her papa, 
And the liny feet paused at his side. 

13 " O papa ! " she cried, as she reached him, 

And her voice rippled out sweet and clear, 
" I thought if I corned I should find you, 
And now I'm so glad I is here. 

14 " The lights are so pretty, dear papa, 

And I fink that the music's so sweet, 

But I dess it's most supper time, papa, 

For Blossom wants somefing to eat." 

15 A moment the bleared eyes gazed wildly 

Down into the face sweet and fair, 

And then as the demon possessed him, 

He grasped at the back of a chair. 

16 A moment, — a second, — 'twas over, 

The woi'k of the fiend was complete ; 
And the poor little innocent Blossom 
Lay, broken and crushed, at his feet. 

17 Then swift as the light came his reason, 

And showed him the deed he had done, 
With a groan that a demon might pity, 
He knelt by the quivering form. 

18 He pressed the pale lips to his bosom, 

He lifted the fair golden head ; 
A moment the baby lips trembled, 
Then poor little Blossom was dead. 

19 Then the law, in its majesty, seized him 

And exacted just penalty, death ; 
For only a fiend or a madman , 

Would deprive such a baby of breath. 

20 But the man who had sold him the poison 

That made him a demon of hell, 
Why, — he must not be less respected, 
Because he is licensed to sell. 

21 He may rob men of friends and of money, 

Send them down to perdition and woe, 
But so long as he pays for his license, 
The law must protect him, you know. 

22 God pity men, women and children, 

Who are crushed by the Juggernaut, '•'•Rum" 
May press, pulpit and platform united 
Fight strong till deliverance come. 

MRS. F. H. BTDWF.LL. 

•' Good Times," 1884. 



"FROW IT DOWN." 

1 A "Band of Hope" teacher has told me, dear children, 

A sweet little story, so full of good cheer 
That I cannot refrain from just telling it over, 
To help you to fight down old whisky and beer. 

2 She went to the dear kindergarten one morning, 

And a cute little fellow caught hold of her hand ; 
"I am one of your temperance scholars," he murmured, 
" I's signed to the pledge and belong to the Band." 

3 " You've signed to the pledge," said the teacher, half 

smiling, 
" And what does it mean to be signed there, my 

dear ? " 
" Oh ! it means I'm to drow up and vote prohibition, 
And never touch whisky nor 'bacco nor beer. 

4 " You told us that beer makes the start for a drunkard, 

And my mamma had some,on just t'other day.'' 
The dear little features grew sadly o'erclouded, 
" And tell me," said teacher, " then what did you 
say : 

5 "I said," lisped the sweet little lips, "Don't you 

touch it ! " 
His white rounded forehead grew stern with a 

frown, 
And his voice grew as deep as childhood could make it, 
" I said, ' Frow it down, mamma dear, frow it 

down ! ' " 

6 "And somehow this incident cheered me and thrilled 

me," 
Said the Band of Hope teacher, " for Oh ! don't you 

see, 
The Band of Hope children are going to save us, 
And win in the future a grand victory." 

7 The sweet little voices now influence mothers, 

And fathers will quail at the sight of the frown. 
And won't the curse cease and saloons totter over 
When our grand coming army shall shout " Throw 
them down ? " 

FANNIE BOLTON. 1884. 



FOR DECORATION DAY. 



1 She had pulled her white carnations 

And pansies and roses bright, 
All dripping with dewy tear-drops 
And gleaming in the light. 

2 Then the bleeding heart and the lily, 

She wreathed in the chaplet, and thought 
Of the hearts of our honored soldiers ; 
Of the costly peace they bought. 

3 She thought of the hands so valiant 

Close folded upon each breast : 

Of the camp's lone Sabbath stillness 

And the tent's long day of rest. 



660 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



4 The crystal gates of the morning 

Broke wide o'er a world of bloom ; 
And she stood in a moment's vision, 
Of that rapturous heavenly home. 

5 Then in awe and delight her spirit 

Pressed on, in the stillness of love ; 
As she whispered, " This day is God's day, 
These moments drop down from above." 

AND HOME. 

1 Then she opened her soul as a garden, 

That the sunlight and beauty and bloom, 
Might waken the hearts of her loved ones ; 
His spirit pervade and perfume. 

2 Then the rosy lips of childhood, 

And the lilies pure of love, 
Bloomed in her earthly Eden, 
With a fragrance born above. 

3 No flowers so full of meaning 

On that Decoration morn, 
As the white thoughts of God's glory, 
In the souls of her children born. 

4 His angel with golden trumpet. 

Seemed treading on buoyant air : 
She whispered, " This home is God's home, 
" This, a hallowed house of prayer. 

AND NATIVE LAND. 

1 Then the freshly clustering garlands, 

And the fluttering flag on the breeze, 
And the measured march of veterans 
Brought other thought than these : 

2 She prayed as the people marshalled 

At the stirring beat of the drums, 
For her Native Land beloved, 

With its thousand, thousand homes. 

3 Though a shadow swept their thresholds, 

And a moment of trembling fear, 
She whispered, " This land is God's land, 
And His arm of might is near." 

4 Then she gave her pure flowers, praying 

All lands His mercy may share, 
Till the white badge of " Our Union," 
The nations in triumph shall wear. 

MARTBA 'WINTERMUTE. 

Newark, 0., May, 1884. 
In " Union Signal." 

THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE AND DAUGHTER. 

For Recitation, or can be sung to "Memories of Earth," Gospel Hymns. 

1 Oh ! I hear them singing, mother, 

Of a day they say will come, 
When through all the land about us 

Will be no drunkard's home ! 
When the dark door of temptation 

Will not be open wide, 
Nor the screen set, where the guilty 

May seek its shade and hide. 
Is it coming, dearest mother ? 

Is it coming, do you think, 
When man will be too noble 

To ensnare a maw to drink ? 



2 Is it coming, dearest mother, 

That blest morn, when all the land 
Shall be redeemed from sorrow, 

And a proud temperance band 
Shall wave their snowy banners, 

And lift their signal high, 
Appealing for approval 

To God's all-searching eye ? 
Is it coming, dearest mother, 

Or is the thought too grand ? 
And must this evil ever 

Enslave our native land ? 

3 It is coming, dearest daughter ; 

The Lord will hear the prayer 
That floats to heaven each morning, 

And on the evening air ; 
From hearts all sad and mournful, 

Whose light of life is fled, 
Whose earthly hopes, once radiant, 

Lie fainting, pale and dead. 
He hears their tender pleading, 

And He will not forget ; 
Their day, so dark with sorrow, 

Shall end in brightness yet. 

4 Within my memory lingers 

A morning fair and bright, 
When I left my father's dwelling 

To follow love's clear light. 
But the hand I thought would lead me 

My heart-strings clove in twain ; 
The young hopes, brightly blooming, 

Droop low in sorrow's train. 
But for you, my darling daughter, 

May a brighter morning dawn : 
And the bells of peace ring in the day 

When these sad years are gone ! 

EMILY PUTNAM WILLIAMS. 
August 10, 1882. 



A SONG OF THANKSGIVING. 

Tune— "Some, Sweet Home." 

1 Our Father, we thank Thee for Thy tender care, 
For loving to hear our young voices in prayer, 
For all the sweet comforts with which we are blest, 
For our temperance home, which is dearest and best. 

Chorus — Home, home, sweet, sweet home ; 

We thank Thee, dear Father, for our temp'rance 
home. 

2 We thank Thee for teachers of wisdom and truth, 
Who warn us to shun the temptations of youth ; 
For loving companions, who lead not astray, 

But lighten our hearth with affection's pure ray. 

3 And when, like a vision, our childhood has flown, 
And we must encounter life's trials alone, 

Oh ! then may our pathway, wherever we roam, 
Shine forth from the light of a dear temp'rance home. 

. MISS ELLA M'AFFERTY, 1882. 



TEMPERANCE ENTERTAINMENTS. COLD WATER ARMY. SONGS AND RECITATIONS. 601 

CHILDREN'S DECORATION HYMN. 



Written for and sung 
EMMA E. ORENDORFF. 



Day, 1883, by the children of Delevan, 111., -who went forward < 
monument. 



] and placed boquets on the soldiers' 




1. What can the children 

2. What can the children 

3. What can the children 

4. What can the children 



do? 
do? 

do? 

do? 



What can the children 
What can the children 
What can the children 
What can the children 



They can bring bright flowers In the 
do? They can sing of the brave Who their 
do? They can hon - or the dead Byre- 
do? They can love their name And 




May -day hours For the graves of the boys in blue. Then we'll hon-or the boys in blue, We will 

coun - try to save, To the front marched firm and true.' Then we'll hon-or the boys in blue, We will 

mem-b' ring they bled For their country and lib - erty too. Then we'll hon-or theboys in blue, We will 

cher - ish their fame While they sleep,neath the sod and dew. Then we' 11 hon-or theboys in blue. We will 




EMMA E. ORENDORFF. 



COLD WATER ARMY SONG. 

May he sung to " Rise, Shine, give God the Glory." 



AREIE NEWMAN. 



1. See the ban - ners wav - ing, wav-ing. Gold - en mot-toed, sav - ing, sav - ing,Hear the bu - gle 

2. Oh! tbe mu - sic is so tbriH-ing, And the brave hearts all ' so will-ing.See the ranks,h'ow 

3. Oh! there's going to be a right-ing, Wip - ing out the curse so blighting, If there must be 

4. Jeho -vah help tbe war's be - gin-ning, Lo! tbe ene-my's ranks are tbin-ningj Sa - tan runs,theie'll 



call - ing, call -ing, They will save our Jov'd from fall -ing. Sing, sing,they're com - ing, com-ing; 
fast tbey're fill - ing, Read - y all: we must be drill -ing. 
there'll be fight-ing, Look the bomb-shells are a - light-ing. 
be less sin - ning, Ob! the temperance cause is winning. 



Hal -le - lu -jah, com - ing,coming,Praise the Lord they' re com-ing,com - ing, Glo - ry to the Lord. 



662 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



WELCOME. 



TO BE SUNG AT THE RECEPTION OF NEW SCHOLARS. 



Mrs. JOSEPH F. KNAPP. 




youthful band, March - ing to the 
day by day, If you love the 



promised land, 
nar - row way. 



to o - hey What our teach - ers kind - ly say. 



i i i 

Now be - gin with earn -est heart, 

You have joined our hap - py throng, 

Nev - er ab - sent from the school, 




Ear - ly choose the bet - ter part 
Tou will learn our cheer -ful sonj 
Faith-ful to each gold - en rule 



J.M 



-*-"*- 



Learn - ing in this dear re - treat, Les - sons 
Thus to - geth - er we will sing, Praise to 
Pa - tieut work - ers for the Lord, Trust - ing 

£l •" 3t & -fi -£: 



at the Sav - iour's feet. 
God, our Sav - iour Kbag 
in His ho - ly word 



Yes, we bid you wel - come here, Yes, we bid 




m 



3|=a= 



:t=£2: 



3S£ 



& 



w 



wel - come here, Wel - come here, wel - come here, Wel - come, wel - come here. 



*-&- 



I I 



3±: 



TEMPERANCE. BAND OF HOPE. 



663 



WHEN WE ARE OLD ENOUGH TO VOTE. 

Tune— "Yankee Doodle." 

1 When we are old enough to vote, 

We'll make a great commotion ; 
We'll sweep the land of whiskey clean, 
From ocean unto ocean. 
Chorus — " Old Alcohol " will have to fall 
From his exalted station ; 
We'll smite him right, we'll smite him left, 
And drive him from the nation. 

2 In Alcohol's old castle strong, 

In chains his slaves are wailing ; 
We'll enter in and set them free, 
By scores his stronghold scaling. 

3 Some day the world will bless the men 

Who now are only boys, sir, 
For we are learning lessons true 
With all our fun and noise, sir. 

4 Oh ! right is right, and wrong is wrong ; 

We know the way that's best, sir ; 
We'll choose the right and fight the wrong, 
And leave with God the rest, sir. 

5 So, when we're old enough to vote, 

There'll be a mighty rattle 
Of falling forts and castles gray, 
For Right will win the battle. 

6 We will not fear to speak the words 

That God would have us speak, sir ; 
With Him for our right hand, you know, 
We never can be weak, sir. 

MAIT1E PEARSON SMITH, 1881. 



RESOLVES. 



1 O boys ! the New Year's coming, 

The time when folks begin 
To make a cleaner record 

By leaving off each sin. 
We'd better all get ready, 

And make a brand-new start 
To drive out every error 

And blemish from each heart. 

2 Let's save our spending-money 

For books and useful things, 
Not waste it in such foolish trash 

As balls, and toys, and rings. 
Economy is learned in youth ; 

The thoughts we have to-day 
Take root and strengthen with our strength, 

And follow all the way. 

3 No one of us, I'm very sure, 

Would touch a drop of drink, 

Not one would touch a cigarette— 

We're all right there, I think. 



But we will strengthen others, 
And lead them in the right ; 

And now clasp hands, my boys, upon 
Resolves we've made to-night. 



GOD BLESS OUR TEMPERANCE BAND. 

Old Tunes— "America," (G/. " Italian Hymn," 

1 God bless our temp'rance band ! 
Firm may we ever stand 

For truth and right ; 
Help us to work and pray ; 
Teach us in wisdom's way, 
Our nation's curse to stay 

By Thine own light. 

2 Help us the chains to break 
That greed and av'rice make 

By licensed laws ; 
Help us, that we may be 
Champions of liberty ; 
Help set the bondman free 

Thro' our dear cause. 

MRS. J. A, OGSBURY, 



TOUCH IT NEVER. 

1 Children, do you see the wine 
In the crystal goblet shine ? 
Be not tempted by its charm ; 
It will surely lead to harm. 

Children, hate it ! 
Touch it never ! 
Fight it ever ! 

2 Do you know what causeth woe 
Bitter as the heart can know ? 
'Tis that self-same ruby wine 
Which would tempt that soul of thine. 

Children, hate it ! 
Touch it never! 
Fight it ever ! 

3 Never let it pass your lips : 
Never even let the tips 

Of your fingers touch the bowl ; 
Hate it from your inmost soul. 
Truly hate it ! 

Touch it never J 

Fight it ever ! 

4 Fight it ! With God's help stand, fast 
Long as life or breath shall last, 
Heart meet heart, and hand join hand — 
Hurl the demon from our land. 

Oh ! then, hate it ! 
Touch it never ! 
Fight it ever ! 

EUNICE S. ARNOLD, 1882. 



664 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

CHILDREN'S HOME PROTECTION SONG. 



DEDICATED TO THE COLD WATER ARMY, SPRINGFIELD, ILL. 

Words and Music by Mrs. G. C. SMITH. 187a 



1. We're chil - dren of temp' ranee, we la - bor for the right; We've faith in our Lead-er, for He's 

2. We hate rum, and bran - dy, wine, al -co - hoi and gin, We'll bold - ly attack them for they 




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Eaise high the ban - ner, Oh ! may it ev - er stand, For God, and home, and Na - tive land. 
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TEMPERANCE. BANDS OF HOPE. SONGS AND RECITATIONS FOR THE LITTLE ONES. 



665 



SINGING AS WE JOURNEY. 



LUCY J. RIDER. 



■ mouth filled with singing." Ps. cxxvi : 2. 



LTJCY J. RIDER. 




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chil - dren of a King, Heavenly King, Heavenly King, We are chil - dren 

2. We are trav - 'ling to our home, Bless - ed home, Bless - ed home, We are trav - 'ling 

3. Full of joy we on - ward go, Heavenward go, Home - ward go, Full of joy we 



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Copyright, 1878, by F. H. Rerell, and used by permission. 



GOD OF MERCY THRONED ON HIGH. 



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Miss H. J. HUBBARD. 1876. 



God of mer - cy thron'don high, Lis - ten from Thy loft - y seat ; ) T _„_ , . t1 ,,„„„„ 

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Let us ev - er hear Thy voice, Ask Thy coun-sel ev-eryday; 
Saints and an-gels will re - joice If we walk in wisdom's way. 



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Cleanse us with Thy blood di - vine, Ere the tide of sin grow strong, Save us, keep us, make us Thine. 
Hope and love on ev - ery soul: Hope, till time shall be no more; Love, while end-less a - ges roll. 



666 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



A TRUE STORY OF HOW A LITTLE GIRL 
EMPTIED THE JUG. 

1 In one of the homes on a little back street 
A father and mother were sitting at meat, 
There was bread and potatoes and plenty to eat, 
But alas ! into glasses all crystal and clear, 

They poured from a pitcher the brown, foaming beer. 

2 Then in came a dear little girl. In her hand 
She carried a card from her temperance band ; 

But her sweet face was troubled. " O papa, my 

dear, 
Please don't ever send me for any more beer, 
It's awful bad stuff and t'will hurt you, I fear. •■ 

3 "I have promised this day not to touch it again, 
It has caused so much sinning and sorrow and pain, 
That I just hate the sight of it. Please, papa, dear, 
Don't ask me to go any more for your beer, 

And I wish you would sign the pledge with me here." 

4 The father and mother laughed loud at their pet, 
And told her she'd turn out a lecturer yet ; 

But the next time they wanted some beer they just 

said, 
" Please go to the corner for vinegar red, 
And give this small note to the clerk, Mr. Ned." 

5 The dear little girl started off with a song, 

Nor dreamed there was anything said that was wrong. 
She asked for the vinegar, acid and strong, 
Gave the note to the clerk, who smiled and said, " Dear, 
Pray hand me the jug," and then went to the rear 
And filled it right up from a keg of brown beer. 

6 The little one started to take the jug back, 
But just as she ran to the great railroad track, 
The cork gave a start and flew out with a crack. 
A whiff of the odor of beer reached her nose, 

She stopped in amazement, and what do you s'pose ? 

7 "Why, that isn't vinegar, smells very queer, 
It's naught in the world but that horrid old beer. 
What a stupid ! Well, no ! I just won't take it back, 
The horrid old stuff must be spilled on the track ; " 
And out it came gurgling with snort and with smack. 

8 Then home ran the maiden and told without fear 
How Ned didn't know vinegar from brown beer. 

" And where is the beer ? " asked her father, " no 

doubt 
We can manage to use it." "I poured it all out," 
Laughed the brave little girl, " and it's gone up the 

spout." 

9 " Why ! why ! what was that for ? " said her father, 

annoyed, 
Then the child with his whiskers half-play fully toyed. 
" Well, you see," said his pet, in a sweet, bird-like note, 
" That beer jug is spoiling my temperance vote, 
And T thought 'twas better spilled there than spilled 

down your throat." 



10 The father grew sober in deep, painful thought, 
And spelled out the lesson his little one taught. 

" I never will send you again, my sweet dear, 
Just bring me your pledge, I will sign it right here, 
And we'll never drink whiskey again or brown beer." 

11 Well, wasn't she happy ! she laughed and she cried, 
Her mother just kissed her and called her her Pride. 
And so they got married, — Oh ! no, — let me see, 
That isn't the end of this story of glee ; 

But they lived happy after as happy could be. 



FANNIE BOLTON. 1881 



THE SCHOLAR AND THE ECHO. 

1 What is this I hear them saying, 
In the Band of Hope displaying 
Bright new cards, a promise making 
Always to abstain from drinking ? 
Must I also sign the pledge ? 

Sign the pledge. 

2 But when Christmas comes so jolly, 
With its mince pies and its holly, 
Mince pies flavored with rich wine, 
Wine which comes from our own vine, 
Must I always answer no ? 

Answer no. 

3 But, my Echo, this is trying, 
And for cider I'll be sighing, 
Cider which comes sweet and clear 
In the autumn of the year. 

Must I also this refuse ? 

This refuse. 

4 Echo, thou shalt be my teacher. 
Never known was such a preacher. 
Will ray signing help another ? 

Is each one my sister, brother? 
Will I gain a sure reward ? 
A sure reward. 



JENNIE SPEAR. 



THE RAINBOW 

To be recited by seven children, each costumed in one of the colors 
representing the verse spoken, jaunty tissue paper cap, sash about a yard 
and a half long by three-eighths of ayardwide, extending front and back, 
terminating ou the left shoulder with rosette, and confined at the waist 
under the right shoulder. They enter in the order of the rainbow 
colors, and form a semi-circle before speaking. 

(Introduction spoken by all in unison.) 

1 The rainbow colors blended bright, 
Show us how fair are rays of light. 
In union we, with heart and hand, 
Work for the conquest of the land. 

RED. 

2 In blushing red, like queenly rose, 
Or sunset sky at evening's close, 

I give no license to the bowl, 

Where lies the foe that drowns the soul. 



TEMPERANCE. BANDS OF HOPE. SONGS AND RECITATIONS FOR THE LITTLE ONES. 



ORANGE. 

3 I come in richest orange hue, 

To image forth our cause most true ; 
No evil genius' deadly art 
Pierced me with alcoholic dart. 

YELLOW. 

4 All yellow, bright with glittering light, 
The wily tempter weaves his spells, 
But leaves his victim dark as night, 
Where he a wreck his virtue sells. 

GREEN. 

5 Green as the meadow in the spring, 
Threaded by streamlets' generous flow, 
So free and pure my mottoes ring, 
Stick to the pledge ! that's right, I know. 

SKY BLUE. 

6 Pure as the blue in summer's sky, 
With which no other shade can vie, 
Here let us pledge our honor bright, 
To shun all drinks that are not right. 

INDIGO. 

7 Blue like the ocean's rolling tide, 
Forming the arch with span so wide, 
The bow of promise I proclaim, 

No baleful foe in my domain. 



In modest violet I'm arrayed, 

No earthly skill can reach my shade ; 

I teach in pure celestial light, 

Shun every drink that blinds the sight. 

MRS. M, B. M'CLUKE, : 



3 Open the gates for the little ones, 

The Saviour bids them come ; 
His arms shall gather the tender lambs, 

His hands shall lead them home. 
The wise and mighty may seek Him here, 

Who came as a little child ; 
Narrow the way and the door is low 

To the kingdom undefiled. 

MARY A. LATHBTJRY, 1883. 

Set to Music by I. baltzell, in "Gates of Praise." 
ALWAYS DO RIGHT. 

Tune— "Home, Sweet Borne." 

1 Do right is our motto, 

Do right is our aim, 
We strive not for glory, 

For wealth nor for fame ; 
A pure spotless banner 

We'll raise with our might, 
With this for our motto, 
" Always do right." 
Chorus — Onward and upward, 

We'll sing with our might, 
With this for our motto, 
" Always do right." 

2 Do right to our friend, 

Do right to our foe ; 
Do right to all people 

Wherever we go ; 
Let this be our standard, 

Kept high in our sight, 
Right onward and upward, 

"Always do right." 

JENET PIERCY. 



OPEN THE GATES. 



"Lift up your heads, O ye gates."— Psa, xxiv : 7. 

1 Open your gates, O east and west ! 

O north and south, give way ! 
The land is lifting its song of praise, 

By the mouth of babes this day. 
They come, the legions of little ones, 

With banner and sacred song ; 
Blessing and honor and praise they sing, 

To Christ our Lord belong. 

2 Open the gates to the little feet, 

Unfold the holy word ! 
The children crowd to the Saviour's side, 

Their eyes discern the Lord. 
A hundred summers have rolled away 

Since one stooped down and smiled, 
Opening the gates of a Bible school, 

To welcome a ragged child. 



SKIItt iittonran 



Was born 1866, and died 1882. How shall we better interpret the les- 
son of such a life than in her own sweet words - written three years 
since — which so touchingly at such a time as this move upon the chords 
of the heart. 

ONLY A LITTLE DEWDROP. 

1 " I am only a little dew-drop, 

But I'll do whatever I can, 
For even a little drop of dew 
Is part of our Father's plan. 

2 " I can cool a burning blossom 

That has withered 'neath the sun ; 
I can cheer one drooping flower 
When my little life is done." 

3 " You're mistaken, little dew-drop, 

Your life has just begun, 
For the lesson you teach us lingers 
Long after your work is done." 

LILLIE DICKERMAN- 



668 WOMAN IF 

JOY AMONG THE ANGELS. 

" There is joy in heaveu over one sinner." Luke, xv : 7. 

1 There is joy among the angels 

That fill the courts above, 
O'er a wand'ring soul returning 

To ask a Father's love. 
When the heart is bowed beneath the cross, 

And tears repentant fall, 
And the earnest prayer of faith can say, 

" Here, Lord, I give Thee all." 

2 There is joy among the angels, 

They tune their harps in heaven, 
When the new-born soul with rapture 

Can feel its sins forgiven ; 
And the healing stream of pard'ning grace 

Has washed its guilt away, 
And the eye looks up without a tear, 

And hails the opening day. 

3 There is joy among the angels, 

The shining portals ring, 
When a band of happy children 

Their hearts to Jesus bring ; 
Like the tender breath of early flowers 

Their grateful songs shall rise, 
Till the answering note from ransomed choirs 

With heavenly joy replies. 

FANNIE CROSBY. 

Copyright, 1870, by T, E. Perkins. Used by per. Biglow & Main. 
PRAISE. 
Tune, -" Hendon." 

1 Praise to Him who built the hills ; 
Praise to Him the stream who fills ; 
Praise to Him who lights each star, 
Sparkling in the blue afar. 

2 Praise to Him who makes the morn, 
Rays of light and hopes new born ; 
Draws the shadows of the night, 
Curtains o'er our wearied sight. 

3 Praise to Him who gives us food, 

Praise to Him who lights our way ; 
Praise Him for each earthly good 
We receive from day to day. 



I WAS LOST, A 



SAVRED SOWG. 

I send you the only hymn I ever wrote. It was 
composed at thirteen, and as I still find the same diffi- 
culty in governing my kingdom, it still expresses my 
soul's desire, and I have nothing better to offer. 
Yours truly, 

L. M. Alcott. 
Concord, Oct. 7, 1883. 

MY KINGDOM. 

1 A little kingdom I possess, 

Where thoughts and feelings dwell ; 
And very hard the task I find 

Of governing it well. 
For passion tempts and troubles me, 

A wayward will misleads, 
And selfishness its shadow casts 

On all my words and deeds. 

2 How can I learn to rule myself, 

To be the child I should, 
Honest and brave and never tire 

Of trying to be good ? 
How can I keep a sunny soul 

To shine along life's way ? 
How can I tune my little heart — 

To sweetly sing all day ? 

3 Dear Father ; help me with the love 

That casteth out my fear : 
Teach me to lean on Thee, and feel 

That Thou art very near : 
That no temptation is unseen, 

No childish grief too small, 
Since Thou, with patience infinite, 

Doth soothe and comfort all. 

4 I do not ask for any crown 

But that which all may win ; 
Nor try to conquer any world 

Except the one within. 
Be thou my guide until I find, 

Led by a tender hand, 
Thy happy kingdom in myself, 

And dare to take command. 

LOUISE M. ALCOTT. 

LITTLE LAMB. 



'He shall gather the Lambs within His arms."— Is. xi. 11. 



LTXCY J. RIDER. 




1. I was lost, a lit-tle lamb, Out of Je - sus' fold, Faint with hunger and with fear.In tbe dark and cold. 

2. Now I'm safe, a lit-tle lamb,Safe in Je - sus' fold, Je-sus found and bro't me in,From the dark and cold. 



Jesus missed me.tho' a lamb, Lit-tle, lone and weak, And He could not i - est for love,Be the lost must seek. 
Is He glad, and am not I— I, who went a - stray— Glad that He has bro't me back To the heavenly way. 



CoD.vrieht.wJ -1879- ha F. H. REVELL. By per. 






TEMPERANCE. THE FRUIT OF THE VINE. 



669 



WHAT ARE THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS? 

1st Part. (To be sung in dialogue or chorus.) 
What are the loves of the angels 
Up in their mansions so bright ? 
2d Part. 

The dearest of all are the children 
Who dwell in the city of light. 
Chorus — Dear is the love of the angels 

Up in their mansions so bright ; 
Pure is the love of the children 
Who dwell in the city of light. 
1st Part. 

What are the songs of the angels 
Up in their homes of delight ? 
2d Part. 

Their songs are the songs of salvation 
In which little children unite. 
Chorus — Beautiful songs of the angels 
Up in their homes of delight 
Beautiful songs of redemption 
In which little children unite. 
1st Part. 

What are the joys of the angels 
Up in yon glittering height ? 
2d Part. 

To praise and adore their Redeemer 
Who reigneth supreme in His might. 
Chorus — Sweet are the joys of the angels 
Up in yon glittering height ; 
Praising the blessed Redeemer 

Who reigneth supreme in His might. 



THE CUP OF THE LORD. 

It may not harm nor you, nor me ; 

But chance some lamb amidst the flock, 
Here, tasting first the fiery draught, 

May, at the table of the Lord, 
Be bound with chains more hopeless far, 

Than all the fetters earth can forge ? 
Shall such as they, in after years, 

Point to the supper of the Lord 
As the fell snare, which led their tender feet 

Into the slippery, dark abyss ? 
Shall that, which was to be our pledge of faith, 

Prove but to them e'en as the gates of hell ? 



It is stated by Hebrew scholars that the word used by the Saviour to 
designate approval of the use of wine, for instance, at the Lord's sup- 
per, when properly translated, means — "fruit of the vine," that is the 
unfermented juice of the grape. A different word was used when the 
use was discountenanced, showing distinctly that there were two kinds of 



THE FRUIT OF THE VINE. 



1 You may sing to the praise of the wine-cup and 

tankard, 
And talk of the flavor of Mumm and Tokay ; 
But what can compare with the ripe, juicy Concord, 
Or rival in fragrance Catawba bouquet ? 

2 You may hold up your glass in the beams of the sun- 

light 

And point out the bead like a topaz most rare ; 
But your glass will not equal, e'en more than a rush- 
light, 

The amber-bloom chalice — the lush Delaware. 

3 You may start with the A's, and go through the story, 

Recounting the fame of ferment and distill ; 
But you cannot, in all the decayed category, 
Find a flavor or odor but "taints of the mill." 

4 Oh ! would that some minstrel, with voice and with 

sonnet, 
Could sound forth the praise of the vintage — array 
In its unbroken purple, its lambent, pale garnet, 
The hues of the rainbow in Nature's own way. 

5 The spoiled blood of the grape spoils the blood of the 

nation ! 
The toasts and the feasts take the heart out of men ! 
Shall we longer descant with a maudlin oblation 
On that which destroys beyond all human ken ? 

6 Away with the song, with the paint-brush and pallette, 

That glorify sin in a Bacchean way ; 
Cast aside every pen, with the block and the mallet, 
That makes calves for the people to worship to-day. 

7 Bring forth every virtue, win back every power, 

Make Hebe relent and old Bacchus give o'er, 
Till all stolen fruit form a Temperance dower 

For Columbia, our daughter of Freedom, once 
more. 

FANNIE J. BARNES. 
September 7, 1880. 
In " Our Union. ' 



End of Temperance Department. 



MISCELLANEOUS DEPARTMENT. 



MOTHERHOOD. 

PREFATORY NOTE. 



George MacDonald says: — -"The true mother is she who numbers her children by the thousand." A 
lady writer adds : — "I will go further, and assert that no woman has any legitimate claim to motherhood, who 
will not recognize a wrong done to the most unfortunate of life's children, as a wrong to her own child." 

Still another : — " Many a woman who has never borne children, is more of a mother in God's sight, than 
she who has. Unless the heart goes out in sympathy to all God's little ones, it has not the true mother in- 
stinct." 

Another thus expresses the same idea : — " She who is a mother only to her own children, has not the true 
mother instinct. The heart must take in all earth's suffering ones, if it would be recognized by God. If one 
has not this true mother instinct, let it be cultivated. If one has it, let it be exercised. ' The world is wide 
and needy.' " 

THE MAGNIFICAT. 



SONG OF THE VIRGIN MARY. 



Music written for this work by MARY FRANCES ENGLISH, 
West Mitchell, Iowa, March, 1883. 



1. My soul doth magnify the . Lord. And my spirit hath re - joiced 

2. For He that is mighty hath done to me great things; and ho 
He hath put down the mighty from their seats, and exalted them 



God my Saviour, 

is His name, 

low de - gree. 



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2?" 
For He hath regarded the low estate of His 

Aud His mercy is on them that fear Him from gene 

He hath filled the hungry with goodthings; and the rich He hath sent 



W 



hand - maiden ; for behold from henceforth 

ration to gene - ration, He hath shewed strength with His arm; He 1 
empty a - way He hath holpen His servant Israel, in remei 

brance of His mercy; As He 



m± 



all 

scat 

spake 



gen - e - rations 
tered the proud 

to our fathers, 



shall 
in the imagination 
to Abraham, and to his 



call me blessed, 

of their hearts. 

for - ever. 



572 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



THE "HAIL MARY." 



grand white angel ! in a sweet surprise 

1 lift to thee my tear-suffused eyes. 
Thou art so virgin -pure, thy starry zone 
Girdles my room with lustre all thine own ! 
I kiss thy garment's hem, I dare not touch 
Thy gentle hand outstretched, nor overmuch 
Gaze on thy queenly stature in its grace, 
Nor meet the recognition of thy face. 
Hold out thy lily -sceptre, gracious one, 
That I may feel thy blessed reign begun, 
And while I breathe its incense, purify 
Thy temple for this holy mystery ! 

Or who or what am I, that God has sent 
His angel to my house, and for me meant 
The very chrism of life, the seal of love, 
The secret hope all other hopes above. 

t. p. h. 1881. 

By permission Messrs. Lee & Shepard. 



HYMN OF MOTHERHOOD. 

1 Oh ! beautiful new life within my bosom, 

New life, love-born, more beautiful than day, 
I tremble in thy sacred presence, knowing 

"What holy miracle attends my way ! 
My heart is hushed, I hear between its beating 

The angel of annunciation say, 

" Hail, blessed among women ! " while I pray. 

2 all-creative Love ! thy finger touches 

My leaping pulses to diviner heat. 
What am I, that thy thought of love should blossom 

In me, in me thy tide of life should beat ? 
Beat strong within me God-tide, in high passion, 

With quickening spirit earth-born essence greet ! 

Fountain of life ! flow through me pure and sweet. 

3 O all-sustaining Love ! come close beside me, — 

Me, so unworthy of this wondrous gift. 
Puroje me, refine me, try me as by fire, 

Whiten me white as snow in glacier-rift, 
That neither spot nor stain nor blemish darken 

These elements that now to being drift ; 

Inspire, sustain me, all my soul uplift ! 

4 all-sufficient Love ! I am as nothing ; 

Take me, thy way, most facile to thy need ; 
Enraptured, let me feel thy spirit moulding 

The germ that thou hast made a living seed. 
And while the currents of my life are speeding 

This life immortal in its growth to feed, 

To one dear purpose all my forces lead ! 

L. P. H. 1881. 
By permission Messrs. Lee & Shepard. 



FAITH. 

1 What though my heart's darling 

May ne'er see the day, 
Was it but a stray starling 

That flashed o'er my way ? 
I have loved, I was promised 

Forever and aye. 

2 I may weep for my nestling 

So lost to my eyes, 
But feel God's behest bring 

A sweeter surprise, 
Faith conquers doubt wrestling ; 

Love born never dies. 
S I can trust though He sever 

In blindness and pain. 
My child, we can never 

Be parted again. 
God's promises ever 

Are yea and 



L. P. H. 1881. 

By permission Messrs. Lee & Shepard. 
DEDICATED TO . 

1 O life, that beats beneath mine own, 

Thou bringest thought too great for speech ! 
Thy spirit lies so sweetly resting 

Safe from life's cold and bitter reach ! 
All of love's bars thou art undoing 

While the presence of thy life I feel, 
Yet God's. Ah ! more than mine thou art, 

Behold me ! at His feet I kneel. 

2 Give me. this jewel of Thine to wear, 

This rose that breathes from Paradise ; 
The fairest of all the gifts from Heaven — 

A life that's been hid in the bosom of Christ ! 
'Mong the people who list to Thy teaching 

Or wait for Thy touch and word, 
Parent, so rich in the tenderest love, 

Tell me my pleadings are kindly heard ! 

3 With contrite heart on bended knee, 

The pleader and the woman wait, 
Hark ! 'tis the sound of the warder's tread, — 

He who unbars that outer gate 
When the pleading soul its God must gain ; 

The book in his hand I see unroll, 
He reads — his gaze on the kneeler there — 

"Thy prayer we grant — with the trust of a soul ! ! 

E. ADDIE HEATH, 1884. 

MOTHERHOOD. 

1 Far, far away, across a troubled sea. 

My wistful eyes espy 
The quiver of a snowy sail, 
Unfurled against the sky. 

2 So faint, so far, so veiled in soft obscure 

Its quiet shimmering, 
Sometimes methinks no mortal thing it is, 
But gleam of angel's wing. 




HOME JEWELS. 
[From a Painting by R. Beysehlag.] 



MOTHERHOOD. SONGS AND POEMS. 



673 



3 And yet the currents of my life so set 

Towards this vision fair, 
I know, I know for me it pales and glows ; 
It will not fade in air. 

4 With my own heart-throb, throbs the tiny sail, 

My sighs its pennons move ; 
And hither steadfast points its magnet towards 
The pole-star of my love. 

5 What precious gifts do freight this mystic bark 

There is no sign to show ; 
What frail, small mariner is there enshrined 
No mortal yet may know. 

6 I only know the soul divine moves there, 

'Mid two eternities ; 
Before this secret of the Lord I bow 
With veiled and reverent eyes. 

7 And vainly does my restless love essay 

To haste the coming sail ; 
Dear God ! Not even to save from sunken reefs 
Can love of mine avail. 

8 Yet will I keep my vigil, and in peace, 

Like Mary, " dwell apart ; " 
Close to the mysteries of God art thou, 
My brooding mother heart. 

9 Ah, heavenly sweet will be thy recompense, 

When, every fear at rest, 
The little bark all tranquilly shall lie 
Safe anchored on thy breast ! 

MARY H. FIELD. 

Santa Clara, Cal., 1882. 



THE SICK CHILD.' 

1 Dear little eyes, with their fringed lids 

Lifted so heavily, piteously, 
Would I could see in their depths once more 
The flash aud sparkle of childhood's glee ! 

2 Dear little lips, that have known no guile, 

Innocent, beautiful, fever red, 
Would ye were ringing again with mirth, 
As in the days that so soon have fled ! 

3 Dear little gentle and pensive face. 

Wasted and sunken and shadowed now, 
The high brow white with an unknown light, 
Would thou wert rosy with health's warm glow ! 

4 Dear little patient and suffering child, 

Pleading for pity with dying eyes ! 
Oh ! it is cruel and hard to stand 

Powerless to aid while a loved one dies. 

5 Art thou departing, my precious dove ? 

Dearest and tenderest lamb of the fold ; 
Thoughtful and wise as a woman now, 
Beautiful darling, but five years old. 

6 Father in heaven, Thy will is mine, 

With Thee my darling were safe and blest ; 
But Oh ! that Thy wisdom and love could see 
That now to restore her to life were best ! 

HELEN BiUTCB. 



MATERNITY. 



MY NURSLING. 



1 Baby and I are alone, 

Just baby and I ! 
His eyes look up and mine look down, 

And the love that flashes in sympathy, 
Is the gem in the crown. 

2 His dimpled hand is at rest 

Like a soft rose-leaf, 
And cheek and lip lie on my breast 

With pressure of trust, dear past belief ; 
So true, so blest ! 

3 So close to my heart ! 

One clear life-tide 
Coursing between ; my holy part 

To feel the current warm from my side 
At God's touch start ; 

4 Then flush into rosy beams 

From his glowing face, 
Answering back in brighter gleams 

Springing up with a sweeter grace 
Than my sweetest dreams ! 

LOUISA P. HOPKINS. 1881. 
By permission Messrs. Lee. & Shepard. 



1 Sickness and pain, and wakeful midnight hours ; 
Care-laden months, that weakened all my powers 
Of mind and body ; what have I to show, 

As payment, for that weary weight of woe ? 

2 A little face most marvellously fair ; 
A shining crown of wavy golden hair ; 
Two dusky eyes, like pansies in a mist ; 
A smiling mouth, all ready to be kissed ; 
A trusting heart, that giveth full and free 
Its boundless wealth of purest love to me. 

3 Ah me ! when night's dark banners float above, 
And slowly, at their prayers, the sweet lips move ; 
When, shadowed deep, the earnest, thoughtful eyes 
Seem gazing up to their own paradise, 

My soul shrinks back from that far-reaching gaze, 
And humbly, to be pure and stainless, prays. 

4 And when, at. last, the bright head finds repose, 
And o'er the sleepy eyes the white lids close, 

I pray : " O God ! let every care and pain 
Be mine to know and suffer thrice again, 
And through it all my soul shall grateful be, 
If only this young life be spared to me." 



ADDIE F. D 
In "Gems ( 



vis, 1884. 
Poetry.' 



674 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



THEN SHALL YE KNOW. 

FROM A POEM. 

And this is ours ! ours of the dust and ashes, 
Cradled in weakness, lullabyed with woe ; 
Not Heaven's rainbows, nor celestial flashes, 
To gaze at, but the Lord Himself to know. 

MARGARET E. WINSLOW. 

MY MISTAKE. 
Dear little feet, so soft and white, 

What miles of steps I see — 
Of hill and vale and desert sand, 
Of all that in a life is spanned ; 
These feet now clasped in mother's hand, 

How weary they will be ! 
The baby hands, so dimpled, fair — 

What toils for them ahead ! 
Patience 'mid many a tread-mill thrall, 
Waiting till God shall bless it all ; 
And mother love can build no wall 

'Gainst sweat of brow for bread. 
Thus mused I once as on my lap 

A first-born babe lay sleeping ; 
The lamp burned low, the house was still, 
The winter winds were blowing shrill, 
And thoughts of good were mixed with ill, 

As I lone watch was keeping. 
But ah ! those little feet and hands, 

None fairer ever moulded, 
Had no rough steps in life to take, 
No toils to meet, no weary ache, 
For soon, alas ! my heart to break, 

In quiet death were folded ! 
Thus taught of God, I learned full well 

To cease my poor forecasting, 
And for the children that remain, 
To neither fear nor hope again, 
But clasp by faith this one strong chain, 

God's love and care are lasting ! 



CHRIST LOVETH THEM THAT FALL. 
Wee, winsome girl, that nestling at my breast, 
Contented sighs and sinks to sweetest rest, 
To-night I con thy dear face o'er and o'er, 
Press thee to my heart and wild implore, 
God keep my child from fate of those who cry, 
In bitterest depth of woe, " I die, I die, 
And high and low alike despise my call, 
There's naught but death for women when they fall. 
I see to-night the quick, defiant glare, ■ 
Of one I met beneath the gaslight's flare, 
One I had known in girlish, happier days, 
Ere she had learned to tread such evil ways. 
I would have spoken, but like hunted deer 
She sped away into the darkness drear, • 
Nor heard my earnest, eager pleading call, 
O Nina, Christ yet loveth them that fall. 



3 Dear baby mine, sweet nestling at my breast, 
When the cold sod shall on thy mother rest, 
Can some foul wretch bedight in fairest shape, 
Lure thee, so sure, to such revolting fate ! 
My heart leaps up with hot, defiant throb, 
Save me, to save my child, God ! 

From worse than other ills intensest thrall," 
Though Thou, O Christ, yet loveth them that fall. 

4 Ah, woe is me ! it cannot, cannot be, 

I too must vanish in death's silent sea : 

Who then, should evil overtake my child, 

Will loving kiss the lips so much defiled ; 

Will smooth the hair above her fair white brow, 

And whisper, child, I knew not love till now, 

Till I did draw thee from thy filth and thrall, 

Back to self, and Christ who loveth them that fall ? 

5 God keep thee, darling babe ; I cannot keep ! 
Alas ! that I but love, implore and weep. 
But from this night my solemn vow I keep, 
That from my heart I'll love and pity reap, 
For those my Master bade " Go, sin no more," 
For those that doting mothers' hearts bleed o'er, 
And with intensest, yearning anguish, call, 

" Bring back, O Christ, who loveth them that fall." 



WHICH COULD I SPARE? 

1 I sometimes wonder, that if death should come, 
With stealthy tread, unto my happy home, 

To tell me, that of those I love so well, 
One in his silent, shadowy realm must dwell 

2 No hope, no refuge, from his fatal dart ; 

Which could I yield him first ? O loving heart, 
Which of mine own, my blessed household band, 
Could I resign ? though for the better land. 

3 Not he to whom my early vows were given, 
Whose love has made this earth seem like a 

heaven ; 
Oh ! no ! oh ! no ! the dark and cheerless tomb 
May not enclose him, with its voiceless gloom. 

4 Not she, who first made glad my parent-heart ; 
Our first to love, of our young life a part ; 
Whose opening bloom has blest us day by day ; 

Death ! — I pray thee take not her away. 

5 Nor him, of noble soul and manners mild, 
Whom one short year we've loved to call our child; 
Oh ! no — not him, that high and loving heart 

1 fain would shield from thy unerring dart. 

6 Our absent child ? Oh ! no ! destroyer, no ! — 
Near her bright path I pray thee do not go : 
We wait to welcome her around our hearth, 
And long to listen to her voice of mirth. 

7 Our fair young boy — with free and happy soul, 
Enjoys the moments that so brightly roll ; 

I would not see that flashing eye grow dim, 
Sealed in thy slumbers — ask thou not for him. 




[From a Painting- by F. A. Kaulbach.J 



MOTHERHOOD. SONGS AND POEMS. 



675 



8 Not my loved parents ! take tliou not from me 
The arms that were my childhood's panoply ; 
Life would be sad and drear unto their child, 
Missing the love that o'er my days has smiled. 

9 My own dear brother ? no, thy ways pursue ; 
Ye may not take him — for we are but two ; 
My heart with keenest sorrow would o'erflow, 
If to the grave this cherished one should go. 

10 All — all too dear ! each golden link so bright — 
Death ! cast no shadow on love's rosy light — 
Father ! thou gavest them all — to thee we look- 
To us the future is a sealed book. 

FRANCES B. W. BROTHERTON, 

MY BIRD. 

1 Ere last year's moon had left the sky, 

A birdling sought my Indian nest, 
And folded, Oh, so lovingly ! 
Her tiny wings upon my breast. 

2 From morn till evening's purple tinge 

In winsome helplessness she lies ; 
Two rose leaves with a silken fringe, 
Shut softly on her starry eyes. 

3 There's not in Ind a lovelier bird ; 

Broad earth owns not a happier nest ; 

God ! thou hast a fountain stirred, 
Whose waters nevermore shall rest ! 

4 This beautiful, mysterious thing, 

This seeming visitant from heaven, 
This bird with the immortal wing, 

To me, — to me, Thy hand has given. 

5 The pulse first caught its tiny stroke, 

The blood its crimson hue from mine ; — ] 
This life which I have dared invoke, 
Henceforth is parallel with Thine. 

6 A silent awe is in my 'room; 

I tremble with delicious fear ; 
The future, with its light and gloom, - 
Time and Eternity are here. 

7 Doubts, — hopes, — in eager tumult rise ; 

Hear, O my God ! one earnest prayer : 
Room for my bird in Paradise, 

And give her angel-plumage there ! 

EMILY C. JUDSON. 

" Religious Herald." 

THE LITTLE HAND. 

1 Thou wak'st, my baby boy, from sleep, 

And through its silken fringe 
Thine eye, like violet, pure and deep, 
Gleams forth with azure tiuge. 

2 With what a smile of gladness meek 

Thy radiant brow is drest, 
While fondly to a mother's cheek 
Thy lip and hand are prest ! 

3 That little hand ! what prescient wit 

Its history may discern, 
When time its tiny bones hath knit 
With manhood's sinews stern. 



4 The artist's pencil shall it guide ? 

Or spread the adventurous sail ? 
Or guide the blow with rustic pride, 
And ply the sounding flail ? 

5 Through music's labyrinthine maze, 

With dexterous ardor rove, 
And weave those tender, tuneful lays 
That beauty wins from love ? 

6 Old Coke's or Blackstone's mighty tome 

With patient toil turn o'er ? 
Or trim the lamp in classic dome, 
Till midnight's watch be o'er ? 

7 Well skilled, the pulse of sickness press ? 

Or such high honor gain 
As, o'er the pulpit raised, to bless 
A pious, listening train ? 

8 Say, shall it find the cherished grasp 

Of friendship's fervor cold ? 
Or, shuddering, feel the envenom'd clasp 
Of treachery's serpent-fold ? 

9 Yet, Oh ! may that Almighty Friend, 

From whom existence came, 
That dear and powerless hand defend 
From deeds of guilt and shame. 

10 Grant it to dry the tear of woe, 

Bold folly's course restrain, 
The alms of sympathy bestow, 
The righteous cause maintain, — 

11 Write wisdom on the wing of time, 

Even 'mid the morn of youth, 
And with benevolence sublime 
Dispense the light of truth ; 

12 Discharge a just, a useful part, 

Through life's uncertain maze, 
Till, coupled with an angel's heart, 
It strike the lyre of praise. 



SIGOURNEY. 



The last words uttered by Mrs. Sigourney were —"Heaven's peace be 
with you all ! Farewell ! Farewell ! " 



THE ANGEL WHISPER. (Seepage330.) 

In a letter concerning the following poem, the author says :— "The 
Angel Whisper ! It pervades me with a strange sense of completeness. 
Written to illustrate an engraving, the thought held me captive. Would 
that by its reading even one mother might be led to feel more surely that 
her child is of God." 

" In heaven their angels always behold the face of my Father." 

1 Deep mystery of human life, that holds 
Within the tiny form the hopes of heaven, 
The love and joy of earth ! In restful sleep, 
The baby lies, while the tired mother speeds 
To humble household tasks ; and all unseen, 
An angel bends above with whisper sweet. 
A lifting of the little hands ; a smile 
That parts the rosy lips ; a lingering sigh, 
A quiet look of perfect peace, is all 
The sign that baby gives in greeting back. 



676 



WOMAN IN S ACRED SONG. 



2 O little sailor on this life's rough sea ! 
What is it that the angels whisper thee ? 
As on thy cradle bed their light hands rest, 
As close above thee heaves the loving breast ! 
Thou hast but feet to climb ; they wings to fly ; 
Their's life eternal ; thou must live and die ! 
The light of home dwells with thee, little one ! 
Close in the father's arms when day is done, 
Thou whisperest back what angels tell to thee ; 
Or cooing sweetly on thy mother's knee, 
With lips the angels kiss, repeat the strain, 
And every day repeat it new again ! 

3 Ah ! dim and pathless track that lies between 
The doors of earthly homes and homes unseen, 
Whence from the Father's face the angel feet 
Come to the little child with whisper sweet ! 
Could but the veil be dropped from wondering eyes, 
How could we trace thee to the boundless skies ! 
What lessons should we 'learn of courage true, 
How strong be made to suffer and to do ! 

What matchless glimpses of a Father's love, 
What sureness of the home prepared above ! 

4 No cradle bed too poor to have thy care, 
No burdens that the little child may bear, 

Of sin or shame, dear angel whisperer sweet, 
E er bars the way for thy swift willing feet ! 
How do we stand revealed to thee, to thee, 
O guardian angel from our home to be ! 
With paltry loves, with things of vain alloy, 
Making this life our best and dearest joy ; 
Unheeding that the surest path to God, 
The way of blessing, is by angels trod ! 



Sittest love-glorified, — rule kindly, 
Tenderly over thy kingdom fair ; 

For we that love, ah ! we love so blindly, 
Philip, my king ! 

3 I gaze from thy sweet mouth up to thy brow, 

Philip, my king ! 
The spirit that there lies sleeping now, 
May rise like a giant, and make men bow 
As to one Heaven — chosen amongst his peers. 

My Saul, than thy brethren higher and fairer, 
Let me behold thee in future years ! 
Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer, 
Philip, my king ; 

4 A wreath, not of gold but palm. One day, 

Philip, my king, 
Thou too must tread, as we trod, a way 
Thorny, and cruel, and cold, and gray ; 
Rebels within thee and foes without 

Will snatch at thy crown. But march on 
glorious, 
Martyr, yet monarch ! till angels shout, 

As thou sittest at the feet of God victorious, 
Philip, the king! 

DINAH MARIA MULOCK, 

* <Mg ftttttaitt Militants 

Was born in Springfield, Ohio. She became a Christian during her 
youthful days and united with the Presbyterians in 1840. She has always 
written with ease and grace. Many of her productions have been pub- 
lished in more than twenty religious weeklies arid secular papers, usually 
without her signature, or with the simple initials only. At present (1886) 
she is editor of a paper called "The Temperance Call." Her poems 
would fill a good-sized volume, and her prose sketches are more numer- 
ous. All of her literary work is carefully done, and yet, as stated, with 
the ease and readiness indicating talent and true poetic ability. 



linat Ira Ittlcrk Graft 

Was born at Stoke-upon-Trent, Staffordshire, Eng., 1826. She married 
Mr. Craikin 1865, Her chief prose work, "John Halifax," was written in 
1857. Among her many beautiful poems, the following is called her best. 
Med in London in the fall of 1887. 

PHILIP, MY KING. 

" Who bears upon his baby brow the round 
And top of sovereignty." 

1 Look at me with thy large brown eyes, 

Philip, my king ! 
For round thee the purple shadow lies 
Of babyhood's royal dignities. 
Lay on my neck thy tiny hand 

With love's invisible sceptre laden ; 
I am thine Esther, to command 

Till thou shalt find thy queen handmaiden, 
Philip, my king. 

2 Oh ! the day when thou goest a-wooing, 

Philip, my king ! 
When those beautiful lips 'gin suing, 
And, some gentle heart's bars undoing, 
Thou dost enter, love-crowned, and there 

* Daughter of Judge John Hunt, of Ohio. She was born 1827, married to 
published in the Springfield " Republican," when she was fifteen years old. 



For several years her home was in Lawndale, 111., but she is now a 
resident of Appleton City, Mo. She is very domestic in her tastes and 
reigns queen of the home circle. 

In regard to "We are co-laborers with God," which appears in the Mis- 
sionary department of this collection, she writes :— 

" It was in May, 1882, that I went to a Methodist meeting in Appleton 
City, Mo. I was a stranger and did not even know the preacher's name. 
I learned that he was the presiding elder in that district. He preached 
a sermon from the above which made a deep impression on my mind. 
For some days I remembered the whole sermon, and I don't know but I 
could have written it word for word. After some weeks, fearing it would 
fade from my mind, in time, I sat down to write what I could recall of 
the sermon I had heard a month before. To my surprise it fell into verse, 
and thus I wrote it ; following, as near as I could, the plan of the 
preacher and adding some thoughts suggested by the theme. The clos- 
ing thoughts in reference to the death and burial of Christ were differ- 
ent from the sermon, but I thought more appropriate for the poem." 

MOTHERHOOD. 
1 O mother ! with the bright young face, 
Touched with a softer, purer grace, 
While bending fondly o'er the bed 
Which cradles now the little head, 
Thou hast so oft with rapture prest 
Against thy gentle, loving breast ; 
I greet thee with a pleasant thought, 
Which gazing at thy face hath brought. 
What blessing is so bright and good 
As God's sweet gift of motherhood ? 

John Williams, then a merchant of Troy, Ohio, in 1847. Her first verses wei 




THE ANGEL WHISPER. 



MOTHERHOOD. SONGS AND POEMS. 



577 



2 What else could wake thy tenderest care 
As this, thine infant sweet and fair ? 
What else could draw thee out of self 
As he, the beauteous little elf ? 

A mother's love may not forget 

The child on whom her heart is set ; 

But self-forgetfulness to you 

That child will bring, as eve the dew. 

Thus thou wilt find there's naught so good 

As God's sweet gift of motherhood. 

3 If future days all blessings bring, 
The sweetest song thy heart will sing, 
In all thy time of ease and joy, 
Will be thy love-song to thy boy. 
Thy grandest gifts are all for him, 
His cup of joy full to the brim 

Thy hand will press, nor shrink from pain, 
If one more pleasure it would gain 
For him who through thy mother heart 
Hath wound a cord that will not part. 

4 And if adversity should fill 

Thy days with dark presage of ill, 
Still thy most tender, earnest care, 
Will be for him : thy fondest prayer 
Would fain avert from him the blow ; 
'Twixt it and him thy form would throw 
Its loving shield, and bear the weight, 
While unto him an open gate 
Thy hand would hold, and point the street 
Where safer paths invite his feet. 

5 How sweet the task to watch the powers 
Of mind unfold through childhood's hours ; 
To train them as the yielding vine, 
Around the props of truth to twine ! 

How sweet the task the feet to guide 
Away from folly's foaming tide ! 
To hold thy husband's constant love, 
By proving that thou art above 
The careless ones who see no good 
In God's bright gift of motherhood. 

6 Thus shall a mother's love refine 

Thy heart's best gold, till it will shine 
Like roses with bright dew weighed down, 
Like jewels burnished for a crown! 
And selfishness shall melt away, 
And truer, grander thought bear sway ; 
Devotion's incense shall arise 
From thy heart's altar to the skies, 
And thou wilt prove how great and good 
Is God's sweet gift of motherhood. 

EMILY P. WILLIAMS. 

February, 188L. 



MOTHERHOOD. 

1 Now God be praised, that in His will, 
I'm reckoned worthy to fulfill 
Such place of honor. With what still 



2 And solemn presence, do I stand 
Holding His gift in earthly hand — 
Biding His purpose, His command. 

3 Profoundly solemn as, I should, — 
That in my life is such great good 
So rich a boon as motherhood. 

4 My baby ! Oh ! how tender, sweet, 
The pearly-tinted hands and feet, 
And all the tiny form complete. 

5 The winsome mouth, the gentle eyes, 
Opened on life with such surprise, — , 
What heavenly depths within them lies. 

6 How vain the pomp, the gloss, the show, 
Of outside life ; such bliss I know 

By baby's cradle, singing low. 

7 My baby, more than all beside, 
Do I give thanks, I had not died, 
With this best blessing still denied. 

8 Father I praise ! Oh ! grant there be 
Such growth of grace uprise in me, 
As trains an angel up for Thee. 

AUGUSTA SCOTT CAMPBELL, 
Chicago, Feb. 20, 1884. 



SWEETS OF WOMAN'S LIFE. 



1 A baby at rest on mother's breast, 

Too young to smile or weep, 
Conscious of naught but mother's love, — 
So sweet is infant's sleep. 

2 A child at play in meadows green, 

Plucking the fragrant flowers, 
Chasing the bright- winged butterflies, — 
So sweet are childhood's hours. 

3 A maiden fair as early dawn, 

Radiant with every grace, 
Glad'ning the eye that looks on her, — 
So sweet is beauty's face. 

4 A softly-blushing, downcast look, 

Murmur of startled dove, 
Answering another's tender words, — 
So sweet is maiden's love. 

5 A white-robed virgin, kneeling low, 

Before God's altar bows, 
Forever joined two hearts and hands, — 
So sweet are marriage vows. 

6 A youthful mother bending o'er 

Her first-born, beauteous boy, 
Forever hers till death shall part, — 
So sweet a mother's joy. 

7 The matron in life's autumn-time, 

With young life clustered o'er, 
Her children's children clasp her knees, — 
So rich is autumn's store. 

DORA GREENWELL. 



678 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



ONLY A GIRL. 

Close the door carefully, muffle the tread, 

Drop the white curtains 'round the white bed ; 

A pale mother's sleeping, aye, give her rest ; 

See the fresh rosebud upon her white breast. 

She has struggled with pain, she has wrestled with death, 

Hers is the victory, let not a breath 

Awaken her slumbers ; hark ! there's a tread 

Nearer and nearer approaching the bed ; 

Manly his bearing — yea, noble his mien, 

Lowly he bends, the fair sleepers between ; 

Lifts the frail flowret with womanly care, 

Breathlessly gazing, his lips part — in prayer ? 

No ! there's a chill in the ambient air. 

Each word falls distinctly and painfully slow, 

Curdling and freezing the blood in its flow: 

" It's only a girl ! " a hush as of death 

For a moment suspended each listener's breath. 

In the pause the pale sleeper uplifted her eyes — 

"I must have been dreaming," she said in surprise; 

" I thought that a cold hand of iron clutched my heart, 

While hard, cruel words, like a poisonous dart, 

Pierced my soul to the core ; I sprang for my babe ; 

' It's only a girl ! ' were the words I heard said, 

And Elmer ! O Elmer ! that voice was like thine. 

That hand — angels spare me ! — once warmly clasped 

mine, 
As you called me more precious than ruby or pearl, 
And yet it was when I was only a girl ! 
If a girl is thus dear, then the mother and wife 
To every man true is as dear as his life ! " 
She clasped her cold hands o'er her hot, throbbing brow, 
The blood had all rushed to that citadel now ; 
Then her words, quick and scathing, burned into the 

soul, 
Emotion swayed reason beyond her control — 
" It's only a girl ! " — " O man, in thy strength, 
Know that God measures souls by their depths — not 

their length. 
The streamlet may wind over miles of fair earth, 
Yet bear on its bosom no proud ship of worth. 
A man may hold kingdoms, and nations control — 
What is that to the birth of one beautiful soul ? 
The germ in your strong arms, unfolded with care, 
May, like Harriet Hosmer or Rosa Bonheur, 
Move the world by its art, or lull it to rest 
With poesy's magic, the balm of the blest. 
The mission of motherhood ! Man, do you dare 
With sneers stain this sanctum sanctorum of prayer ? 
This Holy of Holies — this mightiest dower? 
Dare to scoff at the sex in which lies this power ? 
Ah ! where were the monarch, the duke, and the earl, 
Had not each a mother — once ' only a girl ? ' 
And whence came thy being, and all the proud van 
You marshalled in battle — yes, every man ? 
The magnet that led them through storm and through 

strife 
Was a mother, a sister, a sweetheart, or wife, 
Each closely enshrined in his heart like a pearl, 



And yet each fair image was ' only a girl.' 

It was ' only a girl ' that the Deity chose 

To incarnate the Christ ; the story in prose 

Sweeps down through the ages, like stars through the 

night, 
To illume the world with its God-given light ; 
'Twas only frail women that wept at the tomb, 
And talked with the angels when Jesus had gone, 
And women that bore the glad tidings to man 
That Christ, the Beloved, had risen again. 
Go to the reeking battle-fields of yore, 
And read the records writ in human gore, 
Of woman's valor, mercy, courage, love, 
And point to me one name that's carved above 
The name of woman in such deeds as these, 
And I will pray to heaven on bended knees 
That every child henceforth may be a boy, 
That every father's heart may leap with joy ; 
But ere in scorn you breathe ' only a girl,' 
Beware lest you ignore a genuine pearl." 

MRS. A. E. N. R., 18K. 

THE LOVE OF GOD. 

1 Like a cradle rocking, rocking, 

Silent, peaceful, to and fro ; 
Like a mother's sweet looks dropping 
On the little face below ; 

2 Hangs the green earth, swinging, turning, 

Jarless, noiseless, safe, and slow. 

Falls the light of God's face bending 

Down, and watching us below. 

3 And as feeble babes that suffer, 

Toss and ci-y and will not rest, 
Are the ones the tender mother 
Holds the closest, loves the best ; 

4 So when we are weak and wretched, 

By ourselves weighed down, distressed, 
Then it is that God's great patience 
Holds us closest, loves us best. 

5 O great heart of God, whose loving 

Cannot hindered be nor crossed — 
Will not weary, will not even 
In our death itself be lost ! 

6 Love divine ! of such great loving, 

Only mothers know the cost — 
Cost of love which, all love passing, 
Gave itself to save the lost. 

"SAXE HOLM." 

MARY AT THE CROSS. 

" Now there stood by the cross of Jesus his mother." 

1 wondrous mother ! Since the dawn of time 
Was ever joy, was ever grief like thine '• 

Oh ! highly favored of thy joy's deep flow, 
And favored e'en in this, thy bitterest woe ! 

2 Poor was that home in simple Nazareth, 

Where thou, fair growing, like some silent flower, 
Last of a kingly line, — unknown and lowly, 
O desert lily, — passed thy childhood's hour. 



MOTHERHOOD. SONGS AND POEMS. 



679 



3 The world knew not the tender, serious maiden, 

Who, through deep loving years, so silent grew, 
Filled with high thoughts and holy aspirations, 
"Which, save thy Father, God's, no eye might 
view. 

4 And then it came, that message from the Highest, 

Such as to woman ne'er "before descended ; 
Th' almighty shadowing wings thy soul o'erspread, 
And with thy life the Life of. worlds was blended. 

5 What visions, then, of future glory filled thee, 

Mother of King and kingdom yet unknown — 
Mother, fulfiller of all prophecy, 

Which through dim ages wondering seers had 
shown ! 

6 Well did thy dark eye kindle, thy deep soul 

Rise into billows, and thy heart rejoice ; 
Then woke the poet's fire, the prophet's song 

Tuned with strange, burning words thy timid 
voice. 

7 Then in dark contrast came the lowly manger, 

The outcast shed, the tramp of brutal feet ; 

Again, behold earth's learned, and her lowly, 

Sages and shepherds, prostrate at thy feet. 

8 Then to the temple bearing, hark ; again 

What strange, conflicting tones of prophecy 
Breathe o'er the Child, foreshadowing words of joy, 
High triumph, and yet bitter agony. 

9 Oh ! highly favored thou, in many an hour 

Spent in lone musing with thy wondrous Son, 
When thou didst gaze into that glorious eye, 
And hold that mighty hand within thy own. 

10 Blessed through those thirty years, when in thy 

dwelling 
He lived a God disguised, with unknown power, 
And thou, His sole adorer, — His best love, — 
Trusting, revering, waitedst for His hour. 

11 Blessed in that hour, when called by opening heaven 

With cloud, and voice, and the baptizing flame, 
Up from the Jordan walked th' acknowledged 
stranger, 
And awe-struck crowds grew silent as He came. 

12 Blessed, when full of grace, with glory crowned, 

He from both hands almighty favors poured, 

And, though He had not where to lay His head, 

Brought to His feet alike the slave and lord. 

13 Crowds followed ; thousands shouted, " Lo, our 

King ! " 
Fast beat thy heart ; now, now the hour draws 

nigh : 
Behold the crown — the throne! the nations bend, 
Ah, no ! fond mother, no ! behold Him die. 

14 Now by that cross thou tak'st thy final station, 

And shar'st the last dark trial of thy Son ; 
Not with weak tears or woman's lamentation, 
But with high, silent anguish, like His own. 



15 Hail, highly favored, even in this deep passion, 

Hail, in this bitter anguish — thou art blest — 
Blest in the holy power with Him to suffer 
Those deep death-pangs that led to higher rest. 

16 All now is darkness ; and in that deep stillness 

The God-man wrestles with that mighty woe ; 
Hark to that cry, the rock of ages rending — 
" 'Tis finished ! " Mother, all is glory now ! 

17 By sufferings mighty as His mighty soul 

Hath the Jehovah risen — forever blest;' 
And through all ages must His heart-beloved 
Through the same baptism enter the same rest. 

HAKRIET BEECHER STOWE, 1854. 

From " The Mayflower." 



WEIGHING THE BABY. 

1 " How many pounds does the baby weigh — 

Baby who came a month ago ? 
How many pounds from the crowning curl 
To the rosy point of the restless toe ? " 

2 Grandfather ties the 'kerchief knot, 

Tenderly guides the swinging weight, 
And carefully over his glasses peers 
To read the record, " only eight." 

3 Softly the echo goes around ; 

The father laughs at the tiny girl ; 
The fair young mother sings the words, 

While grandmother smooths the golden curl. 

4 And stooping above the precious thing 

Nestles a kiss within a prayer, 
Murmuring softly, " Little one, 

Grandfather did not weigh you fair." 

5 Nobody weighed the baby's smile, 

Or the love that came with the helpless one ; 
Nobody weighed the threads of care, 
From which a woman's life is spun. 

6 No index tells the mighty worth 

Of a little baby's quiet breath — 
A soft, unceasing metronome, 
Patient and faithful until death. 

7 Nobody weighed the baby's soul, 

For here on earth nor weights there be 
That could avail ; God only knows 
Its value in eternity. 

8 Only eight pounds to hold a soul 

That seeks no angel's silver wing, 
But shrines it in this human guise, 
Within so frail and small a thing ! 

9 O mother ! laugh your merry note ; 

Be gay and glad, but don't forget 
From baby's eyes looks out a soul 
That claims a home in Eden yet. 

ETHEL LYNN BEEBS. 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

WATCHING FOR PA. 




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3. Soon joyous houts from the 



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Scan - ning the shad-ows a - cross the way, Six lit-tle eyes : four bl ack 
He's com-ing at Iast,they gai - ly cry; "Try again, pets," exclaims 
And ea-ger pat - ter of child - ish feet, Gay musical chimes ring thro' 



.two blue 
Mam- ma, 
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ful of love and hap- pi-ness too: Watching for Pa, 
Nellie says there' s the twilight star, Watching for Pa, 
manly voice responds to the call — Welcome, Pa - pa, 



watching for Pa, Yes, watching,yes, watching for 
watching for Pa, Yes, watching, yes, watching for 
welcome, Pa - pa, Yes, welcome, yes, welcome, Pa - 




Published in sheet Music by Wm. A. Pond <fc Co, 



Pa. 
Pa. 

pa! 



MOTHERHOOD. THE NURSER Y. 



Watching for Pa, watching for Pa, Yes, watching,yes, watching for Pa. 
Watching for Pa, watching for Pa, Yes, watching,yes, watching for Pa. 
Welcome Pa -pa, welcome Pa -pa, Yes, welcome, yes, welcome Pa -pa. 



681 



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WHO WILL TAKE CARE OF ME? 



OR, THE ORPHAN CHILD. 



Words and Music by FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL. 1875. 



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1." Who will take care of me?"Darling, you say! Lov-ing-ly, ten -der -ly.watch'd as you are! 

2. He will take care of you! All thro' the day Je - sus is near you to keepyoufrom ill; 

3. He will take care of you! All thro* the night Je- sus, the Sheplierd,His lit- tie one keeps 

4. He will take care of you! All thro' the year Crowning each day with His kindness and love, 

5. He will take care of you! Yes, to the end! Noth-ing can af- ter His love to His own. 



an - swer to-day, One who is nev - er for-get-ful or far! 

les - sons or play, Je - sus is with you and watching you still. 

same as the light; He nev- er slum - bers and He nev-er sleeps, 

shield-ing fromfear, Lead-ing you on to the bright home a - bove. 

have such a friend; He will not leave you onemo-ment a - lone. 




682 WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

AUCTIONING OFF THE BABY. 



FIRST STEPS. 



1 What am I offered for baby ? 

Dainty, dimpled and sweet, 
From the curls above his forehead 

To the beautiful rosy feet, 
From the tips of the wee pink fingers 

To the light of the clear brown eye ; 
What am I offered for baby ? 

Who'll buy ? who'll buy ? who'll buy ? 

2 What am I offered for baby ? 

" A shopful of sweets ? " Ah no ! 
That's too much beneath his value 

Who is sweetest of all below ! 
The naughty, beautiful darling ! 

One kiss from his' rosy mouth 
Is better than all the dainties 

Of East, or West, or South ! 

3 What am I offered for baby ? 

" A pile of gold ? " Ah, dear, 
Your gold is too hard and heavy 

To purchase my brightness here. 
Would the treasures of all the mountains 

Far in the wonderful lands, 
Be worth the clinging and clasping 

Of those dear little peach-bloom hands ? 

4 So what am I offered for baby ? 

" A rope of diamonds ? " Nay, 
If your brilliants were larger and brighter 

Than stars in the Milky-way, 
Would they ever be half so precious 

As the light of those lustrous eyes, 
Still full of the heavenly glory 

They brought from bey ond the skies ? 

5 Then what am I offered for baby ? 

" A heart full of love and a kiss ; " 
Well, if anything ever could tempt me, 

'T would be such an offer as this ! 
But how can I know if your loving 

Is tender and true and divine 
Enough to repay what I'm giving 

In selling this sweetheart of mine ? 

6 So we will not sell the baby ! 

Your gold and gems and stuff, 
Were they ever so rare and precious, 

Would never be half enough ! 
For what would we care, my dearie, 

What glory the world put on, 
If our beautiful darling were going ; 

If our beautiful darling were gone ! 



In "Wide Awake.' 



1 Hush ! the baby stands alone — 

Hold your breath and watch her ; 
Now she takes a step — just one — 

Wavers, stops. Quick, catch her ! 
Courage ! Life's first step will cost. 

Now again she's trying. 
One, two — three ! she walks, almost, 

Trembling, stumbling, crying. 

2 Precious baby ! up once more, 

Tiny feet advancing, 
Little arms stretched out before, 

Bright eyes upward glancing, 
Where mamma, with cheering smile, 

To her darling beckons, 
Softly coaxing baby, while 

Her first steps she reckons : 

3 One, two, three — Oh ! she will walk 

Now, before we know it ; 
Hear her sweet-voiced baby-talk, 

Little bird, or poet ! 
Prattling, toddling, there she goes, 

Stepping off so proudly, 
Turning in her untaught toes, 

Pleased, then laughing loudly. 

4 First exploit of self-content ; 

Now she's growing bolder, 
Strength and courage yet unspent, 

One can hardly hold her. 
So she presses to advance 

In her baby-learning — 
Pulls so — Ah ! by what mischance 

Is this overturning ! 

5 There lies baby on the floor, 

Sprawling, rolling, screaming! 
Are life's first attempts so poor ? 

Baby was but dreaming 
When she felt so bold and strong ; 

Gladly now she's clinging 
To the one whose soothing song 

Back her smile is bringing. 

6 Hurts are cured by mamma's kiss. 

Brave again as ever, 
See the plucky little miss 

Make her best endeavor ; 
Walks right off — the darling pet — 

Rush now to caress her ! 
Come what will of first steps yet, 

All good angels bless her ! 



ELIZABETH C. KINNEY, 1884. 

In "St. Nicholas" 



MOTHERHOOD. THE NURSERY. 



683 



SYMPATHY. 
OR THE MOTHER'S CURE. 

1 What, art thou hurt, Sweet? So am I, 

Cut to the heart ; 

Though I may neither moan nor cry, 

To ease the smart. 

2 Where was it, Love ? Just here ? So wide 

Upon thy cheek ? 
O happy pain that needs no pride, 
And may dare speak ! 

3 Lay here thy pretty head. One touch 

Will heal its worst; 
While I, whose wound bleeds overmuch, 
Go all unnursed. 

4 There, Sweet ! Run back now to thy play ; 

Forget thy woes. 
I, too, was sorely hurt this day — 
But no one knows. 



A FATHER'S STORY. 

1 " Jump into my arms, my darling," 

I cried to my little Ray, 
As he stood on the edge of a jutting roof 

Where he had climbed to play ; 
But whence in fear he was gazing 

Some safe descent to find. 
He obeyed my call, then laughed in glee 

As my neck his arms entwined 
With a close, warm clasp, rejoicing 

As I bore him swift along : — 
" I wasn't afraid, papa," said he, 

" For I knew your arms were strong ! ' : 

2 O simple faith of childhood ! 

Would mine were as firm and grand ; 
Thro' all the years of my pilgrimage 

From my Father's bounteous hand, 
I have seen along my pathway, 

His tender care to prove, 
Each day the manna of Heavenly grace - 

The blossoms of Heavenly love ; 
I have felt His arms around me, 

A refuge in sore distress, 
In darkness and danger His light h 

My guide thro' the wilderness ; 

3 On the fateful field of battle, 

When terrible was my need, 
With hosts He has come to my defence, 

To victory to lead. 
And yet when some new shadow 

About me seems to lower 
I ofttimes tremble in sad dismay, 

So weak in that trying hour. 
Fain would I trust that compassion 

That has sheltered me all along, 
Fain would I confide in the darkest hour 

For " my Father's arms are strong." 

META E. B. THO: 



TAKE MY HAND. 

" Please take my hand," she lisped with a tear 

On the baby-lashes sweet, 
For tangled vines in the pathless wood 

Were tripping the tired feet. 
Then on with a child's meek trust she went, 

Content with her hand in mine, 
Till we saw the welcome lights of home 

In the gathering darkness shine. 
Thus let me, Lord, with my hand in Thine, 

Through the tangled mazes go, 
Till the golden lanrps of Paradise 

Through the gloom of evening glow. 



WAIT FOR THE WINGS. 

1 My little maiden of four years old — 

No myth, but a genuine child is she, 
With her bronze-brown eyes and her curls of gold — 
Came quite in disgust, one day, to me ; 

2 Rubbing her shoulder with rosy palm, 

(As the loathsome touch seemed yet to thrill her), 
She cried, " O mother ! I found on my arm 
A horrible, crawling caterpillar ! " 

3 And with mischievous smile she could scarcely 

smother, 
Yet a look, in its daring, half-awed and shy, 
She added, " While they were about it, mother, 
I wished they'd just finished the butterfly ! " 

4 They were words to the thoughts of the soul that turns 

From the coarser form of a partial growth, 
Reproaching the infinite patience that yearns 
With an unknown glory to crown them both ! 

5 Ah ! look thou largely, with lenient eyes, 

On whatso beside thee may creep and cling, 
For the possible beauty that underlies 
The passing phrase of the meanest thing ! 

6 What if God's great angels, whose waiting love 

Beholdeth our pitiful life below, 
From the holy height of their heaven above, 

Couldn't bear with the worm till the wings should 
grow ? 

MRS. A. D. T. WHITNEY. 1882. 

"WILL GOD KNOW ME, WHEN I'M THERE?" 

1 Little hands on the window rest, 

Under the head of sunny curls, 
Fair as the stars on evening's breast, 
That banner of night unfurls. 

2 Eyes that have caught the misty hue 

Of the depths of summer air, 
Ask with the lips so tender, true : — 

"Mother, will God know me when I'm there ?" 



684 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



3 Oh ! the wisdom of tiny years, 

Scarce thrice-told on the wave of time ! 
With perfect love that knew no fears, 
From mother to God, one step to climb ! 

4 Was it a flutter of angel wings ? 

Or was it the song of seraph rare ? 
That a voice we love in silence sings : 
"Mother, God knows me ! I am there ! " 

ESTHER T. HOUSH. 
Brattleboro, Vt. 1884. 
In " Woman at Work." 

IN TWILIGHT. 
" I'm so big, mamma," and the little hand 

Marked where her brown head reached against the 
wall ; 
"Don't hold me, mamma, I don't need your arm 

Around me ; such a large girl cannot fall." 
The twilight shadows gathered o'er the hills, 

A childish figure nestled close to me ; 
" I'm such a little girl," she pleading said, 

" Please, mamma, take your baby on your knee." 
Flushed warm with youthful home and pride, 

" The world is ours to have and hold," we cry ; 
" We'll conquer it alone ; no help we need ; 

Courage like ours fails not of victory." 
But when the shadows of declining years 

Over our pathway fall, we humbly pray, 
" Dear Father, take us in Thy sheltering arms, 

We are such children, put us not away." 



LITTLE FEET. 

Two little feet so small that both may nestle 

In one caressing hand, 
Two tender feet upon the untried border 

Of life's mysterious land. 
Dimpled and soft and pink as peach-tree blossoms 

In April's fragrant days, 
How can they walk among the briery tangles, 

Edging the world's rough ways ? 
These white-rose feet along the doubtful future 

Must bear a woman's load ; 
Alas ! Since woman has the heaviest burden 

And walks the hardest road. 
Love for awhile will make the path before them 

All dainty, smooth and fair — 
Will cull away the brambles, letting only 

The roses blossom there. 
But when the mother's watchful eyes are shrouded 

Away from the sight of men, 
And these dear feet are left without her guiding, 

Who shall direct them then ? 
Will they go stumbling blindly in the darkness 

Of sorrow's tearful shades, 
Or find the upland slopes of peace and beauty 

Whose sunlight never fades ? 



7 Will they go toiling up ambition's summit, 

The common world above, 
Or, in some nameless vale, securely sheltered, 
Walk side by side with love ? 

8 Some feet there be which walk life's track un- 

wounded, 

Which find but pleasant ways ; 
Some hearts there be to which this life is only 
A round of happy days ; 

9 But they are few. Far more there are who wander 

Without a hope or friend ; 
Who find their journey full of pains and losses, 
And long to reach the end. 

10 How shall it be with her, the tender stranger, 

Fair-faced and gentle-eyed, 
Before whose unstained feet the world's rude high- 
way 

Stretches so strange and wide ? 

11 Ah ! who may read the future ? For our darling 

We crave all blessings sweet, 
And pray that He who feeds the crying ravens 
Will guide the baby's feet. 

FLORENCE PERCY, 



GROWING. 

1 Baby is only one year old, 

Fair and sweet as a daffodilly ; 
Hair as bright as the crinkled gold 
Hid in the heart of a water-lily. 

2 Baby is only two years old, 

Tongue like a piping bob-o'-lincoln, 
Trills more songs than can e'er be told, 
Or ever a birdie would dare to think on. 

3 Baby is only who's been stealing 

Out of my arms and off my knee 
My baby ? The gypsy years came kneeling, 
And stole my baby away from me. 



BABY ALTA. 

1 Come hither, hither, little one ! 

O darling, come to me — 
Thou rosebud drifting on the 

Of Life's unfathomed sea ! 
And may it e'er reflect, as now, 
Sweet-glancing smiles and angel brow ! 

2 Come with thy rosy, pouting lips, 

And bright cheeks all aglow, 
And glad, blue eyes that laugh beneath 

Thy brow's unshadowed snow ! 
And may its snow, through calm or strife, 
But typify thy stainless life. 



MOTHERHOOD. THE NURSERY. 



685 



3 Come with thy sweet lips dropping pearls, 

As the fairy-maid of old, 
And voice attuned to the magic birds 

In the bidden fairy-world ! 
Yet I may not pray that life may be 
A fairy-land, sweet one, to thee. 

4 For other purpose wert thou sent, 

O child whose eyes of light 
Speak wistfully of earnest tbought, 

Whose tendrils seek the light. 
Oli ! may they find sure prop and stay 
Till they have gained the '"perfect day!" 

5 Thy pure thoughts come and go like stars, 

Swift-flashing, clouds between, 
And soft reflected from bright waves 

'Tween banks of sunny green — 
Perfect and holy, living stars, 
Whose light no watery medium mars. 

6 I plead, O blue-eyed, sinless one, 

That the years with tranquil flow 
May bear thee from Youth's Eden-land 

To moorings safe, though low, 
Where high, pure thoughts, that bless life's even, 
May light thy path from earth to heaven. 

MAGGIE A, COYNE. 

Union Star, Ky. 
In "Chicago Tribune." 

LITTLE STEENIE._ 

1 Sturdy Steenie, rose-cheeked, bright-eyed, 

Standing at the open door, 
Bidding me good-bye with kisses 

And with promises a score — 
" I'll be just as good as — apples ! 

'Bey my aunties and not cry, 
Not tease Mabe or wake the baby 

Till you comes, mamma, — good-bye ! " 

2 So I started, musing softly, 

On the blessings God had given 
In my children : — " Surely," said I, 

"They are cherubs strayed from heaven! 
Hearts so full of tender loving, 

Eyes with earnest impulse bright — 
Round them still there seems to linger 

Halos of celestial light ! " 

3 Two hours' labor, home returning 

Languidly, with weary feet, 
Standing in the self-same doorway 

Little Mabe I chanced to greet ; 
Bright blue eyes all flushed with weeping, 

Lips a-quiver, cheeks a-flame ; 
Eagerly, to pour her sorrows 

Into mamma's ears, she came. 

4 " Mamma, Steenie's been so naughty ! 

First he told aunt Sallie ' won't,' 
Then he scratched my little table, 

Though I asked him ' please to don't ! ' 
Then he screeched and waked the baby, 

Frightened him most to a fit, 
And when aunt Belle called him naughty, 

Said he didn't care a bit ! 



5 " Then he made a face at Dolly, 

Said she was an 'ugly sing,' 
Said some day he's going to hang her 

To the door-knob with a string. 
Then I told him if he did it 

You would send him right to bed, 
So he thumped me on the shoulder, — 

See the place — it's awful red ! 

6 " When he saw you coming, mamma, 

He hid hisself behind the door, 
And he's wearing out his slippers, 

Poundin' with 'em on the floor. 
Mamma, if he is so wicked, 

Does so many drefful things, 
Will he ever be an angel 

Up in heaven with shiny wings ? " 

7 With a sudden jerk, my visions 

Of celestial cherubs fled, 
Frowningly my brows contracted ; 

In an accent stern, I said, 
" Come to me, you naughty fellow ! 

What are all these things I hear ? 
Eude to aunties ! striking sister ! 

I must punish you, I fear ! " 

8 From his stronghold came the culprit, 

Seeming not at all afraid ; 
Round his mouth the dimples lurking, 

Brown eyes beaming undismayed ; 
By my knee he took his station, 

Small defiance in his air, 
Answering only to my chidings 

Saucily, " I doesn't care ! " 

9 In my eyes the tear-drops started, 

Anger giving place to pain, 
" O my baby, how you grieve me ! 

Are my teachings all in vain ? " 
Suddenly, two arms were round me — 

Little fingers softly drew 
Down my quiv'ring lips to meet his, 

" Kiss me mamma — I loves — you f ' 

.10 This was all of his confession ; 

All his plea for pardoning grace, 
Yet I knew that I had conquered 

By the love-light in his face, — 
So I gave him absolution, — 

Though I pondered sadly still 
On this mingled human nature, 

Half of good, and half of ill. 

11 Inwardly I prayed' for wisdom, 

Safe my little band to guide 
Through the perils that beset them, 

Hedge them in on every side. 
And an answer seemed to reach me, 

Softly falling from above, 
" Safest guard and guide, O mother, 

Is the holy power of love?" 



ANNA L. RUTH. 



686 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



AS LITTLE CHILDREN. 

1 Hourly my little child with flying feet, 

And cheeks all flushed with happy play, 
Comes calling to me in her voice so sweet : 
" Mamma, you were too far away ! " 

2 Then, for a little space, quiet she lies 

Within my folding arms, her face 
Turned upward, while her smiling, trustful eyes 
Tell her content in that embrace. 

3 Sometimes, when Joy has seemed to us akin, 

Smiling upon us with fresh grace each day, 
There comes a sudden, thrilling want within — 
Our Father is too far away ! 

4 Ah ! could we then, as He would have us do, 

Fly to our refuge near His heart, 
The joys of life would glow and bloom anew, 
When, childlike, told to Him apart. 

5 Or, when our souls are dumb with mighty pain, 

Could we but mutely reach His side, 
His love would know it all, and we would gain 
Peace like a river, full aud wide. 

EDITH EBDf LYONS, 1884. 

Detroit, Mich, 

NED'S SUGGESTION. 

1 " Where did you buy her, mamma?" 

Asked three-year-old Ned of me, 
As he leaned o'er the dainty cradle 
His " new little sister" to see. 

2 " An angel brought her, darling," 

I answered, and he smiled, 
Then softly bent his curly head, 
And kissed the sleeping child. 

3 But a sudden change came over him 

And he said, " If I'd a been you, 
While I was about it, mamma, 
I'd have caught the angel, too! " 



CRYING FOR THE MOON. 

1 In the nurse's arms one night, 

In the balmy month of June, 
Lay a baby, spent and tired 

With crying for the moon, 
And so loftily we smiled, 
Said, " Poor, silly little child ! 

He'll know better soon." 

2 Vainly had he tried to leap 

Up toward the glowing sky, 
And because kind Love restrained 

He only could fret and cry ; 

And we said, and proudly smiled, 
" He'll know better, silly child ! 

Better, by-and-by." 



3 Will he ? Please to tell me when ; 

I don't think it will be soon. 
If he's like most other men 

He will always want the moon. 
As a boy, he'll want the toys 
And ponies of far richer boys ; 
These will be his moon. 

4 As a youth, be in distress 

For some beaut}' rich and fair, 
For some furniture or dress, 
For some toy he counteth rare. 
And far older men will say : 
" He'll grow wiser every day ; 
Wiser, unaware." 

5 As a man he'll sigh for wealth, 

Long for power, and hope for fame ; 
And because he gets them not 

Idly murmur, wrongly biame. 
Crying still for some great boon 
Far above him as the moon ; 

Babe and man the same. 

6 Oh ! 'tis well some mighty arm 

Is around us everywhere. 
Many a fall we all should have 
But for that strong, loving care ; 
For life has no greater boon 
Than the love that whispers " No," 
And that will not let us go 
When crying for the moon. 

LILLIE E. BAJtR. 1882. 

New York City. 



CHRIST AND THE LITTLE ONES. 

1 " The Master has come over Jordan," 

Said Hannah, the mother, one day ; 
" He is healing the people who throng Him 

With a touch of His finger, they say. 
And so I will carry the children, 

Littie Rachel, and Samuel, and John ; 
I shall carry the baby Esther, 

For the Lord to look upon." 

2 The father looked at her kindly, 

But he shook his head and smiled : 
" Ah ! who but a doting mother 

Would think of a thing so wild? 
If the children were tortured by demons, 

Or dying of fever, 't were well ; 
Or had they the taint of the leper, 

Like many in Israel." 

3 " Nay, do not hinder me, Nathan ! 

I feel such a burden of care ; 
If I carry it to the Master 

Perhaps I shall leave it there. 
If He lay His hand on the children 

My heart will be lighter, I know, 
For a blessing forever and ever 

Will follow them as they go." 



MOTHERHOOD. THE NURSERY. 



687 



4 So over the hills of Judah, 

Along by the vine-rows green, 
With Esther asleep on her bosom, 

And Rachel her brothers between ; 
'Mong the people who hung on His teaching, 

Or waited His touch or His word ; 
Through the row of proud Pharisees listening, 

She pressed to the feet of the Lord. 

5 " Now why shouldst thou hinder the Master," 

Said Peter, " with children like these ? 
Seest not how from morning to evening 

He teacheth, and healeth disease ? " 
Then Christ said : " Forbid not the children ; 

Permit them to come unto Me ; " 
And He took in His arms little Esther, 

And Rachel He set on His knee. 

6 And the heavy heart of the mother 

Was lifted all earth-care above, 
As He laid His hands on the brothers 

And blessed them with tenderest love ; — 
As He said of the babes in His bosom : 

" Of such is the Kingdom of Heaven ;" 
And strength for all duty and trial 

That hour to her spirit was given. 

' URANIA LOCKE BAILEY. 
Extract from a letter from Rev. Wm. Goodell, D, D., of Constantinople, 
Turkey, to Rev. Dr. Prime, of New York :— 

" I come to ask a special favor of you, viz : that you will see that sweet 

singer in Israel, and composer, Mr. , and ask him to make a tune for 

that beautif ul hymn beginning with, ' The Master has come over Jordan.' 
The tune should be a very simple one, and suited to the popular ear, 
that all Christian mothers in the world may learn to sing it by hearing it 

once. We shall pray that Brother maybe where John was ' on 

the Lord's day' (not in exile, but in the spirit), and may be assisted to 
make a tune which shall be sung in every land and by every tongue, not 
only till the beginning of the Millennium, but straight through .till the 
very end of it, and even far beyond." 

THOUGHTS ON BABY'S HAND. 

1 Will it ever grow hard with toiling ? 

Will it ever be stained with crime ? 
Will it wield the pen of the gifted, 
And trace out its soul-song in rhyme ? 

2 Will it soften the pillow of sickness, 

And smooth out the wrinkles of care ? 
Will it guide the steps of the penitent, 
And point to the altar of prayer ? 

3 Will these wee, waxen fingers, 

Which now lie quiet in mine, 
Be rough and harsh when years have flown, 
Or be white and wear jewels that shine ? 

4 Dear, dear little hand full of dimples, 

My wish is that when childhood has flown, 
Thy clasp may be true, and each that meets yours 
May be as sincere as thine own. 

5 Receiving and giving and blessing, 

Pressed only in friendship and love, 
And, when it no longer has earth-work to do, 
Join hands with the angels above. 

MBS. A. E. RICKARDS, 1884. 



THE ROBIN'S FUNERAL. 

1 A Maying, the little ones, Jessie and Phil — 
Her hair like the moonlight on torrent and rill, 
His eyes the dark waters where hazels droop low, 
Her cheek pink arbutus half hidden in snow, 
His lips red as berries in mosses that lie, 
The violet mirrors its blue in her eye ; 
And Philip her King, in his armor of green, 
Trails all his bright banners to Jessie his Queen. 



2 Lo, out on the lawn a red robin 
Their laughter has died as the singer they weep, 
And all the rich spoil they had found in the wood 
Lies here at the feet of their lost Robin Hood. 

" And we were so happy," moaned Jessie ; " behold 
His beautiful breast-plate of crimson and gold, 
The soft little throat where the music was born, 
Yet his soul is alive — it was well in the morn. 

3 "But he must be buried (his body, you know), 
Bring the white Christmas-box, and do, Philip, move 

slow. 
Here's moss for his pillow ; anemones sweet 
Shall circle his wings and smile up from his feet ; 
This tiny white star in his bright little bill — 
He shall lie here ' in state ' for an hour, Brother Phil, 
And mamma will be the chief mourner — she knew 
This very same robin before she saw you." 

4 White ribbon, white flowers for three, " Robin Adair," 
Small dimpled white fingers played funeral air ; 

A grave by the arbor ; -a snowy card said 
In a child's tender text, that a singer was dead. 
O trusting young hearts ! if cold reason denies 
The hope that lights up your great innocent eyes — 
God grant our dead robins may sing to us yet 
In the faith of a love that can never forget. 

HELEN RICH. 

In "Springfield Republican." 



WAIT TILL I GET RICH. 

Dark the night, and dreary 

Moaned the wintry wind, 
Cheerless and a-weary, 

For my rest I pined ; 
But my task unended 

On my lap was spread, 
Task on which depended 

All the morrow's bread. 

At my elbow blinking, 

Nodding, half asleep, 
Striving spite his winking 

Wide awake to keep, 
Sat my boy, my treasure, 

All earth held for me, 
Sharer of my pleasure, 

Pride and poverty. 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



3 Something caught his vision, 

Maybe 't was a tear, 
Wrested from its prison 

By the night-wind drear ; 
One kiss, then another, 

Checked my purposed stitch, 
" Never mind, mother, 

Wait till I get rich!" 

4 Bless the voice so cheery ! 

Bless the words he spoke ! 
From my shoulders weary 

Slipped the chafing yoke ; 
Swiftly, as though fairy 

Tipped it with her wand, 
O'er the fabric airy 

Flew my quickened hand. 

5 Soon the will that speeded 

Stayed the blust'ring gale ; 
Soon my task completed 

From my fingers fell ; 
"Wreathed in every gather, 

Bound in every stitch — 
" Never mind, mother, 

Wait till I get rich I " 

6 Sealed in happy slumber 

Now, the eyes of blue ; 
From each cow'ring ember 

Light had faded too ; 
But a star had risen 

On my darksome lot, 
Lighting in her prison 

Long-benighted Thought : 

7 And in fancy winging 

Down the coming years, 
Hope kept blithely singing 

In my listening ears 
This song — and none other 

Could my siren pitch — 
" Never mind, mother, 

Wait till I get rich ! " 

8 So I bore my treasure 

To his trundle-bed, 
With a gladder measure 

In my lightened tread ; 
And I kissed him over 

Lips, and cheek, and brow, 
Raptured as a lover 

O'er his maiden's vow. 

9 Well I knew my laddie 

Never rich might be ; 
That the feet so ready 

E'en might stray from me ; 
But I blessed the token 

Of a hopeful heart ; 
'T was though God had 

To myself apart. 



10 'Twas though, outward peering 

At the darkling sky, 
Dart and danger fearing, 

God spake, " It is I ! " 
'Twas though, seaward veering, 

Dreaded rocks ahead, 
O'er the waves came cheering 

God's " Be not afraid ! " 

11 Now, with vision lengthened, 

Shorter seems the road ; 
And, with courage strengthened, 

Lighter seems the load. 
He my stint doth measure, 

Knoweth every stitch ; 
If it were His pleasure, 

He could make me rich. 



M. A. MAITLAND. 
In "Gems of Poetry." 
Stratford, Ont., 1884. 



BED-TIME. 

1 The children are going to bed 

In nurseries shaded and clean, 
And many a bright curly head 

Is nestling the white sheets between. 
Little faces, all washed white as snow, 

Are dewy with kisses to-night, 
And young lips are murmuring low 

Sweet prayer-words from consciences white. 
Tiny dresses, and jackets, and shoes, 

Lie folded away till the morn, 
Like the chrysalis, no more of use 

To the gaily striped insect new-born. 
The angel of sleep hovers near, 

And curtains the room with his wings; 
That incense to angels is dear 

Which from nursery altars upsprings. 
Little eyelids quite tired with play, 

Are drooping and closing like flowers, 
And restless young forms laid away 

To sleep through the long midnight hours. 
In cottage, and castle, and hall, 

In valley, on prairie or hill, 
The calm hush of evening doth fall, 

And life hath grown suddenly still. 
At sunset a blessing comes down, 

And peace upon all things is shed, 
For in city, and village, and town, 

The children are going to bed. 

2 The children are going to bed, 

Such bed as their lives ever know, 
In alley, and attic, and shed, 

And cellar-way fetid and low. 
In homes where fierce wrangle and din 

Turns night into hideous noon, 
Where voices of shame and of sin 

Will break their light slumbers too soon. 
All tumbled and dirty they lie, 

No kiss on the heavy young brow, 



MOTHERHOOD. THE NURSERY. 



A tear scarcely dried in the eye, 

The flush of a blow ling'ring now. 
They sleep upon pavement or floor, 

With never a low word of prayer, 
Or gasp at the window or door 

For a breath of the life-giving air. 
Far up in the tenement high 

They sob at the falling of day, 
And angels bend down from the sky 

To hear what the poor children say. 
It may be that even in Heaven 

Some bright tears of pity are shed, 
And sins of the day all forgiven 

When the children are going to bed. 

3 The children are going to bed ! 

Hushed voices speak gently the word ; 
All muffled the mother's light tread, 

No merry " good evening " is heard. 
No breath stirs the ringlets of gold, 

No dimple the passionless cheek, 
No tossing limbs ruffle a fold 

Laid over the hands folded meek. 
Oh! quiet the cradle, though small, 

Where the children are laid to their rest ; 
There is room, and to spare, for them all, 

In earth's warm and welcoming breast. 
What matter if castle or cot 

Once held the fair image of snow ; 
All alike are ihey now in their lot 

As they nestle the flowers below. 
Then cover them up from our sight, 

Spread the freshest green turf o'er their head, 
Bid them one more caressing " good night," 

The children are going to bed. 
'Tis only the jackets and shoes 

We fold in the casket away, 
They'll find them again fit for use 

When morning brings in a new day. 
The children are folded in dreams, 

Bright angels have sung them to sleep, 
And stars with their pure, solemn beams, 

Loving watch o'er their tired forms keep. 
No waking to sorrow or gloom, 

No hunger, no shame, and no sin, 
Oh ! faithful and loving the tomb 

That safe from life's ills shuts them in. 
The sweet name of Jesus, our Lord, 

Once more o'er their pillows be said ; 
And praise, that secure in His word, 

The children are going to bed. 

MISS M. B. WJNSLOW, 1873. 
By Permission. 



HER ANGEL. 

1 Margery cowered and crouched in the door of the 
beautiful porch, 
There were beautiful people in there, and they all 
" belonged to the church," 



But Margery waited without ; she did not " belong " 

anywhere 
Except in the dear Lord's bosom, who taketh the 

children there. 

2 And through the open doorway came floating a lovely 
sound ; 

She shut her eyes and imagined how the angels stood 
around 

With their harps like St. Cecilia's in the picture on 
the wall — 

Ah ! Margery did not doubt that so looked the sing- 
ers all. 



3 " Suffer little children ! '' sang a heavenly voice 

where, 
Or the soul of a voice that was winging away in the 

upper air ; 
" Let the children come to me ! " sang the " angel " 

in her place, 
And Margery, listening, stood with upturned eyes and 

face. 

4 " Let them come ! let them come to me ! " And up 

the aisle she sped 
With eyes that sought for the Voice, to follow where 

it led. 
She did not say to herself : " I'm coming ! Wait 

for me ! " 
But it shone in her face, and it leaped in her eyes, 

dear Margery ! 

5 Up the stair to the singer she ran — she touched the 

hem of her dress, 
But the choir were bending their heads, the preacher 

had risen to bless 
The reverent throng, and, alas ! bewildered Margery, 
The Voice has ceased, and the singers have turned 

their eyes on thee. 

6 They look with surprise at her feet, and again at her 

ragged gown, 

And one by one they pass with a careless smile or a 
frown ; 

But the sweetest face bent near, and — "I came," 
said Margery, 

" For I thought 'twas an angel sung, ' Let the chil- 
dren come to me ! ' " 

7 With a tender sigh the singer took the child on her 

knee ; 
" I sang the words for the dear Lord Christ, my 

Margery, 
And so, for the dear Lord Christ, I take thee home 

with me ! " 
"It was an angel sang !" sobs little Margery. 

ANNA T. BURNHAM. 
In " Wide Awake." 



690 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

LULLABY. 



Words and Music by Mrs. G. C. SMITH. 



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Published in sheet music form by the National Music Company, Chicago, 111. 



692 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



GOOD NIGHT! LITTLE NELL. 



Mrs. J. T. WHITMAN. 1874. 

By per. MESSRS. LUDDEN & BATES. Savannah, Ga. 



GERTRUDE MANLY. 




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3. Good-night ! lit - tie Nell, good-night,go to sleep, Dream-i - ly, dream -i - ly night shadows creep ;May 



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God be thy guide,through sunshine and storm,Then give our sweet flow -er an an - gel's fair form. 




MOTHERHOOD. LULLABIES AND MOTHERS' SONGS. 



693 




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694 



WOMAN IN S ACRED SONG. 



THE BABY'S CHRISTENING. 

1 Sweetheart ! thou hast no name, 
Only such tender words as love can frame ; 
Christened anew with kisses every hour, 

Our pearl, our dove, our flower ! 

2 So we have come to-day 

A name in blessing on thy brow to lay, 
"Wreathing the font with buds of palest dyes, 
And violets like thine eyes. 

3 O child ! we cannot see 

All that the coming year may bring to thee ; 
If on thy path the dews drop cool and sweet, 
Or stones shall bruise thy feet. ■ 

4 And if our love could choose 
Life's sweetest gifts, and all its ill refuse, 
Perchance the treasure we should deem the best, 

Would fill thee with unrest. 

5 "We, we who love thee dear, 

Lift empty hands to One who waiteth near, 
Praying, " In all our lives Thy will be done ; 
Bless Thou the little one ! " 



MOTHER'S SONG. . 

1 Jesus is the Gardener, 

We are but the flowers ; 
If He prune the branches, 

If He bring the showers, 
How should we rebuke Him ? 

Is the garden ours ? 

2 If He pluck a lily, 

Joying in its white ; 
If He choose a rosebud 

For His own delight ; 
If He take it from us, 

Has He not the right ? 

3 Jesus is the Shepherd ; 

If a lamb He bear 
Unto higher pasture, 

Into purer air, 
Should the flock that missed it 

Vex itself with care ? 

4 There the little lambkin 

Nothing shall distress ; 
There no cold shall chill it, 

There no heat oppress ; 
There no wolf shall enter 

"Wearing shepherd's dress. 

5 After snow the summer ; 

Rainbow after rain ; 
Weeping but endureth 

"With the night's short pain ; 
"When the morning breaketh 

Joy will come again. 



6 In the garden yonder, 
Eden of the blest, 

"We shall find the blossoms 
That we loved the best ; 

We shall find our lambkins 
Safe on Jesus' breast. 



Chorus 



UNA L. BAILEY, 1882, 



I HEARD A MOTHER SINGING. 



1 I heard a mother singing, 

Music soft and sweet, 
'Twas " Father, keep my darling, 
Guide his little feet." 
Keep, Oh ! keep my darling," 
Came so low and sweet, 
" In the truth, dear Father, 
Guide his little feet." 

2 I watched the rosy fingers, 

Feeling for the light, 
I heard a mother saying, 
" Father, guide aright." 

3 I saw the drooping eyelids 

Cover eyes so blue, 
I heard a mother singing, 
" Father, keep him true." 

4 I saw the shining forehead 

Pure, and Oh ! so fair, 
I heard the mother singing, 
" Write his name up there." 

EMMA put: 
Set to Music and Copyrighted by 

W. A. OGDEN. 1881. 



BABY'S SWEET SLEEP. 



1 She rocked the cradle to and fro, 
She murmured'lovingly and low, 

" Oh ! sleep, my baby, sleep ! " 
The little face was drawn with pain, 
The baby could not hear the strain 
The mother sang, and sang again, 

" Oh ! sleep, my baby, sleep." 

2 The Saviour lent a list'ning ear, 
And heard the mother singing here, 

" Oh ! sleep, my baby, sleep ! " 
He sent an angel pure and bright 
To take the babe to worlds of light ; 
He whispered " Thou shalt sleep to-night, 

Yes, sleep, my baby, sleep." 

3 The mother kissed the smiling face, 
And said, " Dear Jesus, in thy grace, 

Thou gav'st my baby sleep ; 
Now, all I ask is when I die 
My babe may be a spirit nigh, 
To lead me to the world on high ; 

Then blessed now such sleep." 



MOTHERHOOD. LULLABIES AND MOTHERS' SONGS. 



695 



THE LULLABY. 

1 In her pretty willow cradle softly swaying, 
Lulled to slumber by my tender rhythmic praying, 
Lies my baby, while my mother heart is saying, 

" God keep her there ! " 

2 Keep, Oh ! keep her sunny head upon its pillow, 
Shining out between the twining withes of willow, 
Rocking lightly as a bark on fairy billow, 

" God keep her there ! " 

3 Breathing sweetly with a baby's soft pulsation, 
To the measure of the cradle's light vibration, 
In the cadence of' my panting aspiration, 

" God keep her there ! " 

L. P. H. 1881. 

Prom " Motherhood," by per. 

LEE & SHEPARD. 



Gathered close by mother's arm ; 
Never mind about the weather, 
Mother and baby close together ! 

Dear tired heart by ills oppressed, 
Fly to the shelter of God's breast ! 
What can hurt thee or alarm, 
Within the circle of God's arm ? 
Never mind earth's stormy weather, 
God and His own are close together ! 

MARY P. BIGELOW, 






A LULLABY. 

1 Softly sleep, little one, 

Snug in thy nest, 
Cradled so lovingly 

On mother's breast ; 
Mother's eyes watch thee, 

Mother's own arm 
Folds thee so tenderly, 

Safe from alarm. 

2 Softly sleep, pretty one ! 

God watcheth too ; 
Watcheth the mother-heart, 

Beating so true ! 
High are the hopes for thee, 

Sad are its fears ; 
Life, though it seem to smile, 

Oft bringeth tears. 

3 Sleep on, my little one ! 

All will be well, 
Thou art the Saviour's lamb, 

So thou dost dwell 
Close in His heart of love ; 

Safe there He'll keep 
Thee and thy mother, too ; 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! 



MARY K. A. STONE, 1885. 

Cambridge, Mass. 



SHELTERED. 

1 Dear wee birdies in their nest, 
Covered warm by a feathered breast, 
Sheltered from the wind and storm, 
Fear no ill and feel no harm ; 
Never mind about the weather, 
Mother and nestlings close together. 

2 Dear little baby, taking rest, 
Warmly folded to mother's breast, 
Knows no ill and fears no harm, 



NIGHT-FALL. 

1 Sweet light is gone ; and thro' the quiet glooming 
Comes to my ear a tired baby's cry, 

While tender mother-voice is crooning, crooning 
An evening lullaby. 

2 " Sleep, little one, by guardian angels tended, 
Safe shalt thou lie upon thy mother's breast," — 
And baby woes are hushed, and cares are ended 

In love, and home, and rest. 

3 Sweet day is fled, and deeper, darker falling 
The chill and heavy glooms of evening come. 
My aching head and burdened heart are calling 

For love, and rest, and home. 

4 And like the weary child, by love inspired, 
Close to the Heart of Tenderness I creep, 
Whispering, " Take me, Lord, for I am tired, 

Hush me to sleep." 

CHARLOTTE REYNOLDS, 1883. 



HE'S COMING. 

1 Sleep ! baby, sleep ! 
Rest those dimpled fairy feet 
On the bare, brown, rustic seat, 
While the weary little head 
Showers its silken golden thread 
On a softer, warmer bed — 

Sleep ! baby, sleep ! 

2 Rest ! baby, rest ! 

'T is my prettiest muslin dress 
That your peachy cheek doth press, 
But those precious rings of gold — 
Moist with night-dews half unrolled • 
Hiding in each airy fold — 
Cannot fade its azure hue : 
Close them pet, those eyes of blue, 
Sleep ! baby, sleep ! 

3 Sleep ! baby, sleep ! 
While I silent sit and look 
Far across the moonlit brook — 
O'er the meadows — up the hill ^ 
On the pathway to the mill, 
Close beside yon rippling rill — 

Sleep ! baby, sleep ! 



696 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



4 Rest ! baby, rest ! 
Eyes so bright must not grow dim, 
I must watch alone for him ; 
'T is not yet your weary fate 
Thus at eventide to wait, 
Like a lone dove for its mate. 
Sleep, then, precious darling, sleep ! 
While my lonesome watch I keep, 
Sleep ! 



5 Wake ! baby, wake ! 
You must share my brighter fate ! 
He is almost at the gate ! 
Raise that pretty gold-crowned head 



From its low, uncurtained bed, 
Listen to the well-known tread ! 
Wake ! baby, wake ! 

6 Wake ! baby, wake ! 
Let the silken fringes rise 
That now veil those starry eyes ; 
I would have their tender light, 
Ever radiant, ever bright, 
On your father shine to-night. 
He is coming — drawing near — 
Coming ! coming ! almost here ! 
Wake ! baby, wake ! 

ANNA MABIE SPAULDING, Jan. 4, 1861. 

Lewisburg, Va. 



MOTHERHOOD. THE NURSERY. NURSERY RHYMES. 



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From "The Graded Music Reader." Edited by Dr. H. S. Perkina. By per 



MOTHERHOOD. THE NURSERY. NURSERY RHYMES. 



A BIRTHDAY TRIBUTE. 

Very many will like to see the last article written by Mrs. Slade,— 
birthday rhymes for her name grandchild, Mary Slade Hopkins, one 
year old, March 6. 1882. Mrs. Slade died in April, 1882. 

1 If I had all the flowers that bloom 

All over all the prairies, 
I'd pile them in this dining-room, 
And they should all be Mary's. 

2 And all the birds that fly about, 

From March -to January, 
Right in this room I'd let them out 
To sing a song for Mary. 

3 And all the kitties I could call, 

In Hempstead or Fall River, 
Right in this house I'd bring them all, 
And every one I'd give her. 

4 And every golden chain and ring, 

On all the pretty ladies, 
I'd have them take right off and bring 
To be my darling Maidie's. 

5 But grandma's got to give it up, 

Because she is not able, 
And so she gives her pet a cup, 
To drink her milk at table. 

6 Oh ! grandma loves her very much, 

And hopes, when she is twenty, 
She'll have of gifts, if not just such, 
Of all she needs,a plenty. 

MRS. M. B. C. SLADE. 



MY GOOD FOR NOTHING. 

1 What are you good for, my brave little man ? 
Answer that question for me if you can ; 
You with your fingers as white as a nun, 
You with your ringlets as bright as the sun, 
All the day long with your busy contriving, 
Into all mischief and fun you are driving ; 
See if your wise little noddle can tell 
What you are good for — now ponder it well. 

2 Over the carpet the clear little feet 
Came with a patter to climb on my seat : 
Two merry eyes, full of frolic and glee, 
Under their lashes looked up unto me ; 
Two little hands, pressing soft on my face, 
Drew me down close in a loving embrace ; 
Two rosy lips gave the answer so true, 

" Good to love you, mamma, good to love you. : 

EMILY H. MILLER, 1880. 



TEN LITTLE TOES. 

Baby is clad in his nightgown white, 
Pussy-cat purrs a soft good night, 
And somebody tells, for somebody knows, 
The terrible tale of ten little toes. 



RIGHT FOOT. 

This big toe took a small boy Sam 

Into the cupboard after the jam ; 

This little toe said, " O no ! no !" 

This little toe was anxious to go ; 

This little toe said, " 'T is n't quite right;" 

This little tiny toe curled out of sight. 

LEFT FOOT. 

This big toe got suddenly stubbed ; 

This little toe got ruefully rubbed ; 

This little frightened toe cried out, " Bears ! " 

This little timid toe, " Run up stairs ! " 

Down came a jar with a loud slam ! slam ! 

This little tiny toe got all the jam ! 

CLARA G. DOLLIVER. 

In " Our Little Ones." 



THE LITTLE RUNAWAY. 

1 Dear little, golden-haired Fay, 
Where are you wandering away, 

From mamma and home ? 
Though Jacky, your dog, walks close by your side, 
Looks into your face with evident pride, 
The world, for Jacky and you, is too wide 

From mamma to roam. 

2 Sweet little, golden-haired Fay, 
Wandering away and away, 

With dignified mien ; 
You are going down to some hidden nook, 
Where ripples and dances the babbling brook, 
Only " just for once," with Jacky to look 

For flowers, I ween. 

3 Run away, golden-haired Fay, 
Happy and bright on this day, 

As onward you go ; 
Mamma's soft foot-fall escapes Jacky's ear, 
As, with curious smile, she hovers near, 
And listens, with wrapt attention, to hear 

Your words, soft and low. 

4 Pure little, golden-haired Fay, 
We wish to hear what you say, 

Down close by the brook ; 
You look all about with wondering eyes, 
At the dancing rill and the calm, blue skies, 
Then comes into your face, so sweetly wise, 

A mysterious look. 

5 Mystified, golden-haired Fay, 
Your little soul thinking to-day 

Of things deep and high ; 
" Isn't Dod dood, don't you sink, Jacky dear, 
Evy sing is so buful, buful, down here ? " 
And Jacky, responsive, drew lovingly near, 

With his mute reply. 



698 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



6 Then, with a reverent look, 

She kneels on the moss by the brook, 

In the silent wood. 
" Dear Dod, we's so glad we come here to-day, 
And we loves you, 'cause you show us the way, 
So please hear Jacky and me while we pray, 

For we sinks you is dood." 

7 Pure little, goldeu-haired Fay 
And Jacky steal softly away, 

With never a flower ; 
Mamma, not daring to linger so nigh, 
Lest Jacky or Fay her form should espy, 
Speeds homeward, and wipes the tear from her eye, 

As she thinks of that hour. 



OFF FOR BOY-LAND. 

1 Ho ! All aboard ! A traveller 

Sets sail for Baby-land ! 
Before my eyes there comes a blur, 

But still I kiss my hand, 
And try to smile as off he goes, 

My bonny, winsome boy ! 
Yes, bon voyage ! God only knows 

How much 1 wish thee joy. 

2 Oh ! tell me, have ye heard of him ? 

He wore a sailor's hat 
All silver-corded round the brim, 

And — stranger e'en than that — 
A wondrous suit of navy-blue, 

With pockets deep and wide ; 
Oh ! tell me, sailors, tell me true, 

How fares he on the tide ? 

3 We've now no baby in the house ; 

T was but this very morn, 
He doffed his dainty 'broidered blouse, 

With skirts of snowy lawn ; 
And shook a mass of silken curls 

From off his sunny brow ; 
They fretted him—" so like a girl's ! 

Mamma can have them now." 

4 He owned a brand-new pocket-book, 

But that he could not find ; 
A knife and string was all he took ; 

What did he leave behind ? 
A heap of blocks with letters gay, 

And here and there a toy ; 
I cannot pick them up to-day, 

My heart is with my boy. 

5 Ho ! Ship ahoy ! At Boyhood's town 

Cast anchor strong and deep ! 
What ! tears upon this little gown 

Left for mamma to keep ? 
Weep not, but smile ; for through the air 

A merry message rings : — 
« Just sell it to the rag-man there ! 

I've done with. baby things ! " 

EMMA H. NASON. 1884. 
In " St. Nicholas." 



WILLIE-WEE'S GRACE. 

1 He wasn't two years old, you see ; 

He couldn't utter well 
A single word, — this Willie- Wee, 
Of whom I'm going to tell. 

2 Yet if you gave him something good, 

He always tried to say 
His " thank you, ma'am," as best he could, 
In pretty, baby way. 

3 And, kneeling by his little bed, 

In gown of dainty white, 
He shut his great blue eyes, and said 
" Our Father" every night. 

4 One morning, when the bell for prayers 

Had summoned all the house, 
He glided down the nursery stairs 
As softly as a mouse. 

5 " Hi, honey ! wha' ye gwine widout 

You' hy'ar been smooven down ? " 
His mammy * cried : " The chile's about 
Some mischief, I'll be boun'. 

6 " Come back dis minit, till I put 

You' shoes and stockin's on ! " 
She shouted down the passage ; but 
The runaway was gone. 

7 And to himself she heard him say, 

As, muttering, on he went, — 
" Papa away ! papa away ! " 
And wondered what he meant. 

8 Into the breakfast-room he 

Mounted his father's chair, 

And gravely waited till the rest 

Came in for morning prayer. 

9 And when mamma, and sisters three 

Had taken, each, her place, 
And paused a moment, quietly, 

To say their silent "grace," — 
10 His head our Willie- Wee low bowed, 

And, folding palm to palm, 
Shut close his eyes, and said aloud, 

" Our Fader, — t'ank ou, ma'am ! " 

MARGARET ,1. PRESTON. 

In " Wide Awake." 
* The invariable name for nurse, with aU Virginia children. 



.GRANDMA'S BABY, SWEET IRENE. 



1 God bless my little darling, 

Sweet, beautiful Irene, 
'Mong all the baby girls, 

She is the very queen. 
She is a born princess, 

A little lady rare, 
With ways so wise and wonderful, 

And face so sweet and fair. 



MOTHERHOOD. THE NURSERY. 

2 She is a tiny wee thing, 

And only nine months old ; 
A precious dimpled fairy, 

The lamb of all the fold, 
Our graceful little princess, 

Our baby, queen, and dove, 
Reigns over all the household, 

And fills each heart with love. 

3 She is a dimpled wee thing, 

With eyes so large and "brown, 
With perfect head, and auburn hair, 

And skin like white, soft down. 
With little hands so lovely, 

Stretched out to every one ; 
And warmest kisses for her friends, 

And sweet smiles for the throng. 

3 She's music, and she's sunshine, 

She's light and life to me. 
The joy and comfort of my heart, 

Our beautiful baby. 
She's grandma's pet and darling, 

The one that I love best, 
The sweetest, and the rarest, 

The beautiful and blest. 

MRS. M. E. DE GEER CALL, 1879. 
In "The Crusader," 



NURSERY RHYMES. 

A LOGICAL CONCLUSION. 



699 



1 Grace tosses back her bonnie hair, 

Soft and fine as a skein of silk, 
And her blue eyes darken dreamily 
Over her bowl of bread and milk. 

2 What is she meditating upon — 

This earnest thinker, not yet seven ? 
She ponders awhile, then slowly asks — 
" Mamma, is there milk in heaven ? " 

3 O wise mamma, who sees at once 

That should she answer "No," 
The little brown-haired questioner, 
Would have no wish to go ! 

4 So she waits a minute, half doubtfully, 

And then, with a loving caress, 
And thinking of " milk and honey " texts, 
She fearlessly answers " Yes." 

5 Grace plies her spoon contentedly 

With a cheerful little clatter, 

As if her mind were now at rest, 

On a very important matter. 

6 But her next remark is one of those x 

Surprising, unlooked-for things ! 
For she asks in simple childish faith, 

" Then, mamma, do the cows have wings ?" 

BESSIE CHAND1ER, 1882. 

In " Good Cheer." 



MOTHERHOOD. THE NURSERY. THE CHILDREN'S PRAYER. 



FAJSTSY CROSBY. 



GOD EVER NEAR. 



Mrs. JOSEPH F. KNAPP. By per. 



1. God is with me ev - 'ry day, 

2. When the stars are shin - ing bright, 

3. In His lov - ing arms I rest, 



When I work or when I 
In the still and si - lent 
By His ten - der mer - cy 



play, 
night, 
blest; 



Ev - 'ry 

When I 

Oh! how 



thought that 

lay me 

thank - ful 




comes to me, Good 
down to sleep, God 
I should be, God 



or sin - ful, He can see. God 

is near, a watch to keep, 
is ev - er watch - ing me. 



ev - er watch - ing nigh, 



700 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



THE TENDER SHEPHERD. 

8s & 7s. 

1 Gracious Saviour, holy Shepherd, 
Little ones are dear to Thee ; 
Gathered with Thine arms, and carried 
In Thy bosom, may they be 
Sweetly, fondly, safely tended, 

From all want and danger free. 

2 Tender Shepherd, never leave them 
From Thy fold to go astray ; 

By Thy warning love directed, 
May they walk the narrow way : 
Thus direct them, thus defend them, 
Lest they fall an easy prey. 

3 Taught to lisp the holy praises 
Which on earth Thy children sing, 
Both with lips and hearts unfeigned, 
Glad than k-offerings may they bring ; 
Then with all the saints in glory, 
Join to praise their Lord and King. 



"Now I lay me down to sleep, 
I pray the Lord my soul to keep ; 
If I should die before I wake, 
I pray the Lord my soul to take." 



MISS LEESON. 



JESUS, GENTLE SHEPHERD, HEAR ME. 

The prayer, for such it is, was written by Mary Lundee Duncan, 
who, if memory does not lead astray, was the daughter of a Scotch 
clergyman. It was composed for her little children's prayer, and may he 
found in her "Memoir," which contains many beautiful thoughts, and is 
to be found in many Sunday School Libraries. 

1 Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me ; 

Bless thy little lamb to-night : 
Through the darkness be Thou near me, 
Watch my sleep till morning light. 

2 All this day Thy hand hath led me, 

And I thank Thee for Thy care ; 
Thou hast clothed me, warmed, and fed me ; 
Listen to my evening prayer. 

3 Let my sins be all forgiven, 

Bless the friends I love so well ; 
Take me, when I die, to heaven, 
Happy there with Thee to dwell. 

MARY LUNDEE DUNCAN. 



THE CHILDREN'S PRAYER. 

The dreamy night draws nigh. 
Soft airs, delicious, breathe of myriad flowers, 
And on the wings of fragrance fly the hours. 

The moon is high ; 

See, in yon rustic lane, 
A cottage bright with vines : one tremulous ray 
Steals out to where the silvery moonbeams play, 

From the low casement pane ; 
Within, two babes their innocent faces bow, 
Four little hands clasp softly — spotless now — 
Four rosy lips with holy worship part. 
Listen, O worldling, skeptic if thou art, 
Those tender vespers make the quick tears start. 



MRS. M. A. DENISON, 1882. 



I WANT TO BE AN ANGEL. 

1 I want to be an angel, 

And with the angels stand, 
A crown upon my forehead, 

A harp within my hand. 
There right before my Saviour, 

So glorious and so bright, 
I'd wake the sweetest music, 

And praise Him day and night. 

2 I know I'm weak and sinful, 

But Jesus will forgive ; 
And man} - little children 

Have gone to Heaven to live. 
Dear Saviour, when I languish 

And lay me down and die, 
Oh ! send a shining angel 

To bear me to the sky. 



A GOOD-NIGHT PRAYER. 

1 Forgive all my sins, 

Lord Jesus, to-night, 
And make my heart spotless 
In God's holy sight. 

2 Oh ! help me to grant 

Forgiveness to all 
Who've troubled or hurt me, 
Or made me to fall. 

3 And when my eyes close, 

Be Thou my soul's light, 
To bring me to heaven, 
That hath no good-night. 



MARY A. K. STONE. 1885k 

South Orange. N\ J. 



FLOWERS. 

Her little prayer at night she said, 

Then looked with wistful eyes, 
Half tenderly and half afraid, 

Up to the starry skies. 
For daily bread, ne'er sought in vain, 

She asked the heavenly powers. 
" Please, God ! " she whispered low again, 

" Div' me my daily f'owers ! " 
Her daily flowers, her baby days, 

In one bright garden flew ; 
And like a flower in all her ways, 

The dimpled creature grew. 



MOTHERHOOD. THE NURSERY. THE CHILDREN'S PRAYER. 



701 



4 As fair and sweet a tiny maid 

As any new-born blossom 
That dawn and dew's soft stress persuade 
From mother earth's broad bosom. 

5 And flowers like kin the darling loved ; 

She bore the fragrant band, 
Where'er she played, where'er she roved, 
In apron or in hand. 

6 And while she prayed, with look askance 

As if she asked a treasure 
Too great for God to give, perchance, 
For just her baby pleasure, 

7 I echoed in my heart her prayer, 

Remembering earth's sad hours, 
And weary weight of sin and care, 
" Give us our daily flowers ! 

8 " The kindly word, the smile serene, 

The greeting of good-morrow, 
The brotherhood in speech and mien, 
That soothes our common sorrow. 

9 " These human blossoms of the heart 

Give to our daily needing ! 
Dear Lord ! are not these too a part 

Of thine immortal feeding ? " 
10 And back the sudden answer fell : 

" Whate'er my hand hath given, 
My constant love and care to tell, 

Is truly bread from heaven." 

ROSE TERitr COOK, 1881. 

"Sunday School Times." 



Ah ! earth may be chill with 

And hearts may be cold with care, 
But wastes of a frozen silence 

Are crossed by the baby's prayer ; 
And lips that were dumb with sorrow 

In jubilant hope may sing ; 
For when earth is wrapped in winter, 

In the heart of the Lord 'tis spring. 



CHILD'S MORNING PRAYER. 

Tune— "Home, Swcei Home." 

1 Our Father in Heaven 

We hallow Thy name ! 
May Thy kingdom holy 

On earth be the same ! 
Oh ! give to us daily 

Our portion of bread, 
It is from Thy bounty 

That all must be fed. 

2 Forgive our transgressions 

And teach us to know 
That humble compassion 

Which pardons each foe : 
Keep us from temptation, 

From weakness and sin, 
And Thine be the glory, 

Forever — Amen. 



SARAH J. HALE. 



THE BABY'S PRAYER. 



WOULD NOT SAY HIS PRAYERS. 



She knelt with her sweet hands folded ; 

Her fair little head bowed low ; 
While dead vines tapped at the window 

And the air was thick with snow. 
Without, earth dumb with winter ; 

Within, hearts dumb with care; 
And up through the leaden silence, 

Rose softly the baby's prayer. 

" Bless all whom I love, dear Father, 

And help me be good," she said. 
Then, stirred by a sudden fancy, 

She lifted tiie shining head. 
Did she catch on the frozen maple 

Some hint of the April green, 
Or the breath of the woodland blossoms, 

The drifts of the snow between ? 

" The beautiful trees," she whispered, 

" Where the orioles used to sing ; 
They are tired of the cold, white winter, 

Oh! help them to grow in spring ; 
And the flowers that I loved to gather, 

Lord, bring them again in May ; 
The dear little violets, sleeping 

Down deep in the ground to-day." 



1 " Mamma can go down stairs ; 
I shall not say my prayers, 
For I've nothing to be thankful for ! " my wilful 
Robert cried: 
" There's all the other boys 
With multitudes of toys, 
And books, and dogs, and ponies ; but we're poor, and 
I'm denied." 

2 " Ask Papa ! " And I sought him ; 
With eager steps I brought him 

(Myself so shocked and wondering I scarce knew what 
to do); 
But still the boy kept saying : 
" Papa, I'm through with praying ; 
For God gives nothing worth our thanks to me, nor yet 
to you." 

3 His father heard with sorrow ; 
But simply said : " To-morrow 

You'll find His choicest blessings unto both our lives are 
known. 
God guard you while you're sleeping, 
I leave you in his keeping." 
Then down the stairs we softly went, and left our boy 
alone. 



702 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



4 But in the early morning, 
His father, without warning, 

Placed bandages across his lips, his ears, and hazel eyes. 
Deaf, dumb, aud blind together, 
My boy would soon learn whether 

God had given him any blessings that e'en the poor 
would prize. 

5 Long ere the morning ended 
His grateful thanks ascended 

For the blessed gifts of sight and speech, — ascended to 
that One 
Who gives unstinted measure 
Of light and sound. With pleasure 

He meekly said his little prayer that night at set of sun 

In "Independent," 1884. 



LITTLE MARGERY. 



1 Kneeling, white-robed, 

Peeping through the tangled hair, 
" Now I lay me — I'm so tired — 
Aunty, God knows all my prayer ; 
He'll keep little Margery." 

2 Watching by the little bed, 

Dreaming of the coming years, 
Much I wonder what they'll bring, 
Most of smiles or most of tears, 
To my little Margery. 

3 Will the simple, trusting faith 

Shining in the childish breast 
Always be so clear and bright ? 
Will God always know the rest, 
Loving little Margery ? 

4 As the weary years go on, 

And you are a child no more, 
But a woman, trouble-worn, 

Will it come — this faith of yours — 
Blessing you, dear Margery ? 

5 If your sweetest love shall fail, 

And your idol turn to dust, 
Will you bow to meet the blow, 
Owning all God's ways are just ? 
Can you, sorrowing Margery ? 

6 Should your life path grow so dark 

You can see no steps ahead, 
Will you lay your hand in His 
Trusting by Him to be led 
To the light, my Margery ? 

7 Will the woman, folding down 

Peaceful hands across her breast, 
Whisper, with her old belief, 

" God, my Father, knows the rest, 
He'll take tired Margery " ? 



8 True, my darling, life is long, 

And its ways are dark and dim ; 
But God knows the path you tread; 
I can leave you safe with Him, 
Always, little Margery. 

9 He will keep your childish faith 

Through your weary woman years, 
Shining ever strong and bright, 
Never dimmed by saddest tears, 
Trusting little Margery. 
10 You have taught a lesson sweet 
To a yearning, restless soul ; 
We pray in snatches, ask a part, 
But God above us knows the whole, 
And answers, baby Margery. 

MRS. S. J. WHITE. 

EIGHT O'CLOCK. 

1 The sun is down, the stars are out, 

The clocks are striking eight, — 
And pausing in their flight, 
The angels of the night 

Fold their white wings and wait. 

2 For sweet as call the vesper bells, 

Heard through the twilight air, 
The chiming clocks proclaim, 
Night after night the same, 

The children's hour of prayer. 

3 And at the gentle summons, lo ! 

The fairest sight on earth ; 
For swift, with laughing eyes 
Grown strangely grave and wise, 

The darlings hush their mirth ; 

4 And, kneeling by the mother's side, 

Or by their snowy beds, 
With fringed lids lying meek 
Against the dimpled cheek, 
• They bow their sunny heads. 

5 Tread softly. Let no jarring sound 

The tender silence break, 
While with uplifted hands 
The white-robed suppliant bands 

Their brief petitions make. 

6 " Our Father," some are whispering low 

With filial faith sincere — 
A faith whose fearless hold 
On precepts worn and old 

Defies the skeptic's sneer ; 

7 And " Now I lay me " murmur lips 

Already kissed by sleep, 
With baby thoughts astray 
In dreamland while they pray, 

" The Lord my soul to keep." 

8 And smiling down, the Lord Himself 

Leans from His throne of light 

And stops the harping choirs to hear 

His children's sweet good-night. 



MOTHERHOOD. THE CHILDREN'S CHRISTMAS. 



703 



CHRISTMAS ROSES. 

1 When the midnight bells are ringing, 

And their throbbings faint and low 
The Christmas morn are bringing, 
With echo of the singing 

Of the angels long ago, 
And fleecy clouds are winging 

As they scud across the snow, 

2 'T is said the children sleeping, 

Locked in rosy slumbers fast, 
Never hear the winter's weeping, 
Nor the night winds onward sweeping, 

Never shudder at the blast ; 
But safe in holy keeping- 
Smile as angels hurry past. 

3 And their eyes in slumber holden, 

See what ours may never see, — 
The branch of roses golden, 
With blood-red heart enfolden, 

Plucked from the Eden tree 
By an angel, in times olden, 

The Christmas flower to be. 

4 Ears tuned to earthly whining 

Hear not those rustling wings, 
Nor see their sheeny shining, 
While fretting and repining 

At loss of earthly things ; 
Self-centered hearts are pining 

Although an angel sings. 

5 To them the Christmas roses 

Show neither snow nor gold ; 
No hard green bud uncloses, 
No angel hand disposes 

The flowers as they unfold, 
Or reverently discloses 

The heart of love untold. 

6 Oh ! as the bells toll slowly, 

As our Christmas draweth nigh, 
To be like children lowly ! 
Pure, simple, true and holy, 

When the angel passes by, 
And to catch the Christmas glory 

As it echoes through the sky. 

7 To hush our selfish weeping, 

And forget our little woes, 
That the angel of its keeping, 
In the smiling of our sleeping, 

To us also may disclose 
The gold and white and crimson 

Of the children's Christmas rose. 

8 But the children, not yet knowing 

Of sin or self or guile, 
To their peaceful slumbers going, 
Of the coming Christinas knowing, 

In their sleep are seen to smile ; 
At the Christmas roses glowing 

Before them, all the while. 



tET E. WINSLOW, 



THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PAST. 

1 The Ghost of Christmas Past 

Has been with me to-night ! 
Out from the vale of by-gone years, 
And seen through mists of unshed tears, 

It glows, a form of light ! 

2 Two little childish forms I see, 

A sister and a brother ; 
I see the little trundle-bed 
On which the brown and flaxen head 

Lie lovingly together. 

3 The ruddy fire upon the hearth 

Lights up the dear old room ; 
It shows, upon the chimney wall, 
The stockings waiting, great and small, 

For Santa Claus to come. 

4 Scant sleep the little dreamers had, 

And, when the morning broke, 
Who can forget the shouts of joy, 
The transport over book and toy, 

The well-remembered joke ? 

5 O wondrous power of memory ! 

To-night, though years have fled, 
I hear my brother's tones of glee, 
I sit upon my father's knee, 

His hand upon my head. 

6 My mother plies her knitting-work 

In the old rocking chair ; 
Dear mother-eyes, they're saddened now, 
Tears of care are on her brow, 

And silver in her hair. 

7 O Ghost of merry Christmas Past ! 

Dear home, and broad hearth-light ! 
O father's look and mother's smile ! 
" You're in my heart to-night ! " 

ELIZABETH PALMER MATTHEWS, 1872. 

ANNIE'S AND WILLIE'S PRAYER. 
A CHRISTMAS STORY. 

'Twas the eve before Christmas ; " Good-night " had 

been said, 
And Annie and Willie had crept into bed ; 
There were tears on their pillows, and tears in their 

eyes, 
And each little bosom was heavy with sighs, 
For to-night their stern father's command had been 

given 
That they must retire precisely at seven 
Instead of eight ; for they troubled him more 
With questions unheard of than ever before. 
He told them he thought this delusion a sin, 
No such a thing as " Santa Claus " ever had been, 
And he hoped, after this, he should never more hear 
How he scrambled down chimneys with presents each 

year. 
And this is the reason why two little heads 
So restlessly tossed on their soft, downy beds. 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



2 Eight, nine, and the clock in the steeple tolled ten — 
Not a word had been spoken by either till then ; 
When Willie's sad face from the blanket did peep, 
And whispered, " Dear Annie, is you fast asleep ? " 
" Why, no, brother Willie," a sweet voice replies, 

" I've tried in vain, but I can't shut my eyes ; 
For somehow it makes me so sorry because 
Dear papa had said there is no ' Santa Claus ; ' 
Now we know there is, and it can't be denied, 
For he came every year before mamma died ; 
But then I've been thinking that she used to pray, 
And God would hear everything mamma would say, 
And perhaps she asked Him to send Santa Claus 

here 
With the sacks full of presents he brought every 

year." 
" Well, why tan't we p'ay dest as mamma did then, 
And ask Him to send him with presents aden? " 
" I've been thinking so, too," and without a word 

more 
Four bare little feet bounded out on the floor, 
And four little knees the soft carpet pressed, 
And two tiny hands were clasped close to each 

breast. 

3 " Now Willie, you know we must firmly believe 
That the presents we ask for we're sure to receive, 
You must wait just as still till I say Amen, 

And by that you will know that your turn has come 

then. 
Dear Jesus, look down on my brother and me, 
And grant us the favor we're asking of Thee : 
I want a nice book full of pictures, a ring, 
And a writing-desk, too, that shuts with a spring. 
Bless papa, dear Jesus, and cause him to see 
That Santa Claus loves us as much even as he ; 
Don't let him get fretful and angry again 
At dear brother Willie and Annie, amen ! " 
" Please, Desus, 'et Santa Claus tome down to-night, 
And bring us some presents before it is 'ight. 
I want he sould dive me a bright little box, 
Full of ac'obats, some other nice blocks, 
And a bag full of tandy, a book, and a toy, 
Amen, and then, Desus, I'll be a dood boy." 
Their prayers being ended, they raised up their 

heads. 
And with hearts light and cheerful again sought their 

beds ; 
They were soon lost in slumber — both peaceful and 

deep, 
And with fairies in dream-land were roaming in 

sleep. 

4 Eight, nine, and the little French clock had struck 

ten 
Ere the father had thought of his children again ; 
He seems now to hear Annie's half-smothered 

sighs. 
And to see the big tears standing in Willie's blue 



" I was harsh with my darlings," he mentally said, 
"And should not have sent them so early to bed, 
But when I was troubled — my feelings found vent, 
For bank stock to-day has gone down ten per cent. 
But of course they've forgot their troubles ere this, 
And then I denied them the thrice asked-for kiss ; 
But just to make sure I'll steal up to their door, 
For I never spoke harsh to my darlings before." 
So saying, he softly ascended the stairs, 
And arriving at the door heard both of their prayers, 
His Annie's " bless papa " draws forth the big tears. 
And Willie's grave promise falls sweet on his ears. 
" Strange, strange, I've forgotten," said he, with a 

sigh, 
" How I longed when a child to have Christmas draw 

nigh. 
I'll atone for my harshness," he inwardly said, 
" By answering their prayers, ere I sleep in my 

bed." 



5 Then he turned to the stairs and softly went down, 
Threw off velvet slippers and silk dressing-gown, 
Donned hat, coat, and boots, and was out in the 

street — 
A millionaire facing the cold winter sleet ; 
He first went to a wonderful " Santa Claus " store 
(He knew it, for he'd passed it the day before), 
And there he found crowds on the same errand 

as he, 
Making purchase of presents, with glad hearts and 

free, 
Nor stopped he until he had bought everything 
From a box full of candy to a tiny gold ring. 
Indeed, he kept adding so much to his store 
That the various presents outnumbered a score ! 
Then homeward he turned with his holiday load, 
And with Aunt Mary's aid in the nursery 'twas 

stowed. 
Miss Dolly was seated beneath a pine tree, 
By the side of a table spread out for a tea, 
A writing desk then in the centre was laid, 
And on it a ring for which Annie had prayed ; 
Four acrobats painted in yellow and red 
Stood with a block house on a beautiful sled ; 
There were balls, dogs and horses, books pleasing to 

see, 
And birds of all colors were perched in the tree ; 
While Santa Claus, laughing, stood up in the top, 
As if getting ready for more presents to drop ; 
And as the fond father the picture surveyed, 
He thought for his trouble he had amply been paid ; 
And he said to himself as be brushed off a tear, 
" I'm happier to-night than I have been for a year. 
I've enjoyed more true pleasure than ever before, 
What care I if bank stock falls ten per cent, more ! 
Hereafter I'll make it a rule, I believe, 
To have Santa Claus visit us each Christmas eve." 



MOTHERHOOD THE CHILDREN'S CHRISTMAS 



705 



6 So thinking, he gently extinguished the light, 
And' tripped down stairs to retire for the night. 
As soon as the beams of the bright morning sun 
Put the darkness to flight and the stars one by one, 
Four little blue eyes out of sleep opened wide, 

And at the same moment the presents espied. 
Then out of their beds they sprang with a bound, 
And the very gifts prayed for were all of them 

found ; 
They laughed and they cried in their innocent glee, 
And shouted for papa to come quick and see 
What presents old Santa Claus had brought in the 

night 
(Just the things they had wanted) and left before 

light. 

7 "And now," said Annie, in a voice soft and low, 
"You'll believe there's a Santa Claus, papa, I 

know ; " 
While dear little Willie climbed up on his knee, 
Determined no secret between them should be ; 
And told, in soft whispers, how Annie had said, 
That their dear, blessed mamma, so long ago dead, 
Used to kneel down and pray by the side of her 

chair, 
And that God, up in heaven, had answered her 

prayer ! 
" Then we dot up and prayed dust as well as we 

tould, 
And Dod answered our prayers ; now wasn't He 

dood ?" 
" I should say that He was if He sent you all these, 
And knew just what presents my children would 

please 
(Well, well, let him think so, the dear little elf, 
'T would be cruel to tell him I did it myself)." 

8 Blind father ! who caused your stern heart to relent ? 
And the hasty word spoken so soon to repent ? 

'T was the Being who bade you steal softly up stairs, 
And made you His agent to answer their prayers. 



HANGING THE STOCKINGS. 

1 Three little worsted stockings hanging all in a row, 
And I have patched two scarlet heels, and darned a 

crimson toe. 
Over the eyes of azure, over the eyes of brown, 
Seemed as though the eyelids could never be coaxed 

down. 

2 I sang for a good long hour before they were shut 

quite tight; 
For to-morrow will be Christmas, and St. Nick comes 

to-night ; 
We laughed as we dropped the candies into heel and 

toe, 
For not one little stocking was missing from the row. 



3 And when our work was ended, we stood a little apart, 
Silently praying the Father to soothe that mother's 

heart 
Who looks on her unworn stockings amid her falling 

tears, 
Whose darling is keeping Christmas in Christ's eternal 

years. 



MY TREE. 

1 Which is the best of all the trees ? 
Answer me, children all, if you please 
Is it the linden, with tassels gay, 

Or the willow there where the catkins sway ? 

Is it the oak, the king of the wood, 

That for a hundred years has stood ? 

The graceful elm, or the stately ash, 

Or the aspen, whose leaflets shimmer and flash ? 

2 Is it the solemn and gloomy pine, 

With its million needles so sharp and fine ? 

Ah, no ! The tree that I love best, 

It buds and blossoms not with the rest, 

No summer sun on its fruit has smiled, 

But ice and snow are around it piled ; 

But still it will bloom and bear fruit for me, 

My winter bloomer ! my Christmas-tree ! 

3 Its blossoms are candles, all shining gay, 
And it bears its fruit in the queerest way ! 
All tied by ribbons to everything, 

Big and little, and little and big, 
Dolls and trumpets, and balls and bats, 
Horses and monkeys, and dogs and cats, 
Drums and whistles, and guns and whips, 
Crying babies and flying ships ; 
Every conceivable kind of box, 
With all conceivable kind of locks ; 
Tigers and elephants swinging in air, 
Singular fruit for a tree to bear ! 
But so it blooms and bears fruit for me, 
My winter bloomer ! my Christmas-tree ! 

4 Elm and linden may both be fair, 

But they have no elephants swinging in air ; 

Ash and maple may gracefully grow, 

But they have no fifes nor whistles to blow ; 

The oak may be king of the forest wide, 

But he has no parcels with ribbons tied, 

No guns, no rattles, no books, no boats, 

No pigs, no lions, no cows, no goats, 

No dolls, no cradles, no skates, no tops, 

Nor oranges, candies, or lollipops. 

Nothing that's pretty, and nothing that's good, 

But leaves and acorns, and bark and wood. 

So the tree of all others that's best to me 

Is my winter bloomer ! my Christmas-tree ! 

LAUKA E. MCHARDS. 



706 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG, 



THE CHRISTMAS-TREE. 

1 In the warm parlor, so cosy and bright, 
Five little people were gathered one night ; 
And each merry voice was brimful of glee 

In planning their gifts for the Christmas tree. 

2 Said Jonnie the brave, " I think I will buy 
A good many things, if things are not high." 
Then Annie and Jennie each told her plan, 
And fat little Ted said, " I'll buy all I can." 

3 Then spoke little May, in her sweet earnest way, 
" Mamma, you say Christmas is Christ's birthday ; 
If for Him a gift I hang on the tree, 

Will Jesus be glad, and come here to see ? " 

4 " My dear little girl," the kind mother said, 
While softly she smoothed the bright, curly head, 
" The Saviour you love we cannot see here, 

But ail that you say is heard by His ear. 

5 " He said long ago, that if we will take 

Good things to the poor for His dear name's sake, 
His heart will be glad, He'll thank us the same, 
As if we should mai-k each gift with His name. 

6 " Now down in the lane, all covered with snow, 
Is a poor little home — the place you all know — 
Where three little girls and three little boys 
Have very few clothes, and not any toys." 

7 Then all spoke at once : " Mamma, let us take 
Some presents to them for the dear Christ's sake ;" 
And little May said, " We can't mark His name, 
But mamma says Christ will be glad all the same." 

8 So each little girl and each little boy 
Bought mamma a gift — a book or a toy ; 

And kind mamma said, while counting them o'er, 
That she and papa would add to their store. 

9 So when the day came for the Christmas tree 
(I wish every one had been there to see), 
The poor little folks had so much on that tree, 
All were as happy as children can be. 

MA] 

In ■■: 
EMPTY CRADLES. 

1 Oh ! the empty, empty cradles, 

That must now be put away, 
For the little ones will need them 

Nevermore by night or day. 
Pure and lovely, dreamless sleepers, 

Need not to be rocked to rest ; 
Their bright heads upon the pillows 

Shall no more be softly pressed. 

2 In the still and solemn nightfall 

Death's pale angel noiseless sped ; 
" I have gathered only lilies 

For my Lord to-day," he said ; 
Oh ! the lilies, the white lilies, 

That made earthly homes so bright, 
Many, many buds are missing 

Since the happy morning light. 

3 Waxen hands, with blossoms in them, 

Faces very white and fair, 



Curtained eyes like hidden sunlight, 

Silken rings of sunny hair. 
Hushed and still we gaze upon them, 

And we scarcely know our loss, 
But to-morrow we shall feel it, 

Almost crushed beneath the cross. 

4 Little robes so richly broidered, 

Wrought with so much love and pride, 
Dainty laces, pale, pure ribbons, 

They must all be laid aside, 
For in glorious robes of brightness 

Are the little ones arrayed ; 
All unstained by earth the whiteness, 

Such a little while they stayed. 

5 Past the busy, busy mornings, 

And the nights of anxious care ; 
Now there is no need of watching, 

There'll be time enough to spare. 
Hushed the sweet voice, how we'll listen, 

Thinking that we hear it oft ; 
On our face no baby fingers 

Touch us like the rose leaves soft. 

6 Never mind the noisy household, 

Nor loud footfalls on the stair ; 
They'll not wake the peaceful sleeper, 

There's no baby anywhere. 
In a casket white as snowflakes, 

Nestling all .among the flowers, 
Are the pure and stainless lilies 

That a little while were ours. 

7 In our dreams, 'midst dazzling brightness, 

And a rapturous burst of song ; 
Through our tears we see above us, 

Radiant, a spirit throng. 
In their arms so softly cradled, 

Our own little ones we know, 
And we seem to hear them whisper, 

" The white lilies from below." 

8 Wide the shining gates are opened, 

For the children are at home ; 
Back to earth float the sweet echoes, 

" Jesus suffers them to come." 
Put away the empty cradles, 

Keep we only in our sight 
That bright glimpse of the new dwelling 

Which the children have to-night. 

9 They are safe ; but Oh ! so many 

Who the cradles have outgrown, 
Wander far in sinful pathways, 

Farther than our fears have known. 
You, who sit and nurse your sorrow, 

Go and seek such souls to-day ; 
Guide the feet once pure and stainless 

Back the peaceful, homeward way. 
Mothers of pure angels, go 

Save the mother's boys who perish, 
Sinking 'neath the drunkard's woe. 

MRS. GEOROIA HCXSE M'LEOD. 

Baltimore, Md., 1883, 



MOTHERHOOD. BEREA VEMENT. 



707 



DEAR LITTLE HANDS. 




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love them so, And now they are ly - ing un-der the snow; Un - der the snow so cold and white, I 

miss them so, AD through the day wher-ev-er I go; All thro' the night how lonely it seems, For 
gone from me now, Nev-er a-gain will they rest on rny brow; Nev - er again smooth my sorrowful face, 
Mas - ter calls, I'll welcome the summons that comes to us all; When my feet touch the waters so cold. And I 



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can-not see them or touch them to-night. They are quiet and still at last, ah,me ! How bu - sy and restless 

no littlehands wake me out of my dreams. I miss them thro' all the wea - ry hours, I miss them as oth-ers 

Never clasp mine in their childish embrace. My forehead grows wrinkled and aged with care, Think ing of hands 

catch a bright glimpse of the city of gold, I' 11 keep my eyes fixed on the heavenly gate, O'er the tide where the white- 



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used to be; But now they can never reach thro' the snow, Dear lit-tle hands, I love them so. 
sunshine and flow'rs; And daytime or night-time, wherever I go, Dear lit-tle hands, I miss them so. 

rest - ing there ; But I know in a hap -pi - er, heaven - ly clime, Dear lit-tle hands I shall clasp some time, 
an-gels wait ; Shall I know you,I won-der,a-mong the bright band, Will you beckon me o-ver, O dear lit-tle hands? 




Copyright, 1881, and published in sheet form by BARRETT BRO'S. Binghamton. 



708 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



MY GIFT. 

I thought that prattling girls and boys 

Would fill this empty room ; 
That my rich heart would gather flowers 

From childhood's- opening bloom. 
One child and two green graves are mine, 

That is God's gift to me ; 
A bleeding, fainting, broken heart — 

That is my gift to Thee. 

ELIZABETH PRENTISS, ! 



SUGGESTIONS. 

1 If we could always keep the forms we prize, 

Earth, now so desolated, soon would be 
Heaven's counterpart, and we, with tearless eyes 
Would speak of Heaven and of Eternity. 

2 No thoughts of sweet reunion by and bye, 

Would rouse within us longings to be pure, 
Nor nerve us with courageous zeal to try 
Time's tests and trials bravely to endure. 

3 And where we now have cherished images 

Of lovely children and well-guarded graves, 

We would have grown folks, always growing old, 

And, like ourselves, to toil and trouble slaves. 

4 So it is well that Death doth jealously 

Look on our darlings, and bid some depart 
To people Heaven ; constrain us to be wise, 
Fear God and serve Him with a perfect heart. 

ANGIE FCXLER, 1883. 



PARENTS' TREASURES. 

1 A picture fair and true 

Of a child-face we thought more sweet and dear 

Than any other that we ever knew 
Within the whole world's compass, far or near. 

2 A lock of silken hair, 

Some toys and little garments laid away, 1 

And guarded with a mother's tender care, 
As treasures much too precious for decay. 

3 A grave wherein is laid 

A childish form that we were wont to fold 

Close to our hearts, thinking we would not trade 
Nor barter it for tons of glittering gold. 

4 Just there where we had hoped 

For long possession and devoted care, _ 2 

For noble growth, for honor, joy and pride, 
And a brave voice to echo praise and prayer. 

5 Just there, yet something more, 

Sweet thoughts that cheer and comfort all our grief, 

Our child awaits us on the spirit shore, 
The hours fly fast, and life, at most, is brief. 

ANGIE FULLER, 1883. 



puis* p*E 



Was born in Brighton, N. Y„ in 1842. The place is a suburb of Roch- 
ester, in which city she was married to Albert Smith, Esq. Her present 
home is New York city. She began writing very early in life. Those 
who knew her well, testify to her warm, impulsive, sympathetic nature, 
which breathes itself out so gracefully and cheerily, continually striking 
responsive chords in every reader's heart. From good authority, it is 
learned that "If," and " Tired Mothers " (which follows this sketch), 
were both written before Mrs. Smith came to the woman's royal crown, 
showing that she possessed the true mother instinct. Mothers have 
wept over these genuine bits of poetry, thus standing as pathetic wit- 
nesses against a theory held by some, that poets must learn by actual 
experience what they teach in song. Truly is it said— "That which you 
read with a heart-throb, was written with a heart-throb." The poems 
of very few authors have been so universally copied anonymously into 
the general press, as have those of Mrs. Albert Smith, thus causing con- 
fusion as to the 'true author. "Sometime," which appears in this col- 
lection, has been credited to H. H., but unjustly. In response to a 
query from a friend concerning it, Mrs. Smith replied— "Yes, I wrote 
" Sometime" on the cars one day, journeying from Chicago to Spring- 
field, 111., (at which latter city she resided several years.) It was sug- 
gested by the conversation of a lady and gentleman occupying seats in 
front of me. She held in her hand the portrait of a lovely child, and 
sometimes kissed it, and as she talked of the little one, her tears fell 
like rain. I grew sober and sad, and drew my pencil from my pocket 
and wrote my thoughts on a piece of crumpled paper." 

The poem entitled "In Prison," which appears in the Temperance 
Department of this volume, and is so appropriate for our W. C. T. U. 
Flower Mission Day, sometime after its first appearance was sent to the 
Chicago Tribune as the production of an inmate of the penitentiary at 
Joliet, ni., and a paragraph prefaced it, recognizing the deep feeling 
expressed, also remarking that the prisoner-poet was worthy of a better 
fate. Afterward when the editor learned of the imposition upon the true 
author and himself, his indignation knew no bounds. In his biograph- 
ical sketch of Mrs. Smith, A. A. Hopkins, Esq., says:—" Poetry born of 
passion is ever debasing. Were Burns, Byron, Moore and Hood estimated 
by the rule that nothing is truly poetical in which the heart shows chiefly, 
it would rob them of half or all of their laurels. Poetry begotten of 
heartfulness.ennobles and uplifts. 

Granting this. May Riley Smith is a truer poet than many, because 
truer to the purest instincts of the soul. Even Longfellow and Bryant 
are not truer than she, unless they have made deeper impress on the 
heart of humanity." 



TIRED MOTHERS. 

A little elbow leans upon your knee, 

Your tired knee, that has so much to bear ; 
The child's dear eyes are looking lovingly 

From underneath a thatch of tangled hair, 
Perhaps you do not heed the velvet touch 

Of warm, moist fingers, folding yours so tight ; 
You do not prize this blessing over-much 

You almost are too tired to pray to-night. 

But it is blessedness ! A year ago 

I did not see it as I do to-day, 
We are so dull and thankless ; and too slow 

To catch the sunshine till it slips away. 
And now it seems surpassing strange to me, 

That, while I wore the badge of motherhood, 
I did not kiss more oft, and tenderly, 

The little child that brought me only good. 



MOTHERHOOD. BEREAVEMENT. 



709 



3 And if, some night when you sit down to rest, 

You miss this elbow from your tired knee ; 
This restless curling head from off your breast, 

This lisping tougue that chatters constantly ; 
If from your own the dimpled hands had slipped, 

And ne'er would nestle in your palm again ; 
If the white feet in their grave had tripped, 

I could not blame you for your heart-ache then ! 

4 I wonder so that mothers ever fret 

At little children clinging at their gown ; 
Or that the footprints, when the days are wet, 

Are ever black enough to make them frown. 
If I could find a little muddy boot, 

Or cap, or jacket, on my chamber floor ; 
If I could kiss a rosy, restless foot, 

And hear it patter in my house once more ; 

5 If I could mend a broken cart to-day, 

To-morrow make a kite, to reach the sky — 
There is no woman in God's world could say 

She was more blissfully content than I. 
But ah ! the dainty pillow next my own 

Is never rumpled by a shining head ; 
My singing birdling from its nest is flown ; 

The little boy I used to kiss, is dead ! 

MRS. ALBERT SMITH. 

"Aldine." 
COMPENSATION. 

1 She folded up the worn and mended frock 

And smoothed it tenderly upon her knee, 
Then through the soft web of a wee red sock 

She wove the bright wool, musing thoughtfully : 
" Can this be all ? The great world is so fair, 

I hunger for its green and pleasant ways ; 
A cripple prisoned in her restless chair 

Looks from her window with a wistful gaze. 

2 " The fruits I cannot reach are red and sweet, 

The paths forbidden are both green and wide ; 
O God ! there is no boon to helpless feet 

So altogether sweet as paths denied. 
Home is most fair ; bright are my household fires, 

And children are a gift without alloy ; 
But who would bound the field of their desires 

By the prim hedges of mere fireside joy ? 

3 " I can but weave a fair thread to and fro, 

Making a frail woof in a baby's sock ; 
Into the world's sweet tumult I would go, 

At its strong gates my trembling hand would 
knock." 
Just then the children came, the father too ; 

Their eager faces lit the twilight gloom ; 
" Dear heart," he whispered, as he nearer drew, 

" How sweet it is within this little room. 

4 " God puts my strongest comfort here to draw 

When thirst is great and common wells are dry. 
Your pure desire is my unerring law ; 
Tell me, dear one, who is so safe as I ? 



Home is the pasture where my soul may feed, 
This room a paradise has grown to be ; 

And only where these patient feet shall lead 
Can it be home for these dear ones and me." 

5 He touched with reverent hand the helpless feet, 

The children crowded close and kissed her hair. 
" Our mother is so good, and kind, and sweet, 

There's not another like her anywhere ! " 
The baby in her low bed opened wide 

The soft blue flowers of her timid eyes, 
And viewed the group about the cradle side 

With smiles of glad and innocent surprise. 

6 The mother drew the baby to her knee 

And, smiling, said : " The stars shine soft 
to-night ; 
My world is fair ; its edges sweet to me, 
And whatsoever is, dear Lord, is right." 



MARY RILEY SMITH. 



to. 1. §. C. Slab* 



Was born at Steep Brook, a northern part of Fall River, Mass., and 
died April 15, 1882, at the age of 56 years. 

She began to write at a very early age, and although writing much in 
both prose and verse for older people, as she advanced in years, her chief 
work was for the children whom she loved so tenderly, and who in return 
loved her and the songs and little plays written by her for them. For 
years she edited "Good Times," then published at Fall River, now in 
Boston. She also did much editorial work in various Sunday School 
papers, and published several books for day and Sabbath schools. 

No one ever appealed to her in vain for assistance in anything that lay 
in her power to grant. 

Among her chief hymns that have appeared in many publications, 
" Ship of Zion" is pronounced one of the finest of any by late writers. 



IN MEMORIAM. 

MRS. M. B. C. SLADE. 

1 The angel of Death came all unseen 

And severed the spirit from that still clay ; 
The angels of Love came down, serene, 
And gently bore her away ! away ! — 

2 Away to that beautiful home above, 

Leaving behind her a name well won ; 
Leaving behind her, her deeds of love ; 

To the " Promised Land " for aye she's gone ! 

GRACIE HOLMES. 



(After Mrs. Slade's death, one of her grandchildren,— our four-year-old 
Goldie, said, "Every night I shall look up to the moon and see Grandma 



A SMILE FROM HEAVEN. 

Papa, I am looking, looking up to heaven to-night, 
Up where the moon is shining, so clear, so pure, so 

bright ; 
And, papa, I am thinking grandma's smile I see, 
And each beam that's falling downward is a kiss that 

falls on me. 



710 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



2 And so I'll keep on looking ; glad of darkness I 

will be ; 
For darkness opens heaven, so that grandma's smile 

I see. 
And, papa, let us both look, — look at the sky so 

bright, 
Look through our gloom and sadness, — see ! grandma 

comes with light. 



EIGHTEEN. 

1 Oh ! grown a dim and fairy shade, 

Dear child, who, fifteen years ago, 
Out of our arms escaped and fled, 
With swift, white feet, as if afraid, 

To hide beneath the grass, the snow, 
That sunny little head. 

2 This is your birthday ! Fair, so fair ! 

And grown to gracious maiden height, 
And versed in heavenly lore and way, 
White-vested as the angels are 
'Mid very light of very light, 
Somehow, somewhere you keep the day, 

3 With those new friends — whom "new" we call, 

But who are dearer now than we 
And better known by face and name ; 
And so they smile and say : " How tall 

The child becomes, how radiant — she 
Who was so little when she came." 

4 Darling, we count your eighteen years — 

Fifteen in heaven, on earth but three — 
And try to shape you grown and wise, 
And all in vain ; there still appears 

Only the child you used to be — 
Our baby with the violet eyes. 

SUSAN COOLIDGE. 1883, 

In "Independent." 



3 Ah ! these little ice-cold fingers, 

How they point our memories back 
To the hasty words and actions 

Strewn along our backward track ! 
How these little hands remind us, 

As in snowy grace they lie, 
Not to scatter thorns — but roses — 

For our reaping by and by. 

4 Strange we never prize the music 

Till the sweet-voiced bird has flown ; 
Strange that we should slight the violets 

Till the lovely flowers are gone ; 
Strange that summer skies and sunshine 

Never seem one-half so fair 
As when winter's snowy pinions 

Shake their white down in the air ! 

5 Lips from which the seal of silence 

None but God can roll away, 
Never blossomed in such beauty 

As adorns the mouth to-day ; 
And sweet words that freight our memory 

With their beautiful perfume, 
Come to us in sweeter accents, 

Through the portals of the tomb. 

6 Let us gather up the sunbeams 

Lying all around our path ; 
Let us keep the wheat and roses, 

Casting out the thorns and chaff ; 
Let us find our sweetest comfort 

In the blessings of to-day, 
With a patient hand removing 

All the briars from the way. 

MAY BILEY SMITH, 1867. 

(As originally printed, Feb. 23, 1867, in "Rochester Union and Advertiser.' 



IF WE KNEW. 



LITTLE WILLIE. 



1 If we knew the woe and heartache 

Waiting for us down the road, 
If our lips could taste the wormwood, 

If our backs could feel the load, 
Would we waste the day in wishing 

For a time that ne'er can be ? 
Would we wait in such impatience 

For our ships to come from sea ? 

2 If we knew the baby fingers 

Pressed against the window pane, 
Would be cold and stiff to-morrow — 

Never trouble us again — 
Would the bright eyes of our darling 

Catch the frown upon our brow ? 
Would the print of rosy fingers 

Vex us then as they do now ? 



I heard the voice of an angel 

That chanted sweet and low : 
" O fond pale mother, with cheek so wet, 

If thou could'st only know ! 
Thy son died on thy bosom, 

And his hands were pure from sin ; 
I carried him up to the temple above 

The new song to begin, — 
I carried him up to the fold of love, 

And the Shepherd took him in. 
On the ladder that reaches from heaven to earth 

Unseen I come and go, 
And I hear the cry of mothers who weep 

For their sons who died — not so ! " 

UNA LOCE.E BAILEY, 1879. 



MOTHERHOOD. BEREAVEMENT. 



711 



ALL ALONG LIFE'S JOURNEY. 

1 A dear little girl by her mother's knee 

Stands, trying with earnest look, 
To spell out the words that seem so hard 

On the leaves of the Blessed Book. 
" See, mother, these words are meant for me — 
' Surfer little children to come to me.' " 

2 The maiden waits on the threshold now 

Of a new and dawning life. 
Over her head is youth's golden glow, 

Unmixed with the world's dark strife. 
For her are these words in their tender truth, 
" Remember Him, now, in the days of thy youth." 

3 Happy wife, working with heart and hand, 

Busy from rising to setting of sun ; 
Hoping, and planning, and caring for all, 

Thinking your labor is never done, 
This is the promise He giveth to thee — 
" As thy day may demand shall thy strength ever 
be." 

4 Mother-heart, broken and burdened and crushed, 

Arms that are empty, and eyes that must weep, 
Where cans't thou turn when thy treasures are 
gone 

Out into the world, or in death's quiet sleep ? 
Cast all thy burdens and woes on the Lord, 
He promises comfort and strength in His word. 

5 Weary and worn is the pilgrim now, 

Earth and its shadows are vanishing fast ; 
Laughing and sighing and sorrow and toil 

Soon will be ended and over-past. 
What shall now comfort the lonely one ? 

That tender promise, of all the best — 
" Their labors o'er — there remaineth now 

For the people of God — a rest — a rest ! " 

ELIZABETH MATTHEWS, 

Carlinville, IU. , Feb. 1884. 



THE WATCHER. 

1 The night was dark and fearful 

The blast swept wailing by ; 
A watcher, pale and tearful, 

Look'd forth with anxious eye ; 
How wistfully she gazes — 

No gleam of morn is there ! 
And then her heart repraises 

Her agony of prayer ! 

2 Within that dwelling lonely, 

Where want and darkness reign, 
Her precious child, her only, 

Lay moaning in his pain ; 
And death alone can free him — 

She feels that this mus,t be : 
" But Oh ! for morn to see him 

Smile once again on me ! " 



3 A hundred lights are glancing 

In yonder mansion fair, 
And merry feet are dancing — 

They heed not morning there. 
O young and lovely creatures, 

One lamp, from out your store, 
Would give that poor boy's features 

To her fond gaze once more. 

4 The morning sun is shining — 

She heedeth not its ray ; 
Beside her dead, reclining, 

The pallid mother lay ! 
A smile her lip was wreathing, 

A smile of hope and love, 
As though she still were breathing — 

" There's light for us above." 



r. HALE, 1848. 
Philadelphia. 



ARE THE CHILDREN SAFE ? 

1 Thank God that my darling is resting 

Safe in the bosom of God ! 
Praise Him for little hands folded 

Under the church-yard sod ! 
I'm glad that on the white forehead 

I've printed the last, long kiss ; 
Do you ask why I'm glad and thankful, ' 

And can praise God so for this ? 

2 Last night as I sat in my window, 

Looking out on the moonlit street, 
My neighbor's once beautiful boy 

Went by with unsteady feet ; 
And I remember how I had envied 

His mother that sorrowful time, 
When God sent his white-winged angel, 

And leaving her, took mine. 

3 And now she sits in her lonely home, 

In tears, broken-hearted, and old ; 
While the stainless feet of my darling 

Are walking the streets of gold. 
Thank God for taking my child so soon, 

Lest he might have gone astray ! — 
For none are safe while doors of sin 

Stand wide as they do to-day. 

4 I pity the children of years to come, 

And mothers, who little know 
What lies for them in the future 

Of tears and bitterest woe : 
For as long as men are licensed to sell 

The horrid, accursed thing, 
If we cry not aloud against it, 

The curse on ourselves we shall bring. 



712 



WOMAN" IN SACRED SONG. 



5 You may be the one next to suffer, 

Though little you think it now ; 
The stamp of sin may be printed next 

On your boy's pure, white brow. 
Draw him ever so carefully, lovingly, 

Tenderly, close to your heart ; 
Remember the day is soon coming 

When mother and son must part, 
When he must go out in the busy world, 

Alone, a man among men. 

6 Shall we fling wide the doors of temptation 

To lure our boys in them ? 
We all have a voice in the matter, 

And you and I'll have to stand 
In the great Day of Judgment, 

At the bar at God's right hand, 
To give account whether for or against 

This evil we raised our voice ; 
How for God or sin, for gold or souls, 

We made everlasting choice. 

MRS. V. K. LEWIS. 
In "New York Evangelist." 



tona pa grubm. (gto. & g. Hdrar) 

Is a lineal descendant of the English poet, Mrs. Hemans, whose 
maiden name was Brown, and has much the same graceful, pathetic 
style, which partakes of a delicacy of poetic fervor, not often seen. 
Miss Brown is the daughter of a Southern clergyman, Rev. Wm. A. 
Brown, who died while his daughter was quite young, At the age of 
thirteen she was a contributor to the Louisville. Ky., "Journal," Philadel- 
phia "Saturday Evening Post," and other prominent papers and peri 
cals, for which she received good remuneration. Her present home is in 
Danville, 111., where in the quiet sadness of her widowed life, she de- 
votes herself to literary pursuits. Among her numerous poems, all of 
which are so much admired, Measuring the Batty has been selected as 
one of the most tender and touching, as well as appropriate to this de- 
partment of Woman in Sacred Song. 

MEASURING THE BABY. 

1 We measured the riotous baby, 

Against the cottage wall — 
A lily grew at the threshold, 

And the boy was just as tall ! 
A royal tiger lily, 

With spots of purple and gold, 
And a heart like a jewelled chalice, 

The fragrant dew to hold. 

2 Without, the blackbirds whistled 

High up in the old roof trees, 
And to and fro at the window 

The red rose rocked her bees ; 
And the wee pink fists of the baby 

Were never a moment still — 
Snatching at shine and shadow 

That danced on the lattice-sill. 

3 His eyes were wide as bluebells — 

His mouth like a flower unblown — 
His little bare feet, like funny white mice, 
Peeped out from his snowy gown ; 



And we thought, with a thrill of rapture 

That had yet a touch of pain, 
When June rolls round with her roses, 

We'll measure the boy again. 

4 Ah me ! In a darkened chamber, 

With the sunshine shut away, 
Through tears that fell like bitter rain, 

We measured our boy to-day. 
And the little bare feet that were dimpled, 

And sweet as a budding rose, 
Lay side by side together, 

In the hush of a long repose. 

5 Up from the dainty pillow, 

White as the risen dawn, 
The fair little face lay smiling, 

With the light of heaven thereon ; 
And the dear little hands, like rose-leaves 

Dropped from a rose, lay still, 
Never to snatch at the sunshine 

That crept to the shrouded sill. 

6 We measured the sleeping baby, 

With ribbons white as snow, 
For the shining rosewood casket 

That waited him below, 
And out of the darkened chamber 

We went with a childless moan — 
To the height of the sinless angels 

Our little one has grown. 

EMMA ALICE BROWN, 

(Mrs. E. A. Bevar.) 



THE OLDEST DOLL IN THE WORLD. 

1 In Britain's Great Museum, on a shelf 

In the Egyptian room, I saw last year 
The oldest doll in all the world ; an elf, 

Grimy and grim, and cold, and very queer, 
With head of blackened clay — the rudest toy 
That ever gave a little maiden joy. 

2 Taken from out the dusky, mummied arms 

Of a small child, it had perchance been bought, 
In hundred-gated Thebes, while yet alarms 

Of the fierce Shepherd-Kings were kept in thought, 
And put with her beneath the coffin lid, 
When men were building the first Pyramid. 

3 Legless and armless, it had made a part 

Of one sweet life ; in loving arms had lain 
Close to an innocent, warm, beating heart ; 

Been kiss'd and scolded, and then kiss'd again, 
Just as our waxen beauties, fair and gay, 
Delight the little maidens of to-day. 

4 Oh ! I could bring again that long past hour, 

The priests of Isis, and the stately town, 
The temples white with sacred lotus flower, 

The patient, wide-eyed people, grave and brown ; 
The dusky chamber, and the narrow bed, 
The white-robed maidens singing round the dead. 



MOTHERHOOD. BEREAVEMENT. 



713 



5 But Oh ! it was a mother's heart, I know, 

That thought perchance the childish hands might 
miss 
Their plaything ; I can see her bending low 

To give the small set face its last, last kiss, 
And place this shapeless doll upon the breast 
That had so early found eternal rest. 

6 And so the uncouth toy gets sudden grace ; 

Heart touches heart beyond three thousand years ; 
And mother stands by mother in that place 

Where all alike have shed heart-breaking tears. 
O sad Egyptian ! I can understand 
The doll within the coffin — take my hand. 

LILLIE K BARR. 

In "N.Y. Ledger." 



Two little snowy cheeks, 
Dimple-dinted nevermore ; 
Two little trodden shoes, 
That will never touch the floor, 
Shoulder-ribbon softly twisted, 
Apron folded, clean and white ; 
These are left me — and these only 
Of the childish presence bright. 



ETHEL LYNN BEERS. 



la gonnfci 



CONSOLATION 

1 In smothered tones they said, 

" The child must die." 
I turned me from the bed 
And bowed my bruised head, 
Then with sharp pain I fled 

His parting sigh. 

2 My heart was rent in twain, 

My soul forlorn, — 
When bursting through the pain 
Like heaven's blessed rain 
This vision not in vain 

To me was borne. . 
2 Celestial radiance streamed 

From vista far. 
Through shining ranks out-gleamed 
Fond eyes that on me beamed, 
Happy with God's redeemed, 

As seraphs are. 

4 I knew him for my own 

In raiment bright. 
His fleecy robe outshone 
The light where he had flown 
His mother's love, outblown 

In garment white ! 

5 So peaceful from that hour 

I can abide ; 
Content that love and power 
Are his eternal dower, 
And life's transcendent flower 

Is glorified ! 

LOUISA PARSONS HOPKINS. 
By permission Lee & Shepard, 1881. 



FROM "BABY LOOKING OUT FOR ME. 

Two little waxen hands, 
Folded soft and silently ; 
Two little curtained eyes 
Looking out no more for me ; 



Is a resident of Chicago. She is ever a ready writer in both prose and 
verse, and is one of the most prominent among Illinois workers and lec- 
turers in behalf of the Temperance Reform, under the auspices of the 
W. C, T, U. 



"FROM HIS HEART." 



"For the Lord will not cast off for ever." 

" But though he cause grief, yet will he have compassion according to 
the multitude of His mercies. For He doth not afflict willingly (from 
His heart) nor grieve the children of men." Lam. iii: 31—33. 

1 " From His heart," so reads the margin, 

God doth not afflict nor grieve ; 
Oh ! what comfort comes, and courage, 
As these words I now believe. 

2 Now believe ! e'en while the sorrow 

Pierces with its sharpest sting, 
Waiting not for some to-morrow, 
And the balm that time may bring ; 

3 But just now, while heart is breaking, 

Every joy and comfort fled, 

Even life I turn from, — clinging 

Close and closer to my dead. 

4 Then how precious just to trust Him, 

As His "waves and billows" roll, 
And to hear above the tempest 
Jesus speaking to my soul. 

5 Hear Him say He'll have " compassion," 

Though He cause me deepest grief, 
"Multitudes of tender mercies," 
Bringing to my swift relief. 

6 "From His heart !" how sweet the record, 

Link it with "For God is love," 
Question not the wise "chastisement," 
It but leads to rest above. 

LOUISE S. ROUNDS. 1885. 
" Union Signal." 



714 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



MY WILLIE IS GONE, OR, WAS IT ONLY A DREAM? 
SONG AND CHORUS. 

Words and Music by Mrs. G. W. BAXTER. 

con affettuoso. 




mine, 
shore 
dead, 



Oh! must 
I'll know 
My Wil 



we, must we part? Oh! must I wake and once more take In 

a joy like this. Oh! let me feel his soft warm face Pressed 

lie, bright and fair. I know he's gone where sin shall ne'er 




By permission, A. W. Perry & Son, Sedalia, Mo, 



MOTHERHOOD. BEREA VEMENT. 



715 




We know lie's gone where sin shall ne'er 
Tenor. 



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716 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



p dim. 



valient. 




TO THE MEMORY OF BIRDIE. 

Who came into this life and entered into life eternal, October 3, 1883, 
Thisaluteiu, East Africa. Child of Kev. and Mrs. A. IX Shaw, now 
missionaries at Kisalutini. 

1 Baby Birdie ! why, Oh ! why, 
Did you only come to die ? 
Tell us why your little wing 
Swiftly flew where angels sing ? 

2 Precious Birdie ! such a nest 
Waited you on mother's breast ; 
Father's strong and loving arm 
Safe would shield you from alarm 

3 First-born Birdie, precious gift, 
With our bleeding hearts we lift, 
Lay thee on thy Shepherd's breast 
Safely gathered, sweetly rest ! 

4 Wondrous Birdie ! breath divine, 
And immortal spirit thine, 
Thine the vesture snowy white, 
Thine the mansion fair and bright. 

5 Ransomed Birdie ! welcomes ring 
From thy dear ones near the King, 

* Auntie's song will surely greet 
Amy's " little one " so sweet. 

6 Farewell, Birdie ! will you wait, 
Very near the pearly gate ? 
While we toil 'mid scorching heat, 
Sheaves to lay at Jesus' feet. 



Birdie's Master ! we will bring 
Afric's sons to own Thee King ; 
Jewel dark, aud heathen gem, 
Flash in Thy bright diadem. 

MARIA V. G. HAVEKGAX. 

♦Francis Ridley Havergal, who died in 1876. 



lulia f. Stott, nee pmiK, 



iTowanda, Pa., a place whose wild romantic beauty has 
been celebrated by many of her sister poets. She died in 1842. Her 
friends published a volume of her poems in Boston, soon after her death. 
Her style was simple and melodious, yet full of imagery, poetic idea.and 
sincere feeling. 

FROM A POEM ENTITLED 
"MY CHILD." 

" There is one who has loved me, debarr'd from the day." 

1 The foot of Spring is on yon blue- topped mountain, 
Leaving its green prints 'neath each spreading 
tree ; 
Her voice is heard beside the swelling fountain, 

Giving sweet tones to its wild melody. 
From the warm South she brings unnumbered roses 

To greet with smiles the eye of grief and care ; 
Her balmy breath on the worn brow reposes, 
And her rich gifts are scatter'd everywhere ; 

I heed them not, my child i 



MOTHERHOOD. BEREA VEMENT. 



717 



2 Upon the breast of pitying love thou leanest, 

Which oft on earth did pillow such as thou, 
Nor turn'd away petitioner the meanest — 

Pray to Him, sinless — He will hear thee now. 
Plead for thy weak and broken-hearted mother ; 

Pray that thy voice may whisper words of peace, 
Her ear is deaf, and can discern no other ; 

Speak, and her bitter sorrowings shall cease : 

Come back to me, my child ! 

3 Come but in dreams — let me once more behold thee, 

As in thy hours of buoyancy and glee, 
And one brief moment in my arms infold thee 

Beloved, I will not ask thy stay with me ! 
Leave but the impress of thy dove-like beauty, 

Which memory strives so vainly to recall, 
And I will onward in the path of duty, 

Restraining tears that ever fain would fall ! 

Come but in dreams, my child! 

JULIA H. SCOTT. 

HOW SHALL I BEAR MY PAIN? 

1 How shall I bear my pain ? — the pain that mothers 

feel 
When on the brow of their first-born, dread Death 

hath set his seal. 
How shall I bear my pain ? I will not let me rest ; 
It clutches me and holds me, till my heart bleeds in 

my breast. 
My tears unshed burn hot within their stony source ; 
And oft I wince beneath the lash of conscience or 

remorse. 

2 How shall I bear my pain ? To God I cannot come ; 
I try to pray — I turn away — my angry lips are 

dumb. 
I think I would be glad to lay me down and die, 
Would that not make more suffering for better ones 

than I. 
How shall I bear my pain ? for it must still be borne, 
It will not give my spirit rest at noon, at eve, or 

morn. 

3 How shall I bear my pain ? How make a gain of 

loss ? 
I'll to my bosom press it, as the old saints pressed 

the cross. 
And when I feel its hurt, I'll closer press the thorn, 
Till out of deepest suffering, a purer life is born. 
From God's dear hand has come each blessing of my 

life ; 
Shall I forsake His banner, then, in sorrow's fearful 

strife ? 

4 Ah ! No ! May God forgive my torn heart's bitter- 

ness ; 
His gift so dear, I give again, and still His name I 

bless. 
I will not lift to Heav'n a face all wet with tears ; 
I will not show my faithful God a heart all black with 

fears. 



Though round me night and storm, and all unseen 

the way, 
Though He should slay me, I will trust, and wait His 

perfect Day. 



MRS. K. M. KIRKPATRICK, 1883. 

Dillon, Montana. 



MY SHELLS. 

1 I stood beside Love's brimming sea ; 
The bright waves broke in melody 
On golden sands, close up to me. 

2 More beautiful the waters seemed 
Than maiden heart had ever dreamed, 
As over them the sunlight beamed. 

3 The waves brought treasures from a land 
Afar, to many an outstretched hand 

Of those who waited on the strand. 

4 To one, sprigs of anemone ; 

A gem to one, most fair to see ; 
Two little shells, at last, to me. 

5 Two little shells, as snow-flakes white, 
Whose lips, kissed by the rosy light, 
Were flushed with crimson, soft and bright. 

6 And from their lips there came a tone 

So low and sweet — half song, half moan — 
Learned of the ocean's waves alone. 

7 And all day long, beside the sea, 
Entranced by the strange melody, 
I sat, and heard them sing to me — 

8 Until they to my heart had grown, 
Until I claimed them for my own, 
And they and I were onlj- one. 

9 They were not mine, alas for me ! 
The waves rolled high, and angrily 
Bore heart and shells into the sea. 

10 And all the night I sat alone 

Upon a cold and naked stone, 

And to the waters made vay moan : 
110 cruel waves ! mocking sea ! 

Within thy breast can pity be ? 

Bring back my heart, my shells, to me. 

12 But still the waves beat calmly on ; 
For other hands their gifts were strewn, 
And till the morn I sat alone. 

13 Then came a voice most soft and still, 
That did the air like perfume fill, 
And all my waiting spirit thrill : 

14 " The fount of Love eternal dwells 

Within the sea ; 
Thither the waves thy treasure bore, 

To guard for thee. 
Embraced within its clasping shells, 

That heart of thine, 
At last, to pearl-like beauty grown, 

A gem shall shine. 



718 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Earth's poisonous air thy lovely shells 

Had dimmed erelong, 
Thy heart grown restless, and have strayed 

On with the throng. 
Say, from their calm and peaceful home — 

Their native sea — 
Shall I bring back thy heart, thy shells, 

To moan to thee ? " 

15 Gladly I answered to the wave, 
As it my weary feet did lave, 
" Nay, keep, Oh ! keep the gifts ye gave." 

MKS. S. M. I. HENRY, 18) 



BEYOND THE RAIN. 

The cold and pitiless rain 
Is pouring from the cloud, 

And under the wet sod 
My darling in a shroud, 
Lies calm and still, her meek white hands 
Folded in death's unyielding bands. 
The pale flowers withered on her breast, 
Her eyes closed, in a dreamless rest, 
The damp curls on her pallid brow 
The warm breeze ne'er will flutter through. 
Life will no more its crimson flush 
Paint on her cheek ; the solemn hush 
Of death is there. I hear the rain, 
And my heart throbs with sudden pain ; 
I long to clasp her close once more 
In my arms, and sing as oft of yore, 
A soothing lullaby in her ear : 
" My love, the rain can't come in here." 
O yearning arms, ye reach in vain ! 

longing heart, each throb is pain ! 
The king of terrors has claimed thy gem, 
And set it in his cold diadem ; 

1 cannot reach, or bring it back, 

To cheer my life's dull, solemn track, 
But beyond the grave, in pastures green, 
Where no dark river rolls between 
The loved and ever living, there, 
Blessed by the tender Shepherd's care, 
My darling I may find again, 
Beyond the grave — beyond the rain. 

EMIL? P. WILLIAMS. 

Atlanta, 111., October, 1861 



COMFORT AT BABY'S GRAVE. 

1 The leaves are falling, falling, 

All gold, and red, and brown, 
In many-colored showers 

They flutter, noiseless, down. 
On hills, now sere and faded, 

Where, through the summer days, 
The green grass springs, and the wild bird sings, 

And the frolic sunbeam strays. 



2 The flowers are fading, fading ; 

Where is the Wild-Rose bloom ? 
White Lily, and purple Violet, 

And Larkspur's nodding plume ? 
Long, long ago they vanished, 

And all that is left of them — 
Of the tender bloom and the sweet perfume — 

Is the withered leaf and stem. 

3 Our hopes are falling — fading ; 

Where the summer grass did wave 
On the hillside, starred with blossoms, 

We laid them in the grave. 
Some day for the earth new flowers will bloom, 

Fresh leaves will deck the plain ; 
Ah ! hopes so dear, that lie buried here, 

Will ye comfort our hearts again ? 

4 Sleep, little flowers — Rest, buried hopes ! 

We trust in the Father's love. 
Bright as of yore, shall ye bloom once more, 
In the summer-land above ! 



THE RINGS OF HAIR. 

1 I have two sunny rings of hair, 
Preserved for years with tenderest care ; 

2 Intwined together they are laid, 
The two half-linked in golden braid. 

3 The twilight veil that shrouds the past, 
My memory penetrates at last. 

4 I see the two bright beings now, 
And those soft curls upon each brow. 

5 The shadowy veil they've long since 
And swept alike by wint'ry blast, 

6 Or summer's mild and fragrant breath, 
They heed not, locked in arms of death. 

7 Though seven changeful years have fled 
Since they are numbered with the dead, 

8 Their tones of childish music still 
Bring to my heart the old time thrill ; 

9 And in remembrance still, I keep 
Their last words, as they fell asleep. 

10 Sweet words ! "I'm going — going home." 
They saw the light — we felt the gloom, 

11 But those words, like a healing leaf, 
Lay on the bleeding wounds of grief. 

12 Ah ! much we murmured, and repined, 
Refusing long to be resigned. 

13 But these last words would ever come ; 
Until we felt they were at home ; 

14 At home in' heaven among the blest — 
Saved from all sin — at peace — at rest. 

15 And this all murmuring thoughts must quell, 
It is the Lord — He doeth well. 



MOTHERHOOD. BEREA VEMENT. 



719 



Xm Sauiw ». %ML 



Miss Aloott was born, 1832, in Germantown, Pa. Her present resi- 
dence is in Concord, Mass. Although Miss Alcott's literary achieve- 
ments have been mostly in prose, she has written soma choice bits of 
verse. Her first attempt at writing was in rhyme, at the age of eight 
years. 

[May Alcott Neiriker, sister of Louise M. Alcott. and the youngest of 
her four " Little Women," died recently in Paris, whither she went a year 
or two ago to pursue her art studies.] 1884. 

OUR MADONNA. 

1 A child her wayward pencil drew 

Ou margins of her book : 
Garlands of flowers, dancing elves, 

Bird, butterfly and brook. 
Lessons undone, and play forgot, 

Seeking with hand and heart 
The teacher whom she learned to love 

Before she knew 'twas Art. 

2 A maiden, full of lofty dreams, 

Slender and fair and tall 
As were the goddesses she traced 

Upon her chamber wall. 
Still laboring with brush and tool, 

Still seeking everywhere 
Ideal beauty, grace and strength 

In the " divine despair." 

3 A woman, sailing forth alone, 

Ambitious, brave, elate, 
To mould life with a dauntless will, 

To seek and conquer fate. 
Rich colors on her palette glowed, 

Patience bloomed in power ; 
Endeavor earned its just reward, 

Art had its happy hour. 

4 A wife, low sitting at his feet 

To paint with tender skill 
The hero of her early dreams, 

Artist, but woman still. 
Glad to shut the world away, 

Forgetting even Rome ; 
Content to be the household saint 

Shrined in a peaceful home. 

5 A mother folding in her arms 

The sweet, supreme success, 
Giving a life to win a life, 

Dying that she might bless ; 
Grateful for joy unspeakable, 

In the brief, blissful past ; 
The picture of a baby face 

Her loveliest and last. 

6 Death, the stern sculptor, with a touch 

No earthly power can stay, 
Changes to marble in an hour 

The beautiful, pale clay ; 
But Love, the mighty master, comes, 

Mixing his tints with tears, 
Paints an immortal form to shine 

Undimmed by coming years. 



7 A fair Madonna, golden-haired, 

Whose soft eyes seem to brood 
Upon the child whose little hand 

Crowns her with motherhood ; 
Sainted by death, yet bound to earth 

By its most tender ties, 
For life has yielded up to her 

Its sacred mysteries. 

8 So live, dear soul ! serene and safe, 

Throned as in Raphael's skies, 
Type of the love, the faith, the grief 

Whose pathos never dies. 
Divine or human, still the same 

To touch and lift the heart ; 
Earth's sacrifice is heaven's fame, 

And Nature truest Art. 



pss litgcloto 



Was born at Ipswich, England, something over fifty years ago (1885). 
Her poems are universally admired, as are her prose works, prominent 
among which are two novels, and considerable literature for children, 

SEVEN TIMES SIX. 

GIVING IN MAKKIAGE. 

1 To bear, to nurse, to rear, 

To watch, and then to lose : 
To see my bright ones disappear, 

Drawn up like morning dews ; — 
To bear, to nurse, to rear, 

To watch, and then to lose : 
This have I done when God drew near 

Among His own to choose. 

2 To hear, to heed, to wed, 

And with thy lord depart 
In tears that he, as soon as shed, 

Will let no longer smart ; — 
To hear, to heed, to wed, 

This while thou didst I smiled, 
For uow it was not God who said, 

" Mother, give me thy child." 

3 fond, O fool, and blind, ! 

To God I gave with fears ; 
But when a man like grace would find, 

My soul put by her fears. 
Ofond, O fool and blind,! 

God guards in happier spheres ; 
That man will guard where he did bind 

Is hope for unknown years. 

4 To hear, to heed, to wed, 

Fair lot that maidens choose, 
Thy mother's tenderest words are said, 

Thy face no more she views ; 
Thy mother's lot, my dear, 

She doth it nought accuse ; 
Her lot to bear, to nurse, to rear, 

To love — and then to lose. 



720 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



SEVEN TIMES SEVEN. 

LONGING FOB HOME. 

1 A song of a boat : — 

There was once a boat on a billow : 
Lightly she rocked to her port remote, 
And the foam was white in her wake like snow, 
And her frail mast bowed when the breeze would 
blow, 
And bent like a wand of willow. 

2 I shaded mine eyes one day when a boat 

Went curtesy ing over the billow, 
I marked her course till a dancing mote 
She faded out on the moonlit foam, 
And I stayed behind in the dear loved home ; 
And my thoughts all day were about the boat, 
And my dreams upon the pillow. 

3 I pray you hear my song of a boat, 

For it is but short : — 
My boat, you shall find none fairer afloat, 

In river or port. 
Long I looked out for the lad she bore, 

On the open desolate sea, 
And I think he sailed to the heavenly shore, 

For he came not back to me — 

Ah me ! 

4 A song of rest : — 
There was once a nest in a hollow : 
Down in the mosses and knot-grass pressed, 
Soft and warm, and full to the brim. 
Vetches leaned over it purple and dim, 
With buttercup buds to follow. 

5 I pray you hear my song of a nest, 
For it is not long : — 
You shall never light, in a summer quest 

The bushes among — 
Shall never light on a prouder sitter, 

A fairer nestful, nor ever know 
A softer sound than their tender twitter, 
That wind-like did come and go. 

6 I had a nestful once of my own, 
Ah ! happy, happy I ! 
Right dearly I loved them : but when they were grown 
They spread out their wings to fly. 
Oh ! one after one they flew away 
Far up to the heavenly blue, 
To the better country, the upper day, j 

And — I wish I was going too. 

7 I pray you, what is the nest to me, 

My empty nest ? 
And what is the shore where I stood to see 

My boat sail down to the west ? 
Can I call that home where I anchor yet, 

Though my good man has sailed ? 
Can I call that home" where my nest was set, 

Now all its hops hath failed ? 



Nay, but the port where my sailor went, 

And the land where my nestlings be, — 

There is the home where my thoughts are sent, 
The only home for me — 

Ah me ! 



JEAN INGELOW. 



THE CHILDLESS MOTHER. 

1 I lay my tasks down one by one, 

I sit in the silence in twilight's grace, 
Out of its shadow, soft and dun, 
Steals like a star my baby's face. 

2 Mocking cold are the world's poor joys, 

How poor to me all its pomp and pride! 
In my lap lie the babj r 's idle toys, 
In this very room the baby died. 

3 I will shut these broken toys away 

Under the lid where they mutely bide ; 
I will smile in the face of the noisy day, 
Just as if baby had never died. 

4 I will take up my work once more 

As if I had never laid it down, 
Who will dream that I ever wore 
Motherhood's regal, holy crown ? 

5 Who will deem my life ever bore, 

Fruit the sweeter in grief and pain ? 
The fleeting smile that the baby wore 
Outrayed the light of the loftiest brain. 

6 I'll meet him in the world's rude din, 

Who hath outlived his mother's kiss 
Who hath forsaken her love for sin — 
I will be spared her pang in this. 

7 Man's way is hard and sore beset, 

Many may fall, but few can win. 
Thanks, dear Shepherd ! my lamb is safe, 
Safe from sorrow and safe from sin. 

8 Nevertheless, the way is long, 

And tears leap up in the light of the sun, 
I'd give my world for a cradle song, 
And a kiss for baby — only one. 



IN HIS KEEPING. 

You give your little child a costly book, 

Full of gay pictures and engravings rare, 
But only let him on its beauties look, 

And then remove it with a loving care ; 
" Not now, my child," you say in gentle tone, 

" It is too costly, and too rich a treasure, 
But bye and bye, when you have older grown, 

And can more perfectly enjoy the pleasure, 
I will restore the pretty book again ; 
You know your mother would not cause you pain; 



MOTHERHOOD. BEREAVEMENT. 



721 



2 trusting childhood ! He resigns the gift 

Into your loving hands without a sigh ! 
He knows the tenderness that fills your heart 

Will not refuse it to him, bye and bye. 
Poor mother, bending o'er the empty crib 

Where slept your little one, with baby-smile, 
Think that the One who gave the precious gift, 

Hath but removed it for a little while. 
Are you so wise, that you would dare withhold 
Your tender lambkin from the heavenly fold ? 

3 How can you tell what your poor care would do ? 

Even at the best, you could not shield him quite ; 
Even with your wisest thought, you could not know 

Always to guide those little feet aright. 
Can you not let God have the charge of him ? 

He never takes away what He hath given, 
And your sweet child will always be your own, 

Though you are left on earth, and he in heaven. 
He keeps him for you with a holy care, 
And you shall shortly go and find him there ! 



A FACE AT THE WINDOW. 

1 Once as I wandered down the street, 
I saw at a window a face so sweet — 
The tiny face of a baby-girl, 

With a soft, clear eye, and a silken curl — 
And I looked o'er my shoulder again to see 
The sweet, sweet face that smiled on me, 
With a look in the eyes that seemed to say, 
"I have come from heaven, but not to stay." 

2 Adown the street as I walked again, 

I looked for the face at the window-pane ; 
But the blind was drawn, and I heard it said, 
As I passed along, that the child was dead. 
O happy baby ! O cherub girl, 
Borne up out of the din and whirl, — 
Out of the sorrow and saddened strife 
That burden even the brightest life — 
Out of the darkness and out of the gloom, 
A bud in the garden of God to bloom — 
Safe from danger, and care, and cold — 
Sheltered forever within the fold. 

3 What have you missed, O dainty dove, 
By flying so soon to the realms above ? 
Missed earth's sorrows and missed earth's fears, 
A woman's pains and a woman's tears, 

The bitter lees of a cup too sweet, 
The aching head and the weary feet, 
Danger, and sickness, and death, and loss, 
And all the pleasures that are but dross. 

4 Sweet, sweet face with the soulful eyes, 
Look from the windows of God's fair skies — ■ 
Look with those beauteous orbs of thine, 
And draw me nearer to things divine. 
Walking along Life's troubled way, 

Let me look up, as I looked that day, 



And know that a fair and cherub face 
Smiles upon me through leagues of space. 
Help me to keep from the snares, my sweet, 
That lie unnumbered about my feet ; 
Watch when I stumble, that I may rise 
Cheered by the light of thy smiling eyes 
And when my journey of life is done, 
May I see thy face, cherub one ! 



ELLA WHEELER. 



"NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP.' 

1 "Now I lay me clown to sleep," 
And the blue eyes, dark and deep, 
Let their snowy curtains down, 
Edged with fringes golden brown. 
" All day long, the angels fair, 
I've been watching over there ; 
Heaven's not far, 'tis just in sight, 
Now they're calling me, good-night; 
Kiss me, mother, do not weep, 
Now I lay me down to sleep." 

Chorus. — "Over there, just over there, 

I shall say my morning prayer ; 
Kiss me, mother, do not weep, 
Now I lay me down to sleep." 

2 Tangled ringlets, all smooth now, 
Looped back from the waxen brow ; 
Little hands so dimpled white, 
Clasped together, cold, to-night; 
Where the mossy, daisied sod 
Brought sweet messages from God, 
Two pale lips with kisses press'd 
There we left her to her rest, 

And the dews of evening weep 
Where we laid her down to sleep. 
Chorus. — Over there, just over there ; 

List ! the angels' morning pray'r 
Lisping low thro' fancy creep, 
" Now I lay me down to sleep." 

MISS HATTIE A, FOX. 

ONLY A YEAR. 

1 One year ago a ringing voice, 

A clear blue eye, 
And clustering curls of sunny hair, 
Too fair to die. 

2 Only a year, — no voice, no smile, 

No glance of eye, 
No clustei"ing curls of golden hair, 
Fair but to die. 

3 One year ago, what loves, what schemes 

Far into life ! 
What joyous hopes, what high resolves, 
What generous strife ! 

4 The silent picture on the wall, 

The burial-stone, 
Of all that beauty, life, and joy, 
Remain alone ! 



722 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



5 One year, one year, one little year, 

And so much gone ! 
And yet the even flow of life 
Moves calmly on. 

6 The grave grows green, the flowers bloom fair, 

Above that head; 
No sorrowing tint of leaf or spray 
Says he is dead. 

7 No pause or hush of merry birds, 

That sing above, 
Tells us how coldly sleeps below 
The form that we love. 

8 Where hast thou been this year, beloved? 

What hast thou seen ? 
What rising fair ; what glorious life 
Where thou hast been ? 

9 The veil ! the veil ! so thin, so strong ! 

'Twixt us and thee ; 
The mystic veil ! when shall it fall, 
That we may see ! 

10 Not dead, not sleeping, not even gone; 

But present still, 
And waiting for the coming hour 
Of God's sweet will. 

11 Lord of the living and the dead, 

Our Saviour dear ! 
We lay in silence at Thy feet 
This sad, sad year ! 



MRS. H. B. STOWE. 



LOST. 

1 Lost your treasures, little maiden ? 

No ! Do not cry. 
Mother keeps them safe for thee ; 

And by-and-by, 
When the study hours are o'er, 
You shall play with them once more. 

2 Lost your lov'd ones, tired heart ? 

Nay ! Do not sorrow. 
God doth keep them safe from harm. 

Some glad to-morrow, 
When life's lessons all are through, 
God will give them back to you. 



THE BRIDE OF HEAVEN 

1 How beautiful she lies, upon her pure white bed, 
While pale flowers o'er her brow a holy incense 

shed ; 
The eyelids tremble not, so peaceful is her rest, 
That even her maiden heart lies silent in her breast. 

2 Why o'er the sweet calm face, fond mother, dost thou 

weep ? 
Wouklst thou awake thy child from such a quiet 

sleep ? 
She is asleep, with Him whose love alone is pure, 
Within whose presence bliss shall evermore endure. 



3 No grief, no care, no pain, can ever pierce her heart ; 
No loved voice say again, " sweet sister, we must 

part ! " 
The living waters sweet have quenched her spirit's 

thirst, 
And on her soul the light of Holiness has burst. 

4 Why weep we then for her whose days of pain are 

o'er? 
Dear hands have wiped her tears, and she shall shed 

no more. 
To agony and tears the brides of earth are given — 
Oh ! bless her, as she lies, the pure young bride of 



Heaven. 



LTDIA JANE P1ERSON, 1840. 



PASS UNDER THE ROD. 

1 1 saw the young bride in her beauty and pride, 

Bedecked in her snowy array ; 
And the bright flush of joy mantled high on her 
cheek, 
And the future looked blooming and gay ; 
And with woman's devotion she laid her fond 
heart 
At the shrine of idolatrous love, 
And she anchored her hopes to this perishing earth, 

By the chain which her tenderness wove. 
But I saw when those heart-strings were bleeding 
and torn, 
And the chain had been severed in two, 
She had changed her white robes for the sables of 
grief, 
And her bloom for the paleness of woe ! 
But the Healer was there, pouring balm on her 
heart, 
And wiping the tears from her eyes : 
He strengthened the chain He had broken in 
twain, 
And fastened it firm to the skies ! 
There had whispered a voice — 'twas the voice of her 

God— 
" I love - thee, I love thee— pass under the rod ! " 

2 I saw the young mother in tenderness bend 

O'er the couch of her slumbering boy ; 
And she kissed the soft lips as they murmured her 
name, 

While the dreamer lay smiling in joy. 
Oh ! sweet as the rosebud encircled with dew. 

When its fragrance is flung on the air, 
So fresh and so bright to that mother he seemed, 

As he lay in his innocence there.' 
But I saw when she gazed on the same lovely form, 

Pale as marble, and silent and cold, 
But paler and colder her beautiful boy, 

And the tale of her sorrow was told ! 
But the Healer was there who had stricken her 
heart, 



MOTHERHOOD. BEREA YEMENI. 



723 



And takeu her treasure away ; 
To allure her to heaven He has placed it on high, 

And the mourner will sweetly obey. 
There had whispered a voice — 'twas the voice of her 
God— 

" I love thee, I love thee — pass under the rod ! " 

I saw a father and mother who leaned 

On the arms of a dear gifted son, 
And the star in the future grew bright to their gaze 

As they saw the proud place he had won ; 
And the fast-coming evening of life promised fair, 

And its pathway grew smooth to their feet ; 
And the starlight of love glimmered bright at the j 
end, 

And the whispers of fancy were sweet. 
And I saw them again bending low o'er the grave 

Where their heart's dearest hope had been laid ; 
And the star had gone down in the darkness of 2 
night, 

And the joy from their bosom had fled. 
But the Healer was there, and His arms were around 

And He led them with tenderest care ; 3 

And He showed them a star in the bright upper 
world — * 

'T was their star shining brilliantly there ! 
They had each heard a voice — 't was the voice of their 
God- 4 

" I love thee, I love thee — pass under the rod ! " 



Set to music by mrs. sue ixgersoll scott. 

Music copyrighted by J. Church, Jr. 1862. 5 

BEAUTIFUL HANDS. 

1 Such beautiful, beautiful hands ! 

They're neither white nor small ; 
And you, I know, would scarcely think 

That they are fair at all. 
I've looked on hands whose form and hue 

A sculptor's dream might be ; 
Yet are these aged, wrinkled hands 

Most beautiful to me. 

2 Such beautiful, beautiful hands ! 

Though heart were weary and sad, 
These patient hands kept toiling on, 

That the children might be glad. 
I almost weep, as lookiug back 

To childhood's distant day, 
I think how these hands rested not 

When mine were at their play. 

3 Such beautiful, beautiful hands ! 

They're growing feeble now ; 
For time and pain hath left their mark 

On hand, and heart, and brow. 
Alas ! alas ! the nearing time, 

And the sad, sad day to me, 
When 'neath the daisies, out of sight, 

These hands will folded be ! 



4 But Oh ! beyond this shadow-lamp, 

Where all is bright and fair, 
I know full well these dear old hands 

Will palms of victory bear. 
Where crystal streams, through endless days, 

Flow over golden sands, 
And where the old grow young again, 

I'll clasp my mother's hands. 

ELLEN M. GATES. 



TO MY MOTHER. 

The sweetest face in all the world to me, 
Set in a frame of shining, silver hair ; 

With eyes whose language is fidelity, — 
This is my mother ; say, is she not fair ? 

Ten little heads have found their sweetest sleep 
Upon the pillow of her loving breast ; 

The world is wide : yet nowhere does it keep 
So safe a haven — so complete a rest. 

Her hands are neither beautiful nor fair, 

Yet seemed they lovely in her children's eyes ; 

We found our daily strength and comfort there, 
And if her hands were rough, we were not wise. 

'T is counted something great to be a queen, 
And bend a kingdom to a woman's will ; 

To be a mother such as mine, I ween, 
Is something better and more noble still. 

mother ! in the changeful years now flown, 
Since as a child I leant upon your knee, 

Life has not brought to me, nor fortune shown, 
Such tender love ! such yearning sympathy ! 

Let fortune smile or frown, whiche'er she will ; 
It matters not. I scorn her fickle ways ! 

1 never shall be quite bereft, until 

I lose my mother's honest blame and praise ! 

MAY RILEY SMITH. 



THE GOLDEN WEDDING. 

1 Through fifty years of wedded life 

Love's golden chain has bound us, 
We'll enter soon the pearly gates, 
Its links still clasped around us. 

2 For though, perchance, an angel band 

Escort one first to heaven, 
We still may grasp love's golden chain, 
And not one link be riven. 

3 And when adown the golden streets 

We wander by the river, 
We'll gather from the tree of life 
Love's golden fruit, forever. 

ELLEN C. BARNETT. 
New Haven. Conn., 1883. 



724 












WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

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Pub. in sheet music form by National Mu3ie Co. Chicago. Words copyrighted 1883 by W. M. Madden. Used by per. 



DOMESTIC SCENES. SONGS AND READINGS FOR THE HOME FIRESIDE. 



725 



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726 



WOMAN' IN SACRED SONG. 



€Iip Cfl0ft 



Was born in Southwark, London, in 1817. Other many songs, this has 
been the most extensively sung, for a full half century. 

THE OLD ARM CHAIR. 
I love it! I love it ! and who shall dare 
To chide me for loving that old arm chair ? 
I've treasured it long as a sainted prize, 
I've bedewed it with tears and embalmed it with sighs 
'T is bound by a thousand bands to my heart, 
Not a tie will break, not a link will start ; 
Would you know the spell ? a mother sat there ! 
And a sacred thing is that old arm chair. 
In childhood's hour I lingered near 
That hallowed seat with a listening ear, 
And gentle words that mother would give, 
To fit me to die and teach me to live ; 
She told me shame would never betide, 
With truth for my creed, and God for my guide ; 
She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer, 
As I knelt beside that old arm chair. 
I sat and watched her many a day 
When her eye grew dim, and her locks were gray, 
And I almost worshipped her when she smiled 
And turned from her Bible to bless her child. 
Years rolled on, but the last one sped, 
My idol was shattered, my earth-star fled : 
I felt how much the heart can bear, 
When I saw her die in that old arm chair. 
'T is past ! 't is past ! but I gaze on it now 
With quivering lip and throbbing brow ; 
'T was there she nursed me, 'twas there she died, 
And memory still flows with lava tide. 
Say it is folly, and deem me weak, 
As the scalding tear-drops down my cheek ; 
But I love it ! I love it ! and cannot tear 
My soul from a mother's old arm chair. 

ELIZA COOK. 

firs, tfligshtfy $to gllttt 

Was horn in 1832 in Strong, Franklin Co., Maine. She married the 
sculptor Paul Akers, who died the following year. She afterwards be- 
came Mrs. Allen, and resided in New York, city. Under the name of 
Florence Percy, she has written many beautiful gems of song, among 
which " Rock me to sleep, mother." is prominent. 

She was paid $5 for it, and her publishers, who had in three years 
gained §4000 by its sale, offered her $5 apiece for any songs she might 
write. Some years after, when a poor widow and in need of money, she 
sent them a song which was promptly rejected. 



ROCK ME TO SLEEP. 
Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight, 
Make me a child again just for to-night ! 
Mother, come back from the echoless shore, 
Take me again to your heart as of yore ; 
Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care, 
Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair ; 
Over my slumbers your loving watch keep ; — 
Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep ! 



2 Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years ! 
I am so weary of toil and of tears, — 

Toil without recompense, tears all in vain, — 
Take them, and give me my childhood again ! 
I have grown weary of dust and decay, — 
Wearj r of flinging my soul-wealth away ; 
Weary of sowing for others to reap ; — 
Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep. 

3 Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue, 
Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you ! 
Many a summer the grass has grown green, 
Blossomed and faded, our faces between : 
Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain 
Long I to-night for your presence again. 
Come from the silence so long and so deep ; — 
Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep! 

4 Over my heart, in the days that are flown, 
No love like mother-love ever has shone ; 
No other worship abides and endures, — 
Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours: 
None like a mother can charm away pain 
From the sick soul and the world-weary brain. 
Slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lids creep : — 
Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep ! 

5 Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold, 
Fall on your shoulders again as of old ; 

Let it drop over my forehead to-night, 
Shading my faint eyes away from the light ; 
For with its sunny-edged shadows once more, 
Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore ; 
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep ; — 
Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep ! 

6 Mother, dear mother, the years have been long 
Since I last listened your lullaby song : 

Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem 
Womanhood's years have been only a dream. 
Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace, 
With your light lashes just sweeping my face, 
Never hereafter to wake or to weep ; — 
Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep ! 



'FLORENCE PERCY. 



itrs. €tmt 



Mrs. Crane of Oakhampton, England, is the sister of the lamented 
Frances R. Havergal. She is the author of "Records of the life of Rev. 
William Havergal,— Hon. Canon of Worcester Cathedral," a most in- 
teresting memoir of that useful man and composer of sacred music. She 
edited "Specimen Glasses,'" published 1 Paternoster Buildings ; and she 
is the editor of " Swiss Letters," written by her sister Frances. 



TO MY FATHER, 

THE REV. WM. M. HAVERGAL, ON HIS 73d BIRTHDAY. 

While we reckon up thy years, 
Balancing our hopes and fears, 
Praise we our Redeemer's grace, 
Shining on thy pilgrim race. 
He hath given thee work to do, 
And the task to suffer too ; 



DOMESTIC POEMS. TRIBUTES TO PARENTS AND THEIR MEMORIES. 



He hath given thee art to twine, 
Music-chords with song sublime, 
Holy chant and choral hymn, 
Praise-notes fit for seraphim ; 
Tuneful voice and ready pen 
Charm and teach the souls of men ; 
And thy God hath given thee skill 
Guiding youth to do His will ; 
And as pastor in His fold, 
Christ's salvation to uphold. 
Now a time for rest is thine 
In the land of Beulah's shine, 
Where the angels come and go, 
Bringing help and hope, and low 
Sweet echoes of the heavenly chime, 
Cheering on the flight of time. 
Oh ! may health and peace be given 
Till the ties of earth be riven, 
And this birthday happy be 
With the light of heaven on thee ! 

J. MIRIAM CRANB. 
(N£e Havergal.) 

SILVER WEDDING OF REV. AND MRS. 
F. B. DOE. 

1 How swift the noiseless years go by, 
Like carrier-birds that homeward fly, 

In changeless course, through dark and light, 
Yet have their shadows, dim and wide, 
But lightly touched the groom and bride, 

Who plight anew their vows to-night. 

2 He looks on her with tender eyes, 
That through all matronly disguise 

See girlhood's bloom yet crown her head ; 
And she — " Dear heart ! " she whispers low, 
" Not five-and-twenty years ago, 

But yesterday, we two were wed." 

3 To love no earthly span is lent, 
Here is the heavenly measurement ! 

As some fair saint in chapel lone, 
Who tells her rosary o'er and o'er, 
She numbers all the years before 

By treasures that the years have won. 

4 The joys and sorrows shared so long ; 
The tried affections true and strong ; 

The friends who gathered at their board ; 
Fair brows of children where the light 
Of household hearth shines warm and bright : 

These are the wealth the years have stored. 

5 Nor these alone the hopes that rise 
Beneath these bending autumn skies, 

Whose tender bloom must fade at last ; 
Light, clear when earthly beacons pale, 
And faith that far within the vail 

Hath sure and steadfast anchor cast. 

6 Then while you linger on the way, 
Dear friends, to keep this wedding-day, 

The hearts whose love you knew of old 



Would send you greetings true and warm ! 

God keep you safe through sun and storm, 

And turn life's " silver" all to "gold." 



MRS. STANSBURY. 
Appleton, Wie. 



fk C Stoat. 



Ada C. Sweet is the daughter of the late Gen. E. J. Sweet. She 
was born at Stockbridge, Wis., Feb. 23, 1852. Moved to Chicago in 1863, 
where her father was in command of the U. S. post, at Camp Douglas. 
After the war, the family took up a permanent residence near that city. 
Her father losing his right arm in the battle of Perry ville, Ky., she be- 
gan to assist himin his otfice-work, (he was a lawyer,) when only 15 years 
of age. In 1868 he was appointed U. S. agent for paying pensions, at Chi- 
cago, and she continued to assist him. After two years, she took entire 
charge of the business, under her father's direction, of course, and 
when he left, to take the place of Supervisor of Internal Revenue, in 
April. 1871, she remained with his successor as chief clerk, until Jan. 
1872, when she joined her father at Washington, where he was appoint- 
ed Deputy Commissioner of Internal Revenue. She acted as his Secre- 
tary until his death, Jan. 1, 1874. She was the oldest of four children, 
and to her, they and her mother looked mainly, for support. In Wash- 
ington she had many influential friends, among whom was Gen. Grant, 
who, knowing how faithful she had been in discharge of her duties, 
promptly acted upon the proposition that she be appointed U. S. agent 
for paying pensions at Chicago. The nomination was made in March 
1874, and confirmed by the Senate. She was re-appointed by President 
Hayes, and then again by President Arthur. During eight years, she 
disbursed twenty-five million dollars. This was the first instance of a 
woman being disbursing officer for the U. S. She continued to retain 
this position until feeling forced to resign in 1885, on account of the 
new administration. She asserts that many of the best positions under 
her authority were held by women, and never did one fail to meet all 
the responsible duties entrusted to her. 

Miss Sweet has written much, considering her occupation. Her prose 
is always enjoyable, and the following gem of poesy has the true ring. 
It will be enjoyed by all who read it, and find a sympathetic chord in 
many hearts. • 

THE GARDEN. 

1 I lean against the shaking fence, 
And look upon the dwelling whence 

Have gone the hearts that made it home. 
No well-beloved face looks out ; 
The vines no longer climb about 

The doors, and blossom into foam. 

2 Around the house there is no sign 
Of aught that made it home of mine, 

Well known, familiar, yet 't is strange. 
But in the garden I can see 
The trace of loving care, to me ; 

The flowers smile, — " We do not change." 

3 Three summers now the sun and rain 
Above those patient hands have lain 

That worked and planted flowers here ; 
And yet the red petunias stand, 
Unchecked by weeds on every hand, 

And tall blue larkspur shows no fear. 

4 One tiger-lily rears its head 
Close to the ruined gravel walk, 

And nods across the grass to me ; 
White feverfew shines bright and fair, 
Lifting its face to sun and air, 

And mignonette grows rank and free. 



728 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



5 Yet mother, mother, all of those 

You loved the best, your favorite rose — 
Your pets and darlings are no more. 

They could not live but by your side ; 

They flourished in your simple pride ; 
For you their buds and blossoms bore ! 

6 But in a garden that you know, 

Even yet, some flowers you planted grow, 
And those you cherished, loved the best. 

They do not fade with passing years ; 

No winter blights, no summer sears 

The leaves your tears and prayers have blessed. 

ADA C. SWEET. 
September, 1882. 



IN MEMORIAM. 

On the death of Miss Frances R. Havergal's Mother, Jane Havergal, 
July 5, 1848. 

1 Lift, lift thy eye, poor mourner, see her now, 
No earthly anguish wreathing that fair brow ; 
Fairer than when in youth's opening days, 

It met her sister's fond, admiring gaze ; 
Dazzling and fair, and with a starry crown 
Before her Saviour's feet cast humbly down. 

2 Such tears, such bitter tears, dear friend, as thou, 
Art shedding to her sainted memory now, 

Such tears, those dove-like eyes no more can shed, 
No more in anguish droop that throbbing head. 
Her months of pain, her hours of anguish here 
Are all forgotten in that glorious sphere 
As if they had not been ; save that perchance, 
The new-born spirit in that vast expanse 
Lifts high a song of more melodious power 
To Him who brought her through each heavy 
hour. 

3 I would not have thee musing day by day, 
On sufferings, bitter once, but passed away ; 
Dwell on her blessed end, when kneeling by 
Her heart's beloved saw her gently die, 

And though her speechless tongue no more could 

frame 
With sweet endearment, each remembered name, 
Yet round the neck, upon each cheek and tress, 
Twined her poor hand in a last sweet caress ; 
And her fond look was fixed on him whose love 
Had imaged here her Father's care above. 
"Words of sweet comfort with their heavenly 

power 
Were breathed from God's own book that solemn 

hour, 
And anguish ceased — as the few sands at last, 
After life's turmoil, from the hour glass passed. 



4 Then cheer thee now, a few more passing years, 
Swift in the downward course, a few more tears, 
And thou shall join the blessed ones above 
And know the fullness of your Saviour's love. 

MRS. MARTHA ROUCH. 

Canterbury, July 16, 1848. 
Addressed to Mrs. Havergal's sister, Susan Stratton, 



THE GOLDEN WEDDING. 

TO GEANDFATHEE AND GRANDMOTHER SCOTT. 

march 28, 1833 march 28, 1883. 

It is the day of days in all the years 

That comes but to the favored happy pair t 

Who cross life's limit of three score and ten ; 

In marriage ties accepted in their youth, 

The type of truest marriage and its best — . 

Our Lord has set through all the word He made 

The dual perfections of two in one, 

And one in two, that life might be, and bless. 

One God, one wife, one husband — discords run 

Through all the warp and woof of life if this is not. 

happy pair, who sit to-day in state 

With silver crowns, that glorify the head — 

Nor weigh it down with fear, or care, or fret — 

Life has poured out its fullness at thy feet. 

Down the dim avenues of time ye look, 

And see the past, with all its joys and griefs 

And fears, wave like a misty curtain pale 

That now seems woven full of golden threads, 

That catch the blessed glow and shine of peace, 

And glint and glitter in this golden day, 

Youth's toil and fret, its fierce impatience 

The fears and hopes of later years fulfilled, 

Now cometh age, with wisdom and with peace 

That reads and understands life's lessons clear. 

What once did seem a tangled web of care, 

Is now a " Cloth of Gold " glittering and fair. 

Love, faith and hope are seated now serene 

Within your souls : and all to thee is well ; 

Around you come to greet the day your children, 

And your children's children ; men and women, 

Youths and maidens, and the little ones, 

All with the offerings of affection laden ; 

To grace and joy the day, and bless the happy 

Grandsire, and grandame, whose Golden Day it is. 

Some are not here, but wait in the beyond — 

Their memories to-day be sweet, not sad ; — 

Perhaps unseen they pour sweet harmonies 

Along the trembling currents of your souls. 

Old friends and neighbors kindly come and press 

Your hands in theirs, rejoicing in your joy, 

As erst they joyed or sorrowed with you when 

Life was all forward, not backward looking ; 

The silver of the years has gently fallen 

On them as upon you ; the footprints of 

The days are seen on brow and cheek and chin ; 

The eye's bright light is dimmed ; the ear is dull ; 

The strong, staunch muscles, that in labor bent 



DOMESTIC POEMS. TRIBUTES TO PARENTS AND THEIR MEMORIES. 



Are shrunken ; and the active tread is slow ; 

But the old hearts are golden with their memories, 

And the brain is rich in wisdom's ripened stores ; 

Life's crucible has tried and tested worth, 

And burned away the dross. 

Kindred, and friends, and neighbors old and new 

Bring their best wishes to the honored pair, 

This day a full half century wed, and who, 

In all their days have travelled side by side 

In fair and stormy weather, faithful, fond and true ; 

And who stand as they who gaze upon the closing 

Of a lovely day, when all the scene about 

Is bathed in radiance of the setting sun ; 

And they who watch and wait are lifted up 

In soul, and shine in beauty, 

Knowing that when their day orb sets and pales 

There cometh greater joy, in full glory 

Of the eternal morning. 

ADA H. KEPLEY, 



6 They tell me it was beautiful, 

Our mother's childhood face, 
And speak of all her kindly words, 

Her ways of simple grace. 
Could we have only seen her then, 
That child, " Eliza, aged ten ! " 

7 We knew her not at morning : 

But when the noon-time came, 
With childish love and prattle, 

We gave her the new name ; 
Replete with all that's pure and good — 
The sacred name of motherhood. 

8 And now the afternoon has passed ; 

It is the evening tide . 
Our mother has just entered in 

Among the glorified. 
We look her finished life-work through — 
The misplaced stitches, Oh ! how few ! 

SUSAN TEALL PERRY, 1882. 

"Evangelist." 



OUR MOTHER'S SAMPLER. 

1 It was wrought in silken letters, 

As was the fashion then, 
Stiched into our mother's sampler — 

" Eliza, aged Ten ! " 
'T was long ago — passed sixty years ! 
Below the name the date appears. 

2 In " eighteen hundred twenty-three ! - 

We often heard her tell — 
She walked two miles to school that year, 

And we remember well 
How underneath the elm tree's shade 
She rested when a little maid. 

3 Above her. name the Alphabet, 

In letters large and small, 
Was wrought in red, and " true love blue,' 

And cross-stitched, one and all. 
The rows divided off by lines, 
Made from some old and quaint designs. 

4 And through the Summer sunshine, 

And through the Winter's snow, 
With the sampler in her pocket, 

Our mother used to go. 
And afternoons, the lessons done, 
She worked the letters, one by one. 

5 The stitches evenly were set, 

With only here and there 
A misplaced one, perhaps the count 

Was lost midst childish care. 
Distracting things in school, perchance, 
Stole from the work a thought, a glance. 



MOTHERLESS. 

1 I'm standing by your grave, mother, 

The winds are throbbing wild, 
And the wintry stars look dimly down, 

Upon your orphan child. 
Dark clouds are wreathed along the sky, 

In many a heavy fold, 
And the moonlight on the frosty grass, 

Gleams very pale and cold. 

2 We had a happy home, mother, 

Upon the mountain side, 
When the summer birds sang all day long, 

Before dear father died, 
Then mother, dear, your cheek grew pale 

And paler ev'ry day, 
Until at last the angels came 

And bore you too away. 

3 I had a gentle sister then, 

She is not with me now, 
For the gloomy shadow of the grave 

Lies on her fair .young brow ; 
And strangers meet around the fire, 

Upon the old hearthstone ; 

mother, in the cold wide world, 
I'm all alone, alone. 

4 I'm standing by your grave, mother, 

No human form is near ; 
And the fitful moaning of the wind 
Is all the sound I hear ; 

1 tremble when the old trees toss 
Their shadows to and fro, 

But I'll shut my eyes, and say the prayer 
You taught me long ago. 



SARAH T. BOLTON, 



f One of the best 



Resides in Indianapolis, Ind., and is quite advanced in years. (1386.) 



730 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



AN OLD PICTURE. 

1 The sweetest picture that memory brings, 
The dearest of all departed things, 

Is the old brown house, with its open door, 
Its wide flung windows, and spotless floor. 

2 Tall hollyhocks by the footpaths grow, 
The sweet old-fashioned balls of snow 
That tell of a beauty-loving heart, 
Unlearned in a single rule of art. 

3 I can see again the tansy bed, 
And the apples ripening overhead, 
The mullen stalks with crowns of gold, 
And the blossoming asters manifold. 

4 I can hear again the patient tread 

Of the gentle mother, long since dead ; 

I can feel her hand upon my brow, 

Ah ! the earth has no such healing now. 

5 For the race of women has passed away 
That blessed the land in its earlier day ; 
And quaint old houses, low and brown, 
Are found unhealthy, and all torn down. 

6 The world moves on, its progress brings 
Grand reforms, undreamed of things ; 
But nothing modern can fill the place 
Of the dear old home and mother's face. 



CHILDHOOD'S HOME REVISITED. 

1 Why do men wander up and down 

In search of scenes to charm the eye, 
While never sun e'er kindled sun 

As do the lights of memory ! 
The purple hills and wayside stream 
With uuforgotten splendors beam. 

2 No morning ever seems so fair 

As that we saw when all was new ; 
No mountain summit poised in air 

E'er rose like those in childhood's view ; 
No architect will ever come 
To build for us a dearer home. 

3 How memories cling and clothe the things 

Which daily use has rendered dear, 
Till each familiar object brings 

A sense of fellowship and cheer ; 
And even furniture seems fraught 
With pleasant character and thought. 

4 The gayest halls ne'er held such friends 

As the dear ghosts that fill these rooms ; 
A love-lit radiance softly lends 

Its light to mellow all the glooms ; 
As memory fills each 'customed place, 
'T is almost seeing face to face. 

BELLE W. COOKE. 

Springfield, May 1, 1884. 



SIX LITTLE FEET ON THE FENDER. 

1 In my heart there liveth a picture 

Of a kitchen rude and old, 
Where the fire-light tripped o'er the rafters 

And reddened the roof's brown mold ; 
Gilding the steam from the kettle 

That hummed from the foot-worn hearth, 
Throughout the live-long evening, 

Its measures of drowsy mirth. 

2 Because of the three light shadows 

That frescoed the rude old room — 
Because of the voices echoed 

Up 'mid the rafters' gloom — 
Because of the feet on the fender, 

Six restless, white little feet — 
The thoughts of that dear old kitchen 

Are to me so dear and sweet. 

3 When the first dash on the window 

Told of the coming rain, 
Oh ! where are the dear young faces 

That crowded against the pane ? 
While bits of fire-light stealing 

Their dimpled cheeks between, 
Went struggling out in the darkness, 

In shreds of silver sheen. 

4 Two of the feet grew weary, 

One dreary, dismal day, 
And we tied them with snow-white ribbons, 

Leaving him there by the way. 
There was fresh clay on the fender 

That weary, wint'ry night, 
For the four little feet had tracked it 

From the grave on the brown hill's height. 

5 Oh ! why on this darksome evening, 

This evening of rain and sleet, 
Rest my feet all alone on the hearth-stone ? 

Oh ! where are those other feet ? 
Are they treading the pathway of virtue 

That will bring us together above ? 
Or have they made steps that will dampen 

A sister's tireless love ? 



WAITING FOR MOTHER. 

(An incident of the Chicago fire.) 

1 That time of horror with its thunderous roar, 

Of burning halls and hovels, stores and streets, 
Its storm of firebrands, and its stifling smoke, 
Moans of dumb animals and human shrieks ; 

2 That time, when jostling, trampling under foot, 

One hundred thousand homeless people fled 
O'er flaming bridges and through tunnels dark, 
Dropping their household treasures as they sped; 

3 When faint with fear and hunger, and the flight 

For weary miles out to the open plain, 
They lay unsheltered through that dismal night, 
Stiffened with cold, drenched by the drizzling 



DOMESTIC SCENES. SONGS AND READINGS FOB TEE HOME FIRESIDE. 



m 



4 That time of horror will be often told 

To children's children in the years to come ; 
And hearts and hands will open then as now 
To give the houseless and the stranger room. 

5 One scene is sadder than the ashen heaps 

Where lie the hope and pride and work of years ; 

And sadder than the morgue with crumbling dead, 

Past kiss of friends or knowledge of their tears. 

6 Four hundred orphan children huddle close 

As though their kindred sorrow made them one ( 
And watch and wait with frightened, vacant air, 
And hark for footsteps that will never come. 

7 But yesterday they prattled at their hearths, 

Petted and fondled as our own have been ; 
To-day they eat the bread of charity, 

And wait for stranger homes to take them in. 

8 Here parents look for tender ones that fell 

Unheeded in that fearful flight for life, 
And many a mother tends her helpless babe, 
To-day a widow, yesterday a wife. 

9 Among that eager throng a father stood ; 

Within his arms a pretty baby slept, 
Wet with the rain, exhausted by its cries ; 
And by his side three little children crept. 

10 Waiting for mother ; " When will she come ? " 

Over and over asked the frightened brood ; 
Nothing made answer save the shorter breath 
Of the dear baby, dying for its food. 

11 Waiting for mother ; through the ghastly morgue, 

Filled with its young dead, they sought their 
own ; 
Some blackened body might be hers they sought, 
But death had branded all alike, "unknown." 

12 Waiting for mother ; through the surging crowd, 

Each face he scanned until all hope seemed lost ; 
Could she have fallen on that dreadful night ? 
Trampled beneath that flying, frantic host ? 

13 Waiting for mother ; only four to wait ; 

The baby nestled closer till it died ; 
But the three motherless and homeless ones 
Sobbed vainly for her coming at his side. 

14 That time of horror will be often told, 

Of many a fortune lost and vanished home ; 
But worst of all will be that saddened host 
Who waited loved ones that have never come. 



WAIT, LITTLE MOTHER. 

1 Oh ! wait, little mother, a moment, 

Ere folding that garment away, — 
That garment on which you have labored 
So many a wearisome day ! 

2 How fleecy and pure is its texture, 

How perfect its fashioning rare ; 
" Just fit," you have said in your rapture, 
" For one like my darling to wear ! " 



3 But I, with a gaze more impartial, 

Discern what is hidden from thee, 

And visions rise up from those frillings 

Which mar all the beauty to me : — 

4 I seem, as it were, to be viewing 

The face of a mother to-night, 

And angrily flushed it appeareth, — 

Dost think I am seeing aright ? 

5 The words which that mother is speaking 

Are hasty — and by them I know 
The heart of the mother is burdened ; 
What is it that troubles her so ? 

6 Ah ! small as it looks, now it's over, 

The tucks in that gay little gown 
Caused all of the mother's impatience ; 
And darkened her brow with its frown. 

7 And looking again, I discover 

A child in a dainty white bed, 
But tear-stained and toss'd are the pillows 
Now pressed by the bright little head. 

8 A pitiful sound is her grieving, 

But no loving mother draws near ; 
The mother is busily stitching, — 
I wish, Oh ! I wish she would hear ! 

9 The yards and the yards of white frilling, 

Like sea-foam, around her lie piled ; 
But still does the wheel keep on turning, 
And drowned is the moan of the child. 

10 The days which now come, to the mother, 

Are short, though she works with her might ; 
And often the wheel's steady humming 
Is heard in the hours of the night. 

11 The week with its labor is ended, 

And on, toward the blessed home light 
Comes one with a wearisome footstep : 
How welcome is Saturday night ! 

12 The burden of care, which the toiler 

Has borne through the heat of the day, 
Is lifted, as thoughts of his loved ones 
Draw near and encircle his way. 

13 Refreshingly sweet is the fragrance 

The roses distil on the air : 
He lingers ; — sometimes soft caresses 
Are waiting his coming just there. 

14 But to-night, in the soft, quiet gloaming, 

He finds there is no one to wait 

To give him the first kiss of welcome, 

From over the low wicket gate. 

15 A weight settles down o'er his spirit 

While hast'ning the dear one to seek j 
Nor is it removed when he finds her — ' 
A woman too weary to speak — 

16 Too weary to watch for his coming; 

To care for caresses this night ; 
Too weary to garnish the home life 

With smiles that are winning and bright. 



732 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



17 And this is the precious home-coming, 

Which all through the heat of the day- 
Has brightened the heart of the worker, 
And gilded his burdensome way. 

18 And seeing this sad train of visions 

Pass swiftly before me to-night, 
What wonder that yonder small raiment 
To me seems not faultless or white ? 

19 If only the tucks bad been fewer, 

And hems less exactingly laid ; 
If sheer glist'ning white of fine muslin 
The garment's sole beauty had made, 

20 What time would that mother have garnered 

With which to have made her home bright ! 
What leisure for lullaby-humming 
Have found at the coming of night ! 

21 What fountains of joy she'd have opened, 

For all whom she met through the day ! 
What sweetness extracted from duties, 
To cheer her own heart on its way ! 

22 What soft loving words would have 

The coming of him she loved best ; 
What cares would her gentle caresses 
Have quietly folded to rest ! 

23 And Oh ! how the angels above her 

Would have hasten 'd to quickly unfold 
The story, tnat faithful recorders 
Might write it in letters of gold ! 

BELLE KELLOGG TOWNE, 1880. 

ita. itargawt C Gangster. 

Mrs. Margaret B. gangster has written for publications ever since her 
fourteenth year. At that early age she took a prize for an Essay on 
Temperance, over about five hundred competitors. The prize offered 
was a collection of standard authors, and those competing were the 
pupils, of both sexes, attending the various public and private schools of 
Brooklyn and New York. She will be remembered by many who also 
attended there, as a member of Williamsburg Collegiate Institute. Her 
earlier writings were usually over the single initials M, E. M„ behind 
which she, even now, occasionally veils herself. 

Mrs. Sangster was born in New York State, and has lived in that 
State and Virginia, all her life, with the exception of one year in Mary- 
land. She is at present, 1884, the very successful associate editor of 
"The Christian Intelligencer," New York. The following beautiful poem 
— "Are the Children at Home ?" was written in 1867, while sitting on 
her pleasant verandah in Norfolk, Va., overlooking the Elizabeth Biver. 
Its blending of pathos, tenderness, and simplicity are rarely equalled. 
The home impulse shines clearly through many of Mrs. Sangster's poems 
For a year or two she was associate editor of the popular paper "Hearth 
and Home," arid its columns were then enriched by much of her prose 
and verse. Her deep religious feeling is voiced in "Wayfarers," found in 
this department of "Woman in Sacred Song." 

ARE THE CHILDREN HOME? 

1 Each day when the glow of sunset 

Fades in the western sky, 
And the wee ones, tired of playing, 

Qo tripping lightly by, 
I steal away from my husband, 

Asleep in the easy chair, 
And watch from the open doorway 

Their faces fresh and fair. 



2 Alone in the dear old homestead 

That once was full of life, 
Full of girlish laughter, 

Echoing with boyish strife, 
We, too, are waiting together, 

And oft as the shadows come, 
With tremulous voice, he calls me : 

" Tt is night, are the children home ? " 

3 " Yes, love," I answer him gently, 

" They're all home long ago." 
And I sing in my quivering treble 

A song so soft and low, 
Till the old mau drops to slumber 

With his head upon his hand, 
And I tell to myself the number 

At home in the better land. 

4 Home, where never a sorrow 

Shall dim their eyes with tears, 
Where the smile of God is on them 

Through all the summer years. 
I know, yet my arms are empty, 

That fondly folded seven ; 
And the mother heart within me 

Is almost starved for heaven. 

5 Sometimes in the dusk of evening 

I only shut my eyes, 
And the children are all about me, 

A vision from the skies ; 
The babes whose dimpled fingers 

Lost the way to my breast. 
And the beautiful ones, the angels, 

Passed to the world of the blest. 

6 A breath, and the vision is lifted 

Away on the wings of light, 
And again we two are together, 

All alone in the night. 
They tell me his mind is failing, 

But I smile at idle fears ; 
He is only back with the children,. 

In the dear and peaceful years. 

7 And still as the summer sunset 

Fades away in the west, 
And the wee ones, tired of playing, 

Go trooping home to rest, 
My husband calls from his corner, 

" Say, love, have the children come ? " 
And I answer, with eyes uplifted, 

" Yes, dear, they are all at home." 

MARGARET E. SANGSTER, 1867. 

THE RUINED MERCHANT. 
1 A cottage home with sloping lawn, and trellised 
vines and flowers, 
And little feet to chase away the rosy-fingered 

hours ; 
A fair young face to part at eve the shadows in the 

door ; — 
A picture thus, a home I knew, in happy days of 
yore. 



DOMESTIC SCENES. SONGS AND READINGS FOR TEE HOME FIRESIDE 



733 



2 Says one, a cherub thing of three, with childish 9 "And God will come and take us there, dear father, 

heart elate, . if we pray, 

" Papa is tomin', let me do, to meet 'im at te We need n't fear the road, papa, He surely knows 

date ! " the way." 

Another takes the music up, and flings it on the Then from the corner, taff in hand, the grandma 

air, rises slow, 

" Papa has come, but why so slow his footstep on Her snowy capstrings in the breeze soft fluttering 

the stair ? " to and fro ; 

3 " father ! did you bring the books I've waited for 10 Totters across the parlor floor, by aid of kindly 

so long, * hands > 

The baby's rocking-horse and drum, and mother's Counting in every little face, her life's declining 

'angel song'? san * s i 

And did you see "—but something holds the ques- Reaches his side, and whispers low, "God's, promises 

tioning lips apart, are sure 5 

And something settles very still upon the joyous F ° r every grievous wound, my son, He sends a ready 

heart. cur e-" 

■. _., . , ,. . ., , n .,, i 11 The father clasps her hand in his, and quickly turns 

4 The quick-discerning wile bends down with her aside 

white hand to stay The heavi ' ng chest the rising sigh the coming tear 
lhe clouds from tangling with the curls that on his to jjide • 

forehead lay ; Folds to his heart those loving ones, and kisses o'er 
To ask in gentle tones, " -Beloved, by what rude ^ > 

tempest tossed ? " That noWe wife whoge faithful heart he little knew 
And list the hollow, " Beggared, lost, — all ruined, before 

poor, and lost! " ^ 12 „ ^ ^ forgive me , ^^ ^ __ \_ ± _ 

5 " Nay, say not so, for I am here to share misfortune's more *v'cclous things, 

*<>i&, "vvnose rich affection round my heart a ceaseless 
And prove how better far than gold is love's unfail- dor flings ? 

ing dower. ^ I think he knew my sordid soul was getting proud 

Let wealth take wings and fly away, as far as wings an( j co id, 

can soar, . And thus to save me, gave me these, and took away 

The bird of love will hover near, and only sing the m y go ld. 

more - 13 " Dear ones, forgive me ; nevermore will I forget 

6 " All lost, papa ? why, here am I ; and, father, see 



how tall"; 
I measure fully three feet four, upon the kitchen 

wall; 
I'll tend the flowers, feed the birds, and have such 

lots of fun, 
I'm big enough to work, papa, for I'm the oldest 

son." 

7 " And I, papa, am almost five," says curly-headed 

Rose, 
" And I can learn to sew, papa, and make all dolly's 

clothes. 
But what is ' pooi-,' — to stay at home and have no 

place to go ? 
Oh ! then I'll ask the Lord to-night to make us 

always so." 

8 " I'se here, papa ; I isn't lost ! " and on his father's 

knee 
He lays his sunny head to rest, that baby-boy of 

three. 
"And if we get too poor to live," says little Rose, 

"you know 
There is a better place, papa, a heaven where we 

can go. 



the rod 
That brought me safely unto you, and led me back 

to God. 
I am not poor while these bright links of priceless 

love remain, 
And Heaven helping, nevermore shall blindness hide 

the chain." 

CORA M. EAGER. 



THE WAIL OF A MORMON WIFE. 

Let every happy wife and mother who reads these lines give her sym- 
pathy, prayers and efforts to free her sisters from this degrading bond- 
age. Let all the womanhood of the country stand united for them. 
There is a power in combined enlightened sentiment and sympathy, be- 
fore which every form of injustice and cruelty must finally go down.— 
Harriet Bencher Stowe. 

1 There's a waeful blank at our fireside, 

Since Jamie gae'd awa'; 
Lang in this world I canna' bide 
My heart will break in twa. 

2 Jamie, the faither o' my bairns' 

The lover o' my youth, 
Has ta'en another to his arms, 
And left his ain puir Ruth ! 



734 



WOMAN- IN SACRED SONG. 



3 Forgotten a' his love and troth 

Made solemnly to me ; 
That death alone would part us both, 
And set ilk other free. 

4 Sleep, Oh ! sleep, my baby dear ! 



An' dinua wake to 



weep, 



'T was only mother's burning tear 
That fell upon thy cheek. 

5 Oh ! dinna let thy mother's grief 

Disturb my baby's rest, 
My aching heart aye finds relief, 
When thou art on my breast. 

6 Oh! what can quell this inward strife 
v That rages like the sea, 

When Jamie calls that woman wife t 
There's nane his wife but me ! 

7 Elders an' priests may counsel gie, 

And bid me " bear my cross ;" 
I think it naught but blasphemy, 
To bid me bear my loss. 

8 I canna, an' I wunna yield 

To this Satanic creed, 
I'll take my baby on my back, 
And beg around for bread. 

9 Had I ha' en wit to keep the gear 

My faither left to me, 
Oh ! weel I ken I'd no been here, 
Sae far ayont the sea. 

10 But the wily saints came to my door, 

Without e'er scrip or purse, 
Got a' they asked frae me, an' more, 
And noo I get their curse, 

11 Which canna do me muckle ill, 

Tho' I hae seen the day, 
The murderous crew my blood would spill, 
And put me " out o' the way." 

12 Surely the time is close at hand, 

God grant it were this hour, 
When o'er this dark, benighted land, 
The law would show its power 

13 To exterminate polygamy, 

Degrading to our lives ; 
And we, the broken-hearted, 
Would be loving, happy wives. 

JESSIE COWAN. 
Salt Lake City, June, 1880. 



THE LIGHT OF HOME. 

1 My son, thou wilt dream the world is fair, 
And thy spirit will sigh to roam, 

And thou must go ; but never, when there, 
Forget the light of home ! 



2 Though pleasure may smile with a ray more bright, 

It dazzles to lead astray ; 
Like a meteor's flash, 't will deepen the night, 
When treading thy lonely way. 

3 But the hearth of home has a constant flame, 

And pure as a vestal fire ; 
'Twill burn, 't will burn forever the same, 
For nature feeds the pyre. 

4 The sea of ambition is tempest-tossed, 

And thy hopes may vanish like foam ; 
When sails are shivered and compass lost, 
Then look to the light of home. 

5 And there, like a star through midnight cloud, 

Thou'lt see the beacon bright ; 

For never, till shining on thy shroud, 

Can be quenched its holy light. 

SARAH J. HALE. 



Srs. fotte f . ®w&. 



Mrs. Eunice P. Wood is a resident of Englewood — a suburb of Chica- 
go. While visiting a year or two since (Not. 1884,) at the home of her 
friend the Rev. E. S. Walker, Springfield, 111., she saw, on coming down 
to breakfast one morning, an elegant Camellia just burst into fragrant 
bloom. She retired to her room, and in a few moments, produced the 
following gem of poetry. Sirs. Wood is one of the most active and able 
workers in the cause of Gospel temperance, and frequently addresses 
large audiences in its interests. She wields a graceful and facile pen, 
and her numerous poems are much, admired and sought after by her 
hosts of friends and literary acquaintances. 



THE HOUSE OF THE CAMELLIA 

A gracious quiet broods upon the spot, 

Apart from the still busy world afar, 
A quiet telling of the peaceful lot 

Of those who set its gates and doors ajar, 
To welcome those who seek the sheltered shrine 
Where heart-gems gleam and love and home-light 
shine. 

There the Camellia blooms, a fitting type 
Of fairest womanhood, a stainless flower, 

That sheds its beauty o'er the common way, 
And lifts the soul, by its unconscious power, 

To nobler thoughts, to life's supremest height, 

Breathing a thought of those " who walk in white." 

There growing manhood draws its deepening life 
From sources rich — no mystic mistletoe — 

But from the same strong soil that bore the sire, 
The sturdy sons to equal heights shall grow ; 

Like the blest orange tree of sunnier clime, 

Fair buds and flowers enrich the fruitage time. 

E(7!»IOE P. WOOB, 1884 



DOMESTIC SCENES. SONGS AND READINGS FOR THE HOME FIRESIDE. 



735 



THE HOUSEHOLD ANGEL. 



(a domestic scene.) 




1. Lit - tie house-hold an - gel, 

2. In - no - cent ma - gi - cian, 

3. Can -not all our lov-ing 

4. Tho' we may not love thee 



Sit - ting on the floor, 
Whose en - chanting wiles 
Make thee quite for - get 

As they love thee there, 



Gaz - ing at the win - dow, 
Turns the chil-dren's weep-ing 
Mansions, whose pure glo - ry 

Tho' our homes are dark- er 



^ m> 



^m- -m- -9- ^m- 



Peep- ing thro' the door; 

In - to mer - ry smiles; 

Lin - gers round thee yet? 

Than those man - sions fair, 



List-'ning, smil - ing, breath-less, 

Charm the heart of sor - row, 

Tar - ry " with us, an - gel, 

Yet we love thee, ba - by, 



For the com - ing 
Smooth the brow of 
Mes - sen - ger from 
With our ut - most 



-* *» 






feet, 
care, 
heav'n, 
love; 



O 
O 

That 
Tar ■ 



lov 

help 

with 



ba - by, 
ba - by, 
heal - ing, 
an - gel. 



What is half so sweet? 

What is half so fair? 

Was so kind - ly giv'n. 

Sent us from a - hove. 



^^E 




From the "Pacific Glee Book." By per. Pub, by Root & Cady, Chicago. 



736 



WOMAN IN SACRED SQNC 



ON THE CHURCH AND RECTORY, ASTLEY. 

Behold thy birthplace, Frances ! The old house 
Entwined with ivy, roses and the vine, 
Beneath the shadow of the ancient shrine 
Where ministered thy father twenty years. 
He built the northern aisle and gave the clock, 
A musical memento of his love 
For tune and time and punctuality. 
Fair is the garden ground ! and then the flowers 
Were trained with care and skill by one who now 
Rests from her labors in the heavenly land. 
Here life and death together meet, the tombs 
Stand close beside the mossy bank where once 
Sisters and brothers met in frolic play. 
Around — the wooded hills in beauty rise ! 
Earth has not many scenes more fair than this, 
And none more dear to those who called it Home. 
N. B. — The clock strikes the hour and quarter on 
the chord of G. 

J. MIRIAM CRANE. 

(Sister to Frances R. HavergaL) 

THE YOUNG MOTHER. 

1 Tiny shoes of red morocco 

Lie upon the chamber floor ; 

Merry eyes of sweetest sapphire 

Gayly peep within the door. 

2 Oh ! how often, careless-hearted, 

Leaned I by this window frame ; 
Half a score of summers younger, 
Wearing still my father's name. 

3 Blossoms lie, like gleams of moonlight, 

On the tops of chestnut trees ; 
To the red lips of the clover 
Go the bandit humble-bees. 

4 Trembling branches dimly curtain 

Now, as then, my window scene ; 
Now, as then, a dryad trilleth 
Deep within the heart of green. 

5 Here the soft wind came to kiss me 

In the balmy blossom time ; 
Here I prayed with tears of anguish ; 
Here I wrote my girlish rhyme. 

6 Here my lover's words of promise 

Made the whole world sweet and true ; 
Now the tiny shape beside me 
Wears his gentle eyes of blue. 

7 Curls of blonde about her forehead, 

One white pearl-tooth in her mouth ; 
Sweeter she than buds of roses 
Opening in the spicy south ! 

8 Lo ! I bring, that Thou mayst touch her, 

This young child Thou gavest me ! 
Master, Lord, Thy hand of blessing 
Lay upon her tenderly ! 

UNA L. BAILEY, 1880. 



THIS IS LIFE." 

1 "I have planned much work for my life," she said; 

A girlish creature, with golden hair, 
And bright and winsome as she was fair. 

2 " The days are full, till he comes to wed ; 

The clothes to buy, and the home to make 
A very Eden, for his dear sake." 

3 But cares soon come to the wedded wife ; 

She shares his duties, and hopes, and fears, 
Which lessen not with the waning years ; 

4 For a very struggle, at best, is life ; 

If we knew the burdens along the line, 
We should shrink to receive this gift divine. 

5 Sometimes, in the hush of the evening hour, 

She thinks of the leisure she meant to gain, 
And the work she would do with hand and brain. 

6 "lam tired to-night ; I am lacking power 

To think," she says ; " I must wait until 
My brain is rested, and pulse is still." 

7 woman and man, there is never rest; 

Dream not of a leisure that will not come 
Till age shall make you both blind and dumb. 

8 You must live each day at your very best ; 

The work of the world is done by few ; 
God asks that a part be done by you. 

9 Say oft of the years, as they pass from sight, 

" This, this is life, with its golden store ; 
I shall have it once, but it comes no more." 
10 Have a purpose, and do with your utmost might : 
You will finish your work on the other side, 
When you wake in His likeness, satisfied. 

SARAH K, BOLTON. 1883. 



THE VOICE IN THE TWILIGHT. 

1 I was sitting alone in the twilight, 

With spirit troubled and vexed, 
When thoughts that were morbid and gloomy, 
And faith that was sadly perplexed. 

2 Some homely work I was doing 

For the child of my love and care, 
Some stitches half wearily setting 
In the endless need of repair. 

3 But my thoughts were about the building, 

The work some day to be tried ; 
And that only the gold and the silver 
And the precious stones should abide ; 

4 And remembering my own poor efforts, 

The wretched work I had done, 

And, even when trying most truly, 

The meager success I had won : 

5 " It is nothing but wood, hay and stubble," 

I said ; "it will all be burned — 
This useless fruit of the talents 
One day to be returned. 




A LETTER FROM HOWE. 



DOMESTIC SCENES. SONGS AND READINGS FOR THE HOME FIRESIDE. 



737 



6 " And I have so longed to serve Him, 

And sometimes 1 know I have tried ; 
But I'm sure when He sees such a building, 
He will never let it abide." 

7 Just then, as I turned the garment, 

That no rent s' , u ld be left behind, 
My eye caught an odd little bundle 
Of mending and patchwork combined. 

8 My heart grew suddenly tender, 

And something blinded my eyes 
With one of those sweet intuitions 
That sometimes makes us so wise. 

9 Dear child, she wanted to help me ; 

I know 't was the best she could do ; 
But Oh ! what a botch she had made it — 
The gray mis-matching the blue ! 

10 And yet — can you understand it? — 

With a tender smile and a tear, 
And a half compassionate yearning, 
I felt her grown more dear. 

11 Then a sweet voice broke the silence, 

And the dear Lord said to me : 
"Art thou tenderer for the little child 
Than 1 am tender for thee ? " 

12 Then straightway I knew His meaning, 

So full of compassion and love, 
And my faith came back to its Refuge, 
Like the glad returning dove. 

13 For I thought when the Master Builder 

Comes down His temple to view, 

To see what rents must be mended 

And what must be builded anew ; 

14 Perhaps, as He looks o'er the building, 

He will bring my work to the light, 
And seeing the marring and bungling 
And how far it is from right, 

15 He will feel as I felt for my darling, 

And will say as I said for her : 

" Dear child, she wanted to help me, 

And love for me was the spur. 

16 "And for the real love that was in it, 

The work shall seem perfect as mine •, 
And because it was willing service, 
I will crown it with plaudit divine." 

17 And there in the deepening twilight, 

I seemed to be clasping a Hand, 
And to feel a great love constrain me 
Stronger than any command. 

18 Then I knew by the thrill of sweetness 

'T was the hand of the Blessed One, 
Which would tenderly guide and hold me 
Till all the labor is done. 

19 So my thoughts are nevermore gloomy, 

My faith no longer is dim ; 
But my heart is strong and restful, 
And mine eyes are unto Him. 



WILD WEATHER OUTSIDE. 

1 Wild weather outsicle where the brave ships go, 
And fierce from all quarters the four winds blow — 
Wild weather and cold, and the great waves swell, 
With chasms beneath them as black as hell. 

The waters frolic in Titan p.ay, 

They dash the decks with an icy spray, 

The spent sails shiver, the lithe masts reel, 

And the sheeted ropes are as smooth as steel. 

And Oh ! that the sailor were safe once more 

Where the sweet wife smiles in the cottage door ! 

2 The little cottage, it shines afar 

O'er the lurid seas, like the polar star. 

The mariner tossed in the jaws of death 

Hurls at the storm a defiant breath ; 

Shouts to his mates through the writhing foam, 

" Courage ! please God, we shall yet win home ! " 

Frozen and haggard and wan and gray, 

But resolute still ; 't is the sailor's way. 

And perhaps — at the fancy the stern eyes dim — 

Somebody's praying to-night for him. 

3 Ah me, through the drench of the bitter rain, 
How bright the picture that rises plain ! 
Sure he can see, with her merry look, 

His little maid crooning her spelling-book ; 
The baby crows from the cradle fair ; 
The grandma nods in her easy-chair; 
While hither and yon, with a quiet grace, 
A woman flits, with an earnest face. 
The kitten purrs, and the kettle sings, 
And a nameless comfort the picture brings. 

4 Rough weather outside, but the winds of balm 
Forever float o'er that isle of calm. 

O friends, who read over tea and toast 
Of the wild night's work on the storm-swept coast, 
Think, when the vessels are overdue, 
Of the perilous voyage, the baffled crew, 
Of stout hearts battling for love and home 
'Mid the cruel blasts and the curdling foam, 
And breathe a prayer from your happy lips 
For those who must go " to the sea in ships " ; 
Ask that the sailor may stand once more 
Where the sweet wife smiles in the cottage door. 

MARGARET K. SANGSTER. 1882. 
" Harper's Magazine." 



MOTHER, HOME, AND HEAVEN. 

1 Mother ! Oh ! what living fragrance 

Breathes forth from that tender word, 
Mingled with far sweeter music 

Than the ear hath ever heard ! 
Tell me not of names more lofty 

Which on History's pages shine ; 
Not one name glows like a mother's 

In the heart's most sacred shrine. 



738 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



2 Mother ! Wandering back to childhood, 

Through the vista of long years, 
We remember how she ever 

Shared our joys and calmed our fears ; 
How she taught our lips to murmur, 

" Now I lay me down to sleep," 
Praying, too, that guardian angels 

Might their vigils o'er us keep. 

3 Mother ! When the bloom has faded 

From the cheek once young and fair, 
And the hand of Age has scattered 

O'er her brow the silv'ry hair, 
Let us ever comfort, love her, 

Guide her trembling feet along, 
Till the Master's voice shall call her 

To the far-off land of song. 

4 Home, sweet home ! A glorious halo 

Seems to hover 'round this spot, 
Be it found in halls of grandeur, 

Or the humblest, meanest cot. 
Home ! If in thy sacred borders 

Love and purity hold sway, 
Thou art like a fair oasis, 

As we tread earth's desert way. 

5 Home of childhood ! As wide open 

Mem'ry's mystic door we throw, 
Thoughts of that old homestead enter 

As it was long years ago ; 
When we played upon the hillside, 

Or beneath the shady tree, 
And when 'round the family altar 

We devoutly bow'd the knee. 

6 But alas ! this earth-home changeth ; 

'T is as transient as the day ; 
Death and Ruin trace upon it 

With bold hand, " Decay ! Decay I" 
One by one lov'd faces vanish, 

Well-known footsteps do not come, 
And ere long Time's breath hath wither'd 

Every trace of our old home. 

7 But I turn my thoughts to Heaven, • 

That blest home — land of the soul — 
Where grim Death can never enter, 

And no changing seasons roll. 
Oft we scent the fragrant odors 

Wafted from its verdant hill, 
But those jasper walls are hidden 

By yon stream so dark and chill. 

8 Heav'n ! Eye hath not seen the splendor 

Of thy shining streets of gold, 
Pearly gates and glittering mansions, 

All so wondrous to behold ; 
Ear hath never heard the sweetness 

Of thy music's rapturous notes, 
Which adown the plains of glory 

On each balmy zephyr floats. 



9 Heav'n ! Eternal noontide streameth 

From thy dome of dazzling height, 
Over which no dim clouds gather, 

And there falls no shades of night. 
Sun or moon are needed never 

To illume thy fair domains, 
For the Lamb enthroned forever 

King of light and glory reigns. 
10 Heav'n ! Bright home ! When shall we wander 

By thy murmuring crystal sea, 
And sit down with saints and loved ones 

'Neath the shade of Life's great tree ? 
Hope is whisp'ring, " Soon, lone pilgrim, 

Shall yon mystic veil be riv'n, 
And on thy ecstatic vision 

Burst the endless joys of Heav'n." 

SADIE O. PKINCE, 

In "Gems of Poetry," 
Springfield, Nova Scotia, 1884, 

WOMAN'S MISSION AND WOMAN'S WORK. 

1 Her mission, to make homes and resting-places 

Edens on earth, 
Where men may rest from toil and prove her graces, 
Her precious worth. 

2 Her mission, to see other lives out-growing 

From her frail frame ; 
Her work, to note all grief, all wayward-going, 
And shield from blame. 

3 Her mission, to rebuke, by virtuous life, 

Vileness and sin ; 
Her work, to aid the erring in their strife 
Lost strength to win. 

4 Her mission, to be strong and brave and wise, 

When man is weak ; 
Her work, with love-light sparkling in her eyes, 
Bight words to speak. 

5 Her mission, to be patient, faithful, true, 

Though man be false ; 
Her work, to do all that God bids her do, 
Though flesh revolts. 

6 Her mission, that of a bright star, to lead 

To Heaven and God ; 
Her work, to soothe when men must smart and bleed 
Beneath the rod. 

7 Her mission, to speak words of hope and cheer 

In man's sad hours ; 
Her work, to strew his path, when dark and drear, 
With lore's sweet flowers. 

8 Her mission, in prosperity's bright day, 

Praises to sing ; 
Her work, in adverse times, for grace to pray, 
And aid to bring. 

9 Her mission, in man's thoughtless, reckless hours, 

To warn and grieve ; 
Her work, when pain and death reveal their powers, 
To seek reprieve. 



DOMESTIC SCENE'S. SONGS AND READINGS FOR THE HOME FIRESIDE. 



739 



10 Her mission, man's true helper every hour 

Of life to be, 
His guardian angel, from the tempter's power, 
Leading him free. 

11 Her mission, with true woman tact and skill, 

Life's journey through, 
A thousand things which man nor can nor will, 
Daily to do. 

12 Her mission, in a way heroic, wise, 

Sublime, divine, 
To keep herself a constant sacrifice 
On duty's sbrine. 

13 Her work, to censure and reprove and chide, 

Condemn, command, 
To teach, to lead, counsel, persuade, guard, guide, 
Nourish, defend. 

14 Her work, to waken tenderness and love, 

And sweet-voiced hope, 
And joy in other lives till joys above 
To her shall ope. 

ANGELINE FULLER. 

In "The Venture." 1883. 



THE HERITAGE. 

1 In the time which will come to my darlings, 

When the days of my years all are spent, 
And safely at last I am sleeping 

Low under the grave's green tent, — 

2 Then, I trust that the children will enter 

On the heritage I shall leave, 
And unto it, strong and faithful, 
Through life unto death will cleave. 

3 I shall leave them the poor and needy, 

The helpless and the oppressed, 
The sad and the sick and the sinning, 
To be served and gladdened and blest. 

4 I shall leave to them all who suffer 

From cruelty, ruth, and wrong, 
And all who are weak and humble, 
Oppressed by the proud and strong. 

5 I shall leave them the little children, 

To be taught their burdens to bear ; 
And the old to be gently guided 
Adown life's tottering stair. 

6 I bequeath to them all the battle 

Of the weak against the strong, 
And the crusade I surrender 
Of the right against the wrong. 

7 And when their years are all numbered, 

And they enter into bliss, 
May they leave unto their children 
A heritage grand as this. 

HATTIE TYNG GRISWOLD, 1884, 

'•Christian Register." 



MARY. 



1 She was my May when my winter had come, 
Bringing back music to forests all dumb ! 
Delicate wild-wood anemone, she ! 
Lily-bell, swinging out fragrance for me ! 

2 Crystal, as pure and transparent as light ! 
Moonbeam, delicious, that comforts the night — 
Calming and cooling, with beauty divine, 
Earth overcome with the noon's ruddy wine. 

3 Shut with the few on the tempest-tossed deck — 
All the world outward a blank and a wreck, 
Sailing the sea of a desolate grief, 

She was my dove with the green olive leaf. 

4 'T was Mary who cradled our Lord on her breast ; 
A Mary who loved Him and pleased Him the best; 
A Mary it was who anointed His head ; 

A Mary who welcomed Him first from the dead. 

5 Thank God ! with the sorrow of wearisome years, 
He sendeth us Marj^s to wipe off our tears, 

To touch the sick brain with His infinite calm, 
To bind up the crucified heart with His balm ! 

URANIA LOCKE BAILEY, 1879. 



Its. %\vxt fcrtt. 



Mrs. Anne Grant, of Laggan, was born in Glasgow in 1755. Her father 
was an officer in the army, and her husband was the minister of Laggan, 
the Rev. James Grant. After the death Of her husband. Mrs. Grant re- 
moved to Edinburgh; and, in 1803, her poetical talent was displayed in 
a work entitled, "The Highlanders, and Other Poems." She also wrote 
"Letters from the Mountains" (in which she gives an account of the mas- 
sacre of Glencoe), "Memoirs of an American Lady," and many other 
works. She died in Edinburgh in 1838. (Eng. Cull. 

HYMN FOR THE SONS OF THE CLERGY. 

1 How blest these olive plants that grow 

Beneath the altar's sacred shade, 
Where streams of. fresh instruction flow, 
And comfort's humble board is spread. 

2 'T was thus the swallow reared her young,, 

Secure within the house of God, 
Of whom the royal prophet sung, 

When banished from that blest abode. 

3 When, like the swallow's tender brood,. 

They leave the kind paternal dome, 
On weary wing they seek their food, 
Or find in other climes a home ; 

4 Where'er they roam, where'er they rest,. 

Through all the varied scenes of life, 
Whether with tranquil plenty blest, 
Or doom'd to share the deadly strife ; 

5 And when the faithful shepherds view 

Each ransomed flock around them spread,. 
How will they bless the plants that grew, 
Beneath the altar's sacred shade! 

MRS. AJfUE GRAOTV. 



740 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

LONGING FOR HOME, LOVE OF HOME, 
OR, THERE'S A SIGH IN THE HEART. 



n 1st Voice. 

rrr^ 


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ANNE FRICKEK, 


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DOMESTIC SCENES. SONGS AND READINGS FOR THE HOME FIRESIDE. 
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WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



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DOMESTIC SCENES. SONGS AND READINGS FOB THE HOME FIRESIDE. 





There's a sigh in the heart, tho'thelip. 

2d Voice. 



may be gay, 



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fflm ®lw f . Sprout, 

Born in Philadelphia, was a resident of that city when the following 
was written by her. She was considered one of the best writers of 
those days 1840—1850. Her poems indicate a consecrated Christian heart, 
and a deep religious feeling. She wrote much for the " Snow Hake," 
"The Christian Keepsake," "Sartain's Union Magazine" and other 
periodicals. 

THE MOTHER AND CHILD. 

1 A mother prayed with her heart alone, 

For her lips made ne'er a sound ; 
The angels came in her darken'd room, 

And waved their wings around. 
" O Lord," she prayed, " Thou Lord of might, 

Oh ! grant my darling Fame, 
Among the nobles of the world 

To wear the noblest name. 

2 " A name whose glory waxeth bright, 

With still increasing fire ; 
A name to stand while ages pass, 

And make a world admire. 
Oh ! may there be some spirit near, 

My soul's high wish to bear." 
But the angels stood with drooping wings, 

Nor moved to waft her prayer. 



" O God, who art all Beautiful, 

Oh ! make my darling fair ; 
That he may still from life draw love, 

Life's essence sweet and rare : 
So every heart shall be a harp, 

Beneath his touch to sound." 
But the shuddering angels sadly stood, 

And droop'd their wings around. 
" But if," she prayed, " Thou God of love, 

He may not grasp at fame, 
Oh ! grant him strength to face serene 

A cold world's cruel blame. 
And if he shrink from earthly power, 

Nor aim to sway the time, 
Gird Thou his soul to cope with sin — 

A conqueror sublime. 
" And should he sometimes fail to strike 

Each heart to love's great tone, 
Oh ! may he tune to seraph height 

The music of his own. 
Now may there be some spirit near 

My humble wish to bear." 
The angels rose on rushing wings, 

And bore to God her prayer. 



ELIZA L. SPROAT. 



744 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONQ. 



HOW BEAUTIFUL IS SLEEP. 

1 How beautiful is sleep ! 
Upon its mother's breast 
How sweet the infant's rest ! 
And who but she can tell how dear 
Her first-born's breathings 't is to hear. 
Gentle babe, prolong thy slumbers ! 

When the moon her light doth shed ; 

Still she rocks thy cradle bed, 
Singing in melodious numbers, 

Lulling thee with prayer or hymn, 

When all other eyes are dim. 



JESSIE G. M'CARTEE. 



i €, % Mty 



Writes to her aunt:- "'My Home,' was written just as we were 
leaving Boston, and doilbtful whether to go to Andover. We had had 
a minister's frequent experience of moving. It seemed so sad to a 
friend that I wrote the sequel to please her. My heart throbbed a great 
deal at times, and I was sad, and for a while the rest of the grave looked 
inviting. Just before writing the sequel we were settled in Andover. 
My verses have almost all been written hastily and usually not for pub- 
lication, so they are not adapted to it. My life has been too busy and 
too practical for much poetizing." She was born June 21, 1827. 

MY HOME. 

"For here we have no continuing city, but we seek one to come." 

1 No home abides me here, 
Save in those hearts more dear 

Than life itself ; with pilgrim feet I roam, 
Now tarrying for a day, 
Now speeding swift away : 
Asks one with friendly face, 
"Where is thy dwelling-place ? " 
My weary heart replies, " No home ! No home ! 

2 Soon shall I cease to roam : 
A lowly, narrow home 

Awaits me, with its touch of dreamless sleep. 

O'er it the robins sing, 

O'er it the violets spring : 

There rest my throbbing brain, 

While " dust to dust " again 
Is rendered back in silence long and deep ! 

3 Soon shall I cease to roam : 
Heaven's high resplendent dome 

Sheds light e'en now upon my pilgrim way, 

Past life's unceasing surge, 

Beyond its outmost verge, 

So glorious and so bright 

It looms upon my sight, — 
Fain would I drop my load and soar away ! 

4 Vain thought ! And did He roam, 
Thy Lord ? Had he no home, 

No place whereon to lay His wearied head ? 

Then peace, faint heart, be still ! 

Curb thy impetuous will ! 

Till to those mansions fair 

His loving hands prepare, 
He bids thee, whose dear blood for thee was shed. 

MBS. C. L. SMITH, 1861. 



THE HOME OF THE HEART. 



1 Though often with pilgrim feet weary I roam, 
I will not repine, since my heart has a home. 
While one warm, noble heart still beats true to my 

own ! 
How can I these lesser ills weakly bemoan ? 

Home ! home, sweet, sweet home ! 
How can I repine while my heart has a home ? 

2 Still grant me this earthly love true to the end, 
And Thine, precious Saviour, dear undying Friend ; 
Then, though oft striking tent, and but hurried my 

stay, 
Yet a song of rejoicing shall gladden the way : 

Home ! home, sweet, sweet home ! 
Yes, surely I'll sing since my heart has a home. 

CAROLINE L. SMITH. 

Andover, Mass., Jan. 1362. 



THE PASSING YEARS. 



1 Swiftly, how swiftly, the years pass us by, 

Leaving their traces of sorrow and care ; 
Stealing the gleam from the lusterful eye, 

The tint from the cheek which rendered us fair. 

2 Swiftly the waves of life's turbulent ocean 

Are bearing us on in their unceasing roll; 
Softly or rudely, Time's steady motion, 
Sail as we may, brings us nearer the goal. 

3 Often earth's winds blow adverse and chilling, 

Often our hearts grow faint and oppressed ; 
Unseen the Hand the rude tempest stilling, 

And guiding our course to the " Islands of Rest." 

4 What though the years are remorselessly stealing 

Bloom from the cheek and glow from the eye, 
If we are richer in thought and in feeling, 
As we are nearing that " sweet by and by." 

5 What though our footsteps grow feeble and falter, 

And Life's radiant hopes grow dim and obscure ; 
If there's a record that time cannot alter, 

Of deeds that are worthy and lives that are pure ; 

6 If there are homes our presence has brightened, 

Sorrowful ones we have bidden rejoice ; 
If there are burdens that our hands have lightened, 
Hearts that have cheered at the sound of our voice. 

7 This is a retrospect angels might covet, 

Soothing earth's sorrow, drying its tears. 
Glorious recompense ! naught ranks above it, 
Growing more blessed as " sunset " appears. 

SARAH A. ROSENCRANS. 
In " The Woman's Century," Nov. 1884. 



DOMESTIC SCENES, SONGS AND READINGS FOR THE HOME FIRESIDE. 



745 



ftsin J4mmt Djptys 



Was born in Bural, Wis., in 1842. She entered Kockford Seminary in 
1863. and graduated with its highest honors in 1864. The editor of 
Woman in Sacred Song entered the above institution of learning at the 
same time, and was a member of the same class. During the one short 
year passed together, an undying friendship sprang up. In all the sweet 
intercourse of life, a rarer, choicer spirit has not been met. After grad- 
uation, Miss Ashinuu taught four years in the Seminary, and subse- 
quently, four years, she occupied the position of first assistant in the 
Kockford High School, with intervals of two years spent at home with 
her aged parents. She was a devoted teacher in the Sabbath school and 
theyoung men who grew up from boyhood under her instruction in sacred 
lore, loved her with a tender attachment. Upon the opening of the 
Woman's Temperance Crusade, she entered with enthusiasm into this 
labor of love. Indeed her talents and sympathies were employed ac- 
tively "in every department in which her generous heart and active 
mind could touch humanity. She was gifted with rare health of body, 
mind and spirit; she exercised her powers, under the strong impulse of 
love of work and a sense of Christian obligation, to the extent of the 
ability existing in her healthful nature, and her activities took hold of 
those who were the subjects of her efforts with unusual effectiveness. 

Mary Ashmun always held a ready pen. Her thoughts always flowed 
freely and gracefully and with power an d beauty, in both prose and verse. 

She was united in marriage with George Phelps, Esq., of Oshkosh, 
Wis., in Sept., 1874, and Mankato. Minn., became their home. 

In a year or two, a son was given them for a few months — " an ex- 
quisite joy, and then a sorrow." She writes to a friend :— "Since our 
sweet pet lamb left this earthly fold for the Good Shepherd's arms, all 
helpless children have seemed sacred to me. I see better now than be- 
fore why Christ came to us as a little baby. I think my baby performed 
a Christ-like mission iu my heart." Again she writes :— " How I daily 
miss the little voice, the little clinging hands, the sweet brown eyes and 
dimpled arms. I know the Saviour loves my little angel boy, aud will 
watch over him with loving care ; and so it is best as it is." To another 
she wrote :— " Oh ! for one glimpse of my child as he now is !" 

The death of the child was soon followed by sickness in ber own per- 
son. She was prostrated by lung fever, and only lose from her sick-bed 
to struggle with disease which day by day was to gather strength for the 
final conquest. Enthusiasm, strong will and high hopes availed not. 
She had hoped to cherish, in her own home, her aged mother, through 
her declining years. This hope, too, failed, and she suffered the con 
sciousness that ber own ill health added another sorrow to the already 
burdened heart. At other times she wrote :— " My physician says I can 
get well, and Oh ! I do so want to." " I almost envy you your work." 
"As I am getting a little better, an unutterable uneasiness to be doing 
something takes possession of me; but I pray for patience and grace to 
wait God's time." 

With this strong desire for life and its work, and a sense of obligation 
to do all she could to secure a return of health, at the suggestion of her 
physician she left home withher ever-devoted husband and sought relief 
in Colorado. She reached Colorado Springs, and in nine days gave 
over the struggle and was at rest, satisfied, for she awaked in His like- 
ness, we cannot doubt. She passed away April 20, 1877. 

We would not wish to say that Mary Ashmun Phelps died prematurely, 
though she died young. Life is not measured by days and years, and 
goes not out except at His bidding. She worked enthusiastically, dili- 
gently, and in various directions, even to the end of her few years. She 
was all along these years doing work for the Master, moulding character 
according to right principles, assisting humanity by helping the fallen to 
rise aud strengthening those still standing. 

A complete record of this beautiful, earnest life has been made out 
above ; the best earthly record is in the characters moulded by her in- 
fluence and the lives made more happy and true by her friendship. 
These are imperishable records. 

LINES TO A YOUNG LADY ON HER 
TWENTY-FIRST BIRTHDAY. 
1 Your childhood hours, so wild, so free, 
So filled with mirth aud careless glee, 

Have now forever fled ; 
Those goldeu years, so bright, so fair. 
All unalloyed by grief or care, 
On eagle wings have sped. 



2 And gone are all your youthful days, 
Their high resolves, their joyous lays, 

Their airy castles bright ; 
Their gorgeous sunset tints have gone, 
Gone are their roseate hues of morn, 

Their beams of noontide light. 

3 And womanhood is yours to-day ; 
I see its lights and shadows play 

Already on your brow, 
I see its cares, its toils, its tears, 
•Its joys, its sorrows, smiles and fears, 

All bursting round you now. 

4 Near you I see two angels stand ; 
Each reaches out a beckoning hand, 

Each offers you a home ; 
Each calls to you iu accents dear, 
Each speaks in sunny words of cheer, 

Each claims you for her own. 

5 The one with languid, melting eyes, 
And soft, low tones that scarcely rise 

Upon the quiet air, 
Points to a bower with roses crowned, 
Whose fragrance scents the air around, 

A scene of beauty rare. 

6 " This is my home — dear one, wilt thou 
To Ease yield up thy being now ? 

I'll free thee from all toil ; 
I'll give thee comfort, quiet, rest ; 
In beauteous robes shalt thou be dressed 

No work thy hand shall soil." 

7 The other with calm, earnest look 
Of eyes as clear as woodland brook, 

Yet filled with pitying love, 
With finger pointing to the skies 
All bathed in glorious rainbow dyes, 

Speaks of the realms above. 



8 " My name is Duty — there's my home ; 
See'st thou its spires, its glittering dome, 

Its battlements of gold ? 
See'st thou its walls of jasper bright, 
Its messengers all clothed in light, 

Whose garments wax not old ? 

9 But ere thou tread'st that shining street, 
The hard, rough stones must cut thy feet, 

Thy brow the thorns must pierce ; 
The heavy cross thou too must bear, 
Thou must not shrink from toil or care, 

From storms though wild and fierce." 

10 And tell me which shall be your choice ; 
Wilt listen to the winning voice 

Of soft, luxurious Ease ? 
Or say, shall Duty's heavenward gaze 
Cause you your eye toward heaven to raise, 
To catch the view she sees ? 



746 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG, 



111 stand, I wait, I listen, fear, 
I tremble and yet long to hear 

Which course your soul will seize ; 
Shall all your womanhood be spent 
In ignominious content, 

With listless, careless Ease ? 

12 Or shall it, as the days unfold, 

Be fraught to you with wealth untold 

Of courage, faith and strength, 
Which Duty, by stern discipline, 
Gives those who follow her to win 
In joy and peace at length ? 

13 I clasp my hands, I turn away, 
I lift my heart to God and pray 

That all your woman's life 
Be true and pure, be strong and brave, 
The sad to cheer, the lost to save, 

To soothe the world's rough strife. 

14 And death shall take you grown more fair 
When done with turmoil, toil and care, 

A Paradise to win ; 
And Christ shall clasp you to His breast, 
All wrapped in peaceful, heavenly rest, 

The pearly gates within, 

MARY ASHMUN PHELPS, 
From ''Eockford Seminary Magazine," 1873, 

KNIGHTED. 

Because she takes me as her very own, 
Claiming my fealty while life shall last, 
My soul renounces all th' unworthy past; 
With ruthless hand its idols I dethrone. 
I walk life's devious path no more alone ; 
Her eyes' sweet magic binds my fancy fast. 
All aims ignoble from my heart I cast, 
For youth's mad follies striving to atone. 
Because she loves me, firm I take my stand, 
Unflinchingly to battle for the right ; 
All womanhood is sacred for her sake, 
For each oppressed a lance I freely break. 
I walk encased in armor pure and bright, 
Crowned with honor by her spotless hand. 

SARAH D. HOBART. 

THE LAST JOURNEY. 

" They two went on."— n Kings, xi: 6. 

1 So far with me, no further now, 

Our journey all so brief is done ; 
Thou goest on thine unseen way, 
And I must tread my path alone. 

2 " They two went on," and we have been 

Through Bethel's plain and Jordan's flood : 
And one went back to serve and wait, 
And one soared up to dwell with God. 

3 We two went on ! Ah ! not alone ; 

And though no car of light I see, 
There walks with me the Holy One, 
And Christ the Living God with thee. 

ANNA SHIPTON. 



TO MARY ON HER WEDDING DAY, 

1 God bless thee on thy wedding day, 

My cherished friend ; 
And ever through life's devious way, 
Thy steps attend. 

2 May the deep love and trust which thrills 

Thy spirit now, 
Till all thy being freely wills 
A solemn vow, 

3 Ne'er lose in fervor, but remain 

Deep, warm and true, 
Through calm and storm and joy and paiu, 
Life's journey through. 

4 Others may offer gold and gifts 

Of costly price, 
To be unto thy wedded love 
Preserving spice ; 

5 I only give a woman's love, 

A woman's prayers, 
A woman's pledge to sympathize 
In all thy cares. 

6 God bless thee ! I have said the words 

In days gone by, 
And say them now with quivering lip, 
And tear-moist eye. 

7 Bless thee ! and help him who has won 

Thy heart and hand, 
And claims the right, close by thy side 
Henceforth to stand, 

8 To keep with true, religious care 

The solemn vow 
He makes to-day to cherish thee, 
Through weal and woe. 

AKOII FC7IXXR. 

OLD FOLKS. 

1 Oh ! don't be sorrowful, darling, 

Oh ! don't be sorrowful, pray, 
For taking the year together, my dear, 
There isn't more night than day. 

2 We are old folks now, my darling, 

Our heads are growing gray, 
But taking the year all round, my dear, 
You will always find the May. 

3 We have had our May, my darling, 

And oar roses long ago, 
The time of year is coming, my dear, 
For the silent night and snow. 

4 But God is God, my darling, 

Of night as well as the day, 

We feel and know that we can go 

Wherever He leads the way. 

5 Yes, God of night, my darling, 

The night of death so dim, 
The gate that leads out of life, good wife, 
Is the gate that leads to Him. 

ADELAIDE PROCTER. 

Set to Music by james r. Murray. 



DOMESTIC scenes, songb and readings for the home fireside, 



'47 



WAYFARERS. 
The way is long, my darling, 

The road is rough and steep, 
And fast across the evening sky 

I see the shadows sweep. 
But Oh ! my love, my darling, 

No ill to us can come, 
No terror turn us from the path, 

For we are going home. 
Your feet are tired, my darling — 

So tired, the tender feet , 
But think, when we are there at last, 

How sweet the rest ! how sweet ! 
For lo ! the lamps are lighted, 

And yonder gleaming dome, 
Before us, shining like a star, 

Shall guide our footsteps home. 
We've lost the flowers we gathered 

So early in the morn ; 
And on we go, with empty hands 

And garments soiled and worn. 
But Oh ! the dear All-Father 

Will out to meet us come, 
And fairer flowers and whiter robes 

There wait for us at home ! 
Art cold, my love, and famished ? 

Art faint, and sore athirst ? 
Be patient yet a little while, 

And joyous as at first ; 
For Oh ! the sun sets never 

Withiu that land of bloom, 
And thou shalt eat the bread of life, 

And drink life's wine at home. 



5 The wind blows cold, my darling, 

Adown tue mountain steep, 
And thick across the evening sky 

The darkling shadows creep ; 
But Oh ! my love, press onward, 

Whatever trials come, 
For in the way the Father set, 

We two are going home. 

MARGARET E. SANGSTEB. 

TO A FRIEND ON HIS MARRIAGE MORN. 

[H. H. K.] 

1 Welcome to this thrice-happy morn, 

The gladdest of a glad young life — 
Since first it breathes with joy new-born 
The hallowed name of wife ! 

2 Heaven's richest gifts be ever strown, 

And flowers of purity and truth, 
O'er her who linketh with thine own 
The beauty of her youth. 

3 Unfold in beauty, hills and fields, 

Beam forth in light, in bloom and song ! 
While earth her fairest foliage yields, 
And bright hours speed along. 

4 Unite thy radiance with the sky, 

Thou earth, so old yet ever young ! 
Let Love be two-fold melody ! 
Be tw r o-fold bridals sung ! 

5 Let the stern years, a motley throng, 

Unbroken find thy dream of bliss, 
Find the old love yet ever strong — 
A world outlasting this. 







tir - ed, dear! The day has been ve 
morn - ing tide And I have been left 

bide with me,'' That sweet - est eve ■ 



long, 
lone, 
hymn 



But shad - dw-y gloam 
Young smil - ing fa ■ 

And now "Good - night! ' 




■&■ 



■48 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONO. 



PP poco piu lento. 



draw- eth near, 'Tis time for the e - ven song; 

throng'd my side When the ear - ly sun -light shone; 

can - not see, The light has grown so dim. 



I'm read - y to go 

But they grew tir 

"Tir - ed!"ah, yes, 




rest at last, Read - y to say "Good - night,' 

long a - go, And I saw them sink to rest, 

tir - ed,dear! I shall sound - ly sleep to - night, 



The sun - set glo - ry 
With fold - ed hands and 

With nev - er a dream, and 




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brows of snow,On the green earth's mother breast, 
nev-er a fear, To 






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PATRIOTIC POEMS 



750 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



PREFACE TO PATRIOTIC 
POEMS. 

Although it is the province of this book to 
include none but the poems of woman, it will not, 
perhaps, be considered out of place, to preface the 
patriotic department with the following noble trib- 
ute to " The Women Founders of New Eng- 
land" by the Hon. John Hooker. The author 
not being able to attend the ceremonies, sent the 
poem by his . son, Dr. Edward B. Hooker, who 
read it, after prefacing it as follows : 

" The one thought that comes to me, after laying 
flowers on our ancestor's grave, after contemplating 
the shaft raised to the memory of the noble men 
who came with him and on which is inscribed their 
names, after listening to the address of the after- 
noon, is this : While honoring the fathers from 
whom we have come, we must not forget the moth- 
ers. They alike braved the dangers and endured 
the privations of that early time. Their earnest 
prayers and cheering words sustained the men in 
hours of distress and gloom. 

"That courageous woman, borne tenderly on a 
litter, too weak to walk or ride, too brave to be 
left behind, may well be compared to the Ark of 
the Covenant which the children of Israel bore 
with tliem in their journey through the wilderness 
to the promised land. She was really a sacred 
emblem of all that was pure and holy. And the 
women founders of New England, unknown to 
fame, were really the conservators of the purity 
and spirituality of the church and society, and to 
them we owe as great a debt as to the grand men 
whom history loves to commemorate and honor. 

" Let us, therefore, honor our fathers and our 
mothers, that our days may be long upon the land 
which the Lord our God giveth us ! 

" Filled with the same thought, my father, una- 
ble to be present, has sent me these lines to read." 

THE WOMEN FOUNDERS OF NEW ENG- 
LAND. 



$r, looker 



Is a descendant of the Rev, Thomas Hooker, founder of the Center 
Church of Hartford, Conn., "the most eloquent preacher, the wisest 
counsellor, the most discerning and far-sighted statesman, the most be- 
loved saint, of all our New England fathers." The poem is a noble 
tribute to those " true hearts" of the long ago.— (Ed. "Laws of Life.") 

Ye grand men of our early day. 
Who here for freedom made a way, 
With faith and prayer and quoten Word, 
Yet coat of mail and girded sword ; 
Who laid in strength the founded State, 
And o'er it sat to legislate ; 
And oft in magistracy stood 



Before th' admiring multitude ; 
Who felt th' inspiring sense of power 
And thrill of the victorious hour ; 
And saw afar that grateful fame 
Would cherish every hero's name ; 
— The schoolboy at his lesson reads 
Th' inspiring record of your deeds ; 
The public eye on canvas sees 
Your conflicts fierce, and victories ; 
The monumental shaft is reared 
To keep your names for aye revered. 

But there were hearts of purest gold 
Whose tale of courage ne'er was told ; 
True heroes, who no armor wore, 
Yet shared the perils that ye bore ; 
Braving, with courage none the less, 
The savage and the wilderness ; 
Clothed with no power in church or state, 
No word in worship or debate ; 
With faith-lit brow and helping hand, 
Asking but by your side to stand ; 
Who had no hope a later day 
Its tribute of renown would pay ; 
Who made their sad self-sacrifice 
Before no world's admiring eyes ; 
Of men's remembrance thinking not, 
Content to toil and be forgot. 

Ah ! when the heroes of that time 
Are numbered on God's book sublime, 
High on the roll of that true fame 
Many a gentle woman's name, 
Which earth had cared not to record, 
Shall stand writ, Valiant for the Lord. 



JOHN HOOKER. 

Hartford, Conn,, Oct., 1883. 



In Swans. 



Felicia Dorothea Browne was born at Liverpool, Sept. 25, 1794, 
Her father was engaged in mercantile pursuits. Her mother was an 
Englishwoman, of Venetian origin. In 1812 Miss Browne married 
Captain Hemans, of the 4th Regiment. The marriage was not a happy 
one, and ended by Mr. Hemans abandoning his wife, leaving her with 
rive sons " to breast a stormy world alone," as she said. She published 
at various periods prose and poetical works. As she grew older her 
poetry became more religious, and of a far higher character. She re- 
sided for some time at Rhyllon, near St. Asaph, Wales, then at Waver- 
tree, near Liverpool. She visited Scotland, where she met Sir Walter 
Scott. She eventually went to live in Dublin, where she died May 12, 
1835.— "Eng. Col." 

LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS. 

1 The breaking waves dashed high 

On a stern and rock-bound coast, 
And the woods against a stormy sky 
Their giant branches tossed ; 

2 And the heavy night hung dark 

The hills and waters o'er, 
When a band of exiles moored their bark 
On the wild New Eno-land shore. 



MISCELLANOUS DEPARTMENT. THE PURITANS. 



75* 



3 Not as the conqueror comes, 

They, the true-hearted, came ; 
Not with the roll of the stirring drums, 
And the trumpet that sings of fame ; 

4 Not as the flying come, 

In silence and in fear ; 
They shook the depths of the desert gloom 
With their hymns of lofty cheer. 

5 Amid the storm they sang, 

And the stars heard, and the sea, 
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang 
To the anthem of the free. 

6 The ocean eagle soared 

From his nest by the white wave's foam, 
And the rocking pines of the forest roared ; 
This was their welcome home. 

7 There were men with hoary hair, 

Amid that pilgrim band : 
Why had they come to wither there, 
Away from their childhood's land ? 

8 There was woman's fearless eye, 

Lit by her deep love's truth ; 
There was manhood's brow, serenely high, 
And the fiery heart of youth. 

9 What sought they thus afar ? 

Bright jewels of the mine ? 
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war ? 

They sought a faith's pure shrine ! 
10 Aye, call it holy ground, 

The soil where first they trod : 
They left unstained what there they found : 

Freedom to worship God. 



SONG OF EMIGRATION. 

1 There was heard a song on the chiming sea, 
A mingled breathing of grief and glee ; 
Man's voice unbroken by sighs was there, 
Filling with triumph the sunny air ; 

Of fresh, green lands, and of pastures new, 
It sang, while the bark through the surges flew. 
But even and anon, 

A murmur of farewell 
Told by its plaintive tone, 

That from woman's lip it fell. 

2 " Away, away, o'er the foaming main ! " 
This was the free and joyous strain — 

'• There are clearer skies than ours afar, 
We will shape our course by a brighter star ; 
There are plains whose verdure no foot hath press'i 
And whose wealth is all for the first brave guest. : 
" But alas ! that we should go," 
Sang the farewell voices then, 
" From the homestead warm and low, 
By the brook and in the glen ! " 



3 " We will rear new homes, under trees that glow 
As if gems were the fruitage of every bough ; 
O'er our white walls we will train the vine, 
And sit in its shadow at day's decline ; 

And watch our herds as they range at will 
Through the green savannas, all bright and still." 
■ " But woe for that sweet shade 

Of the flowering orchard-trees, 
Where first our children played 
'Mid the birds and honey-bees ! " 

4 " All, all our own shall the forests be, 
As to the bound of the roe-buck free ! 
None shall say, ' Hither, no further pass'! ' 

We will track each step through the wavy grass ; 
We will chase the elk in his speed and might, 
And bring proud spoils to the hearth at night." 
" But oh ! the gray church-tower, 

And the sound of the Sabbath-bell, 
And the shelter'd garden-bower, 
We have bid them all farewell ! " 

5 " We will give the names of our fearless race 
To each bright river whose course we trace ; 
We will leave our memory with mounts and floods 
And the path of our daring in boundless woods ; 
And our works on many a lake's green shore, 
Where the Indians' graves lay alone, before." 

" But who shall teach the flowers 
Which our children lov'd, to dwell 

In a soil that is not ours ? 

Home, home and friends, farewell ! " 



THE ARMY OF REFORM. 

1 Yes, ye are few, — and they were few, 

Who, daring storm and sea, 
Once raised upon old Plymouth rock 
" The anthem of the free." 

2 And they were few at Lexington, 

To battle, or to die, — 
That lightning-flash, that thunder-peal, 
Told that the storm was nigh. 

3 And they were few, who dauntless stood 

Upon old Bunker's hight, 
And waged with Britain's strength and pride 
The fierce, unequal fight. 

4 And they were few, who, all unawed 

By kingly " rights divine," 

The Declaration, rebel scroll*, 

Untrembling dared to sign. 

5 Yes, ye are few ; for one proud glance 

Can take in all your band, 
As now against a countless host, 
Firm, true and calm, ye stand, 

6 Unmoved by Folly's idiot laugh, 

Hate's curse, or Envy's frown, — 
Wearing your rights as royal robes, 
Your manhood as a crown, — 

#The reference is to the Declaration of Independence, made July 4th, 1774, 



752 



WOMAN IN SACRED SO NO. 



7 With eyes whose gaze, unvailed by mists, 

Still rises, clearer, higher, — 
With stainless hands, and lips that Truth 
Hath touched with living fire, — 

8 With one high hope, that ever shines 

Before you as a star, — 
One prayer of faith, one fount of strength, 
A glorious few ye are ! 

9 Ye dare not fear, ye cannot fail, 

Your destiny ye bind 
To that sublime, eternal law 
That rules the march of mind. 

10 See yon bold eagle toward the sun 

Now rising free and strong, 
And see yon mighty river roll 
Its sounding tide along ! 

11 Ah ! yet near earth the eagle tires, 

Lost in the sea, the river ; 
But naught can stay the human mind,— 
'T is upward, onward, ever ! 

12 It yet shall tread the starlit paths, 

By highest angels trod, 
And pause but at the farthest world 
In the universe of God. 

13 'T is said that Persia's baffled king, 

In mad, tyrannic pride, 
Cast fetters on the Hellespont 
To curb its swelling tide ; 

14 But freedom's own true spirit heaves 

The bosom of the main ; 
It tossed those fetters to the skies, 
And bounded on again ! 

15 The scorn of each succeeding age 

On Xerxes' head was hurled, 
And o'er that foolish deed has pealed 
The long laugh of a world. 

16 Thus, thus, defeat and scorn and shame, 

Is his, who strives to bind 
The restless, leaping waves of thought, 
The free tide of the mind. 

SABAH JANE LIPPINCOTI. 



THE FIRST THANKSGIVING DAY, 1622 



1 "And now," said the governor, gazing abroad o'er 

neatly piled-up store 
Of the sheaves that dotted the clearings, and covered 

the meadows o'er, 
" 'T is meet that we render praises because of this 

yield of grain ; 
'T is meet that the Lord of the harvest be thanked 

for his sun and rain. 



2 "And thei-efore, I, William Bradford, (by the grace 

of God to-day, 
And the franchise of this good people), governor of 

Plymouth, say — 
Through virtue of vested power — ye shall gather with 

one accord, 
And hold, in the month of November, thanksgiving 

unto the Lord. 

3 " He hath granted us peace and plenty, and the quiet 

we've sought so long: 
He hath thwarted the wily savage, and kept him from 

doing us wrong ; 
And unto our feast the sachem shall be bidden, that 

he may know 
We worship his own Great Spirit who maketh the 

harvests grow. 

4 "So shoulder your matchlocks, masters ; there is 

hunting of all degrees ; 
And, fishermen, take your tackle, and scour for spoil 

the seas ; 
And maidens and dames of Plymouth, your delicate 

crafts employ 
To honor our first Thanksgiving, and make it a feast 

of joy ! 

5 "We fail of the fruits and dainties so close to our 

hand in Devon ; 
Ah ! they are the lightest losses we suffer for sake of 

Heaven ! 
But see in our open clearing, how golden the melons 

lie ; 
Enrich them with sweets and spices, and give us the 

pumpkin pie ! " 

6 So, bravely the preparations went on for the autumn 

feast ; 

The deer and the bear were slaughtered ; wild game 
from the greatest to least 

Was heaped in the colony cabins; brown home- 
brew served for wine ; 

And the plum and the grape of the forest, for orange 
and peach and pine. 

7 At length came the day appointed, the snow had 

begun to fall, 
But the clang from the meeting-house belfry rang 

. merrily out for all, 
And summoned the folk of Plymouth, who hastened 

with glad accord 
To listen to Elder Brewster as he fervently thanked 

the Lord. 

8 In his seat sat Governor Bradford ; men, matrons 

and maidens fair ; 
Miles Standish and his soldiers, with corslet and 

sword were there ; 
And sobbing and tears and gladness had each in its 

turn the sway, 
For the grave of the sweet Rose Standish o'ershad- 

owed Thanksgiving day. 



MISCELLANEOUS DEPARTMENT. THE PILGRIMS. 



753 



9 And when Massasoit, the sachem, sat down with his 

hundred braves, 
And ate of the varied riches of garden and woods and 

waves, 
And looked on the granaried harvest — with a blow 

on his brawny chest, 
He muttered, " The good Great Spirit loves his white 

children best ! " 
10 And then, as the feast was ended, with gravely 

official air, 
The governor drew his broadsword from out of its 4 

scabbard there, 
And smiting the trencher near him, he cried in heroic 

way, 
" Hail, Pie of the Pumpkin ! I dub thee Prince of 

Thanksgiving day ! " 

MARGARET J. PRESTON. 

firs. ESBclbg, w Copprfc, 

Was born at St. Michael's, Maryland, in 1821. In 1838 she was mar- 
ried to G. B. Welby of Louisville, Ivy., where she afterwards resided. 
Her first published articles were in the Louisville "Journal," over the 
name of Amelia, and were widely copied, becoming so popular that the 
name Amelia was a welcome sound to all lovers of poetry and true 
feeling. Her rhythm, in which so many expressing poetical ideas are 
deficient, was perfect. A volume called '' Poems by Amelia," was pub- 
lished in 1846 and rapidly passed through four editions. 

THE AMERICAN SWORD. 

1 Sword of our gallant fathers, defender of the brave, 
Of Washington upon the field and Perry on the wave,- 
Well might Columbia's foemen beneath thy death- 
strokes reel ; 

For each hand was firm that drew thee, and each heart 

as true as steel. -. 

There's not a tarnish on thy sheen, a rust upon thy 

blade, 
Though the noble hands that drew thee are in dust 

and ashes laid ; 
Thou'rt still the scourge of tyrants, the safeguard of 

the free, 2 

And may God desert our banner when we surrender 

thee ! 

2 Sword of a thousand victories ! thy splendors led the 

way, 3 

When our warriors trod the battle-field in terrible 

array ; 
Thou wert seen amid the carnage, like an angel in 

thy wrath ; 4 

The vanquish'd and the vanquisher bestrew'd thy 

gory path ; 
The life-blood of the haughty foe made red the slip- 
pery sod 5 
Where thy crimson blade descended like the lightning 

glance of God ! 
They poured their ranks like autumn leaves, their 

life-blood as the sea, 
But they battled for a tyrant — we battled to be free ! 

3 Sword of a thousand heroes, how holy is thy blade. 
So often drawn by Valor's arm, by gentle Pity staid ! 
The warrior breathes his vow by thee and seals it 

with a kiss, 



He never gives a holier pledge, he asks no more than 

this ; 
And when he girds thee to his side with battle in his 

face. 
He feels within his single arm the strength of all his 

race ; 
He shrines thee in his noble breast, with all things 

bright and free ! 
And may God desert his standard, when he surrenders 

thee! 

Sword of our country's battles ! forever mayst thou 
prove, 

Amid Columbia's freemen, the thunderbolt of Jove ; 

Where like a youthful victress, with her holy flag 
unfurled, 

She sits amid the nations, the empress of the world. 

Behold the heaven-born goddess, in her glory and 
increase, 

Extending in her lovely hands the olive branch of 
peace ; 

Thy glittering steel is girded on, the safeguard of the 
free, 

And may God desert her standard when she surren- 
ders thee. 



ON THE DEATH OF 
GENERAL WASHINGTON. 

WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE DEC. 14, 1799. 

What means that solemn dirge that ftrikes my ear ? 
What mean those mournful sounds — why fhines the 

tear ? 
Why toll the bells the awful knell of fate ? 
Ah ! why those fighs that do my fancy sate ? 
Where'er I turn, the general gloom appears, 
Those mourning badges fill my soul with fears ,- 
Hark ! Yonder rueful no ! 't is done ! 't is done ! 
The filent tomb invades our Washington ! 
Muft virtues exalted, yield their breath ? 
Muft bright perfection find relief in death ? 
Muft mortal greatness fall ? a glorious name ! 
What then is riches, honor and true fame ? 
The auguft chief, the father and the friend, 
The generous patriot — let the muse commend ; 
Columbia's glory, and Mount Vernon's pride, 
There lies enfhrined with numbers at his fide. 

There let the figh respondent from the breaft, 
Heave in rich numbers ! let the glowing zest 
Of tears refulgent beam with grateful love ; 
And the sable mourning our affliction prove. 
Weep ! — kindred mortals — weep ! no more you'll find 
A man so juft, so pure, so firm in mind ; 
Rejoicing Angels hail the heavenly sage ! 
Celeftial Spirits greet the wonder of the Age ! 



754 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG, 



Bm\ f ouisit f . Smi% nee pdunan, 

Was born at Detroit, Mich., 1811, and died in 1832, before having at- 
tained her twenty-first year. Her mother educated her with tender and 
careful devotion, in Newton, near Boston, which was the old home of 
her mother's ancestors. When a very small child she began to compose 
in verse, and by the time she was fifteen, her uncommon talents had 
made her quite distinguished for so young a person. At sixteen she 
was married to S. J. Smith of Providence. R. I., who published a vol- 
ume of her poems soon after their union. 

There was ever a delicacy and purity of thought, together with a 
buoyancy of spirit, breathed forth in her articles. Mrs. Smith was very 
sensitive of her own deficiencies, and with earnest self-discipline, there 
is abundant reason to suppose that had her life been spared she would 
have acquired great excellency as a poetical author. However, it is said 
her genius was not so great a charm as her delightful Qualities of heart. 
She was noted for confiding sincerity of manner, playfulness of conver- 
sation rather than any attempt at brilliancy; enthusiastically devoted 
to those she loved and respected. We are assured that apart from her 
great beauty and loveliness of person, genius and amiability, there was 
also in her character true piety, so that we may well believe she was fit- 
ted, when called upward, to sing among the heavenly seraphs. The 
following poem was written about the year 1829, when she was about 
nineteen years of age. It is considered one of the finest selections in 
the volume from which it was taken. 

THE FALL OF WARSAW. 

1 Through Warsaw there is weeping, 

And a voice of sorrow now, 
For the hero who is sleeping, 
With death upon his brow ; 
The trumpet-tone will waken 
No more his martial tread, 
Nor the battle-ground be shaken, 
When his banner is outspread ! 
Now let our hymn 

Float through the aisle, 
Faintly and dim, 

Where moonbeams smile ; 
Sisters, let our solemn strain 
Breathe a blessing o'er the slain. 

2 There's a voice of grief in Warsaw, 

The mourning of the brave 
O'er the chieftain who is gathered 

Unto his honored grave ; 
Who now will face the foeman ? 

Who break the tyrant's chain ? 
Their bravest one lies fallen, 
And sleeping with the slain. 
Now let our hymn 

Float through the aisle, 
Faintly and dim, 

Where moonbeams smile ; 
Sisters, let our dirge be said 
Slowly o'er the sainted dead. 

3 There's a voice of woman weeping 

In Warsaw heard to-night, 
And eyes close not in sleeping 

That late with joy were bright ; 
No festal torch'is lighted. 

No notes of music swell ; 
Their country's hope was blighted, 

When that son of freedom fell ! 



Now let our hymn 

Float through the aisle, 
Faintly and dim, 

Where moonbeams smile ; 
Sisters, let our hymn arise 
Sadly to the midnight skies ! 

And a voice of love undying, 

From the tomb of other years, 
Like the west wind's summer sighing, 

It blends with manhood's tears ; 
It whispers not of glory, 

Nor fame's unfading youth, 
But lingers o'er a story 
Of young affection's truth. 
Now let our hymn 

Float through the aisle, 
Faintly and dim, 

Where moonbeams smile ; 
Sisters, let our solemn strain 
Breathe a blessing o'er the slain. 



SARAH LODISA P. SMITH. 



INDEPENDENCE ODE. 



1 Freemen, awake the song! 
Gladly the strain prolong, 

Welcome this day ! 
It tells of glory won, 
By deeds of valor done ; 
Shout till the setting sun 

Sheds its last ray. 

2 Our happy land we sing — 
Your joyful tribute bring, 

The song to swell ; 
Sing of our country's worth — 
The place of freedom's birth— 
The noblest spot on earth — 

Her blessings tell. 

3 Tell how Jehovah's care 
Guarded our blessings rare, 

Till this bright hour: 
And still secure from harm, 
Held by His mighty arm, 
And free from all alarm, 

We trust Hi 



4 Science her power exerts, 
And treasures rich imparts, 

Ennobling truth, 
Whence holy influence springs, 
Upon her heaven-plumed wings, 
Bright burnished armor brings, 

To guard our youth. 



MISCELLANEOUS DEPARTMENT. PATRIOTIC POEMS OE THE CIVIL WAR. 



5 Our youth — our country's gems — 
Their lustre brightly beams, 

For coming days : 
Let virtue's wreath be twined 
Round each— and every mind 
The lamp of knowledge find, 

To gild their ways. 

6 May blest religion's light, 
Unfading, changeless, bright, 

Their guide-star be : 
And, as to age they move, 
Our Father's arm of love 
Guide them to realms above, 

"Where all are free. 

MISS STRONG. 

OUR COUNTRY. 

1 On primal rocks she wrote her name ; 

Her towers were reared on holy graves ; 
The golden seed that bore her came 

Swift-winged with prayer o'er ocean waves. 

2 The forest bowed his solemn crest, 

And open flung his sylvan doors ; 
Meek 'rivers led the appointed guest 
To clasp the wide-embracing shores ; 

3 Till, fold by fold, the broidered land, 

To swell her virgin vestments, grew, 
While sages, strong in heart and hand, 
Her virtue's fiery girdle drew. 

4 O Exile of the wrath of kings ! 

O Pilgrim Ark of Liberty ! 
The refuge of divinest things, 
Their record must abide in thee ! 

5 First in the glories of thy front 

Let the crown-jewel, Truth, be found ; 

Thy right hand fling, with generous wont, 

Love's happy chain to farthest bound. 

6 Let Justice, with the faultless scales, 

Hold fast the worship of thy sons ; 

Thy Commerce spread her shining sails 

Where no dark tide of rapine runs ! 

7 So link thy ways to those of God, 

So follow firm the heavenly laws, 
That stars may greet thee, warrior-browed, 
And storm-sped angels hail thy cause 1 

8 Land, the measure of our prayers, 

Hope of the world in grief and wrong, 
Be thine the tribute of the years, 

The gift of Faith, the crown of song ! 

JULIA WARD HOWE, 

In "The Atlantic." 1861, 
OUR ORDERS. 

1 Weave no more silks, ye Lyons looms, 
To deck our girls for gay delights ! 
The crimson flower of battle blooms, 
And solemn marches fill the night. 



2 Weave but the flag whose bars to-day 

Drooped heavy o'er our early dead, 
And homely garments, coarse and gray, 
For orphans that must earn their bread ! 

3 Keep back your tunes, ye viols sweet, 

That pour delight from other lands ! 

Rouse there the dancer's restless feet, — 

The trumpet leads our warrior bands. 

4 And ye that wage the war of words 

With mystic fame and subtle power, 
Go chatter to the idle birds, 
Or teach the lesson of the hour 

5 Ye Sibyl Arts, in one stern knot 

Be all your offices combined ! 
Stand close, while Courage draws the lot, 
The destiny of human kind ! 

6 And if that destiny could fail, 

The sun should darken in the sky, 
The eternal bloom of Nature pale, 

And God, and Truth, and Freedom die ! 



JULIA WARD .HOWE. 

Boston, 1861. 



FOR LIBERTY. 



1 Oh ! sing, ye morning stars, rejoice ; 
Ye hills and vales, lift up your voice, 
And o'er the land from sea to sea, 

For liberty, 
Break forth in one glad, glad refrain, 
From hill to hill, from plain to plain, 
Proclaim the joyful words again, 

Our land is free. 

2 Free as the wild birds in the air, 
Free as the winds, and none so fair 
As this dear land we call our own, 

Without a throne. 
Without the pomp of court or king, 
Without oppression's rankling sting ; 
Thy loftiest praises we would sing, 

Our happy home. 

3 land ! so beautiful and free, 
O glorious land of liberty ! 
Where all are princes, none is king, 

Of thee we sing. 
Father, divine, with gracious hand 
Pour out Thy blessings on our land, 
While Freedom's bells from strand to strand 

Shall gladly ring. 

MISS M. E. SERVOSS. 

Set to Music by s. w. STRATTB. 

From "Woodland Echoes," by per. 

Copyrighted 1878. 



756 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



OUR COUNTRY. 

1 Fair is our country, the home of the free, 
Reaching in grandeur from sea unto sea ; 
May her proud banner ne'er trail in the dust, 
Countrymen, countrymen, wake to your trust. 

Chorus — Wake to your trust ! wake to your trust ! 

Ere your proud ensign shall trail in the dust ; 
Higher, lift higher your banner unfurled, 
Wave it unsullied, the pride of the world '. 

2 Fair is our country, majestic her states, 
Stretching along from the gulf to the lakes ; 
Bold are her rivers, her mountains rise high, 
Countrymen, proudly her foemen defy. 

3 Fair is our country, tho' darkness and sin 
Warn us of dangers without and within ; 
Guard her and shield her, oh ! heed each alarm, 
God of our fathers, protect us from harm. 

MARIA STRAUB, 1878. 

Set to Music by 8. TV. stbaub, 

From "Woodland Echoes," by prof. s. w. straub 3 

WHAT IS TRUE PATRIOTISM ? 

Is it to pass with deprecating smile 

The monster vice ? — to lay caressingly 

Our hand upon his mane, and place the mask 

Of virtue on his hideous face ? 

Is it to shut our eyes, turn a deaf ear, 

And place a seal upon our lips, while sin, 

And crime stalk with unblushing front along 

Our streets ? Is it with specious sophistry 

To bribe the press to silence, lest the pure 

Light of truth reflect disgrace upon our 

Homes, and rival cities triumph ? 

Ah no ! 
True patriotism searches out the dark 
Purlieus of vice ; beards the foul monster in 
His den ; unmasks the hypocrite, and holds 
Him up to obloquy and shame. With eye 
Intent upon the public weal, takes note 
Of deeds, immoral in their tendency, 
And by exposing, checks their onward march. 
It tires with courage the unshackled press — 
That true exponent of our local wrongs, 
And guardian of our rights, to firmly stand 
Unmoved by flattery, unawed by frowns, — 
Virtue's bold champion, whose plain, outsi 
Truth gives tone to public sentiment : defies 
The scorn of base, time-serving sycophants ; 
And from the good, evokes the benison ; 
God speed the patriot press ! 



MRS. E. S. KELLOGG. 



HIS MOTHER'S SONGS. 

1 Beneath the hot mid-summer sun 
The men had marched all day ; 
And now beside a rippling stream 
Upon the grass they lay. 



2 Tiring of games and idle jests, 

As swept the hours along, 
They called to one who mused apart, 
" Come, friend, give us a song." 

3 " I fear I cannot please," he said, 

" The only songs I know 
Are those my mother used to sing 
For me long years ago." 

4 " Sing one of those," a rough voice cried, 

" There's none but true men here ; 
To every mother's son of us 
A mother's songs are dear." 

5 Then sweetly rose the singer's voice 

Amid unwonted calm, 
" Am I a soldier of the Cross, 
A follower of the Lamb ? 

6 " And shall I fear to own His cause — " 

The very stream was stilled, 
And hearts that never throbbed with fear 
With tender thoughts were filled. 

7 Ended the song ; the singer said, 

As to his feet he rose, 
" Thanks to you all, my friends, good night, 
God grant us sweet repose." 

8 " Sing us one more," the captain begged ; 

The soldier bent his head ; 
Then glancing 'round, with smiling lips, 
" You'll join with me," he said. 

9 " We'll sing this old familiar air, 

Sweet as the bugle call, 
' All hail the power of Jesus' name, 
Let angels prostrate fall.' " 

10 Ah ! wondrous was the old tune's spell 

As on the singer sang : 
Man after man fell into line, 
And loud the voices rang. 

11 The songs are done, the camp is still, 

Naught but the stream is heard ; 
But ah ! the depths of every soul 
By those old hymns are stirred. 

12 And up from many a bearded lip, 

In whispers soft and low, 
Rises the prayer the mother taught 
The boy long years ago. 



LEFT ON THE BATTLE-FIELD. 

1 What, was it a dream ? Am I all alone 

In the dreary night and the drizzling rain ? 
Hist ! — ah ! it was only the river's moan ; 

They have left me behind with the mangled slain. 

2 Yes, now I remember it all too well ! 

We met, from the battling ranks apart ; 
Together our weapons flashed and fell, 

And mine was sheathed in his quivering heart. 



MISCELLANEOUS DEPARTMENT. PATRIOTIC POEMS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 



757 



3 In the cypress gloom, where the deed was done, 

It was all too dark to see his face ; 
But I heard his death-groans, one by one, 
And he holds me still in a cold embrace. 

4 He spoke but once, and I could not hear 

The words he said, for the cannon's roar ; 
But my heart grew cold with a deadly fear, — 
O God ! I had heard that voice before ! 

5 Had heard it before at our mother's knee, 

When we lisped the words of our evening prayer ! 
My brother ! would I had died for thee, — 
This burden is more than my soul can bear ! 

6 I pressed my lips to his death-cold cheek, 

And begged him to show me, by word or sign, 
That he knew and forgave me : he could not speak, 
But he nestled his poor cold face to mine. 

7 The blood flowed fast from my wounded side, 

And then for a while I forgot my pain, 
And over the lakelet we seemed to glide 
In our little boat, two boys again. 

8 And then, in my dream, we stood alone 

On a forest path where the shadows fell ; 
And I heard again the tremulous tone, 
And the tender words of his last farewell. 

9 But that parting was years, long years ago, 

He wandered away to a foreign land ; 
And our dear old mother will never know 
That he died to-night by his brother's hand. 

10 The soldiers who buried the dead away 

Disturbed not the clasp of that last embrace, 
But laid them to sleep till the judgment-day, 
Heart folded to heart, and face to face. 

SARAH T, BOLTON. 



f pit §ttrs. 



During the late war, it was common in news despatches of 1861, to 
read:— "All quiet along the Potomac," until the phrase became one of 
the most frequent. In "Harper's Weekly," of that year the following 
poem first made its appearance, and every journal in the land re- 
published it. There are many living yet, both North and South, whose 
hearts will throb with a more rapid pulsation when they read anew the 
old familiar quotation and the poem it inspired, entitled "The Picket 
Guard." She first published it under the initials " E. P.." These were 
soon lost sight of, and the poem became a waif. After awhile some 
journal gave it a name, to which it had no right. Others claimed it. 
The London "Times" said it was written by a Confederate soldier who 
died on the Potomac. This was corrected by a paper in America, de- 
claring that the Potomac verses were composed by a private soldier in 
the Union service, in a letter sent home to his wife, and published. 
Another asserted that Fritz James O'Brien was the author. At last in 
1863, "Harpers Weekly" settled the question by proclaiming that it was 
written by a lady for its columns, and was copyrighted property. Even 
after this, the poem drifted into compilations of war poems, unjustly 
credited to men of known ability in that line, sometimes claimed as a 
Southern production, and again a Northern. The " Library of Song." 
attributed it to Mrs. Howland. In a letter to a friend Mrs. Beers says : 
"The poor waif has had so many claimants and sponsors, I sometimes 
almost question myself, whether I really did write it, or dream so, that 
cool autumu morning, after seeing in the paper those oft-read annouuce- 
ments— ' All quiet along the Potomac' and 'A Picket Shot.' " 



Mrs, Beers was born in Orange Co., If. Y., and educated at Goshen. 
Ethelinda Elliott was her maiden name.descer.ded to her direct through 
seven generations from John Eliot, the Indian Apostle. In her early 
years she wrote under the name of Ethel Lynn, from her first name, and 
since her marriage, Ethel Lynn Beers is as familiarly known as was her 
former name. 

"On the Shores of Tennessee," is one of the most popular of her 
many gems of verse. " Which shall it be?'" has been recited by almost 
every school boy of late years, and " Weighing the Baby," is one of the 
choicest selections ill the sub-department of Motherhood in this volume. 

In "Waifs and their Authors," a charming book edited by A. A. Hop- 
kins, it is stated that in the writings of Mrs. Beers, her chief desire has 
been to write no word or line that should mislead a single soul, Her 
conscience and heart are carried into all she does. Mrs. B. was of me- 
dium stature, with dark hair and eyes, and resided in Orange, If . J. She 
died in 1879. . 

THE PICKET-GUARD. 

1 "All quiet along the Potomac," they say, 

" Except now and then a stray picket 
Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro, 

By a rifleman hid in the thicket. 
'T is nothing ; a private or two, now and then, 

Will not count in the news of the battle ; 
Not an officer lost, — only one of the men, 

Moaning out, all alone, the death-rattle." 

2 All quiet along the Potomac to-night, 

Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming ; 
Their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon, 

Or the light of the watch-fires, are gleaming. 
A tremulous sigh, as the gentle night-wind 

Through the forest leaves softly is creeping ; 
While stars up above, with their glittering eyes, 

Keep guard, — for the army is sleeping. 

3 There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread 

As he tramps from the rock to the fountain, 
And he thinks of the two in the low trundle-bed, 

Far away in the cot on the mountain. 
His musket falls slack ; his face, dark and grim, 

Grows gentle with memories tender, 
As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep, 

For their mother, — may Heaven defend her ! 

4 The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then, 

That night when the love yet unspoken 
Leaped up to his lips — when low, murmured vows 

Were pledged to be ever unbroken ; 
Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes, 

He dashes off tears that are welling, 
And gathers his gun closer up to its place, 

As if to keep down the heart-swelling. 

5 He passes the fountain, the blasted pine-tree, — 

The footstep is lagging and weary ; 
Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light, 

Toward the shades of the forest so dreary. 
Hark ! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves ? 

Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing ? 
It looked like a rifle ; " Ha ! Mary, good by ! " 

And the life-blood is ebbing and plashing. 

6 All quiet along the Potomac to-night, 

No sound save the rush of the river ; 
While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead, — 
The picket's off duty forever. 

MRS. ETHSL LYNN BEERS. 



758 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



HYMN FOR A FLAG-RAISING. 

1 God of our patriotic sires, 
Guarding our freedom's altar-fires, 
Whose ever-growing heat inspires • 

The life-blood in each vein, 
To-day this flag we raise on high, 
And swear, beneath the eternal sky, 
For it to live, for it to die — 

Its honor to maintain. 

2 O'er many a well-fought battle-plain, 
Where from the hero's quivering vein 
The glowing blood was poured like rain, 

This banner proudly waved ; 
And, 'mid the cannon's thunderous boom, 
Amid the war-smoke's hovering gloom, 
It shed its glorious light and bloom, 

Until the field was 



3 In every breeze its folds have curled, 
Its stars have lighted all the world 
Since first it proudly was unfurled, 

The ensign of the free ; 
And now, amid the song and prayer, 
With hands to do and hearts to dare, 
We proudly fling it to the air, 

And trust, God, to Thee. 
3 We trust to Thee, O Freedom's sire ! 
Each nerve and throbbing vein inspire, 
Each heart with holy ardor fire, 

As here we swear again, 
While waves our flag triumphantly, 
For it to live, for it to die ; 
And though the myriad hosts defy, 

Its honor to maintain. 



HBNR5T, 1862. 



$rs. |nl» fflufe |fllM 



Was born in Bowling Green, New York City, in 1819. Her early 
years showed unusual talent for writing both in prose and verse. Her 
youngest sister preserves among her most cherished treasures, a meri- 
torious poem written by Mrs. Howe at the age of sixteen years, and 
entitled "The Ill-cut Mantle." At seventeen she was a valued con- 
tributor to the " New York Magazine," then a leading periodical. 

She early developed a decided musical talent. Her instructors were 
so impressed with her genius for musical composition, that she was urged 
to devote the greater part of her time to it. 

Gifted with a fine voice and dramatic power, she took a high rank 
among the amateurs of her time. Her father, being a man of wealth 
and culture, drew into the home the most eminent musicians and liter- 
ary connoisseurs, so that Mrs. Howe, in those early daj's, had every 
advantage for self improvement. Had more time beeu at her disposal, 
she doubtless would have composed much music forpublication. What 
she has brought forth has been of a high order. In 1843 she was mar- 
ried to Dr. Samuel Howe, one of the most prominent of reformers who 
have won for Massachusetts the place she has held undisputed, until 
lately, of "leadership in the thought and progress of the nation." While 
abroad, a year or two later, the crown of motherhood was laid upon her 
brow. Her infant daughter was christened Julia Romana in remem- 
brance of her birth in Rome. After returning to America, she pub- 
lished her first volume of poems in 1854, called "Passion Flowers." 
Though published anonymously, the universal verdict was that no one 
in Boston (her residence) could have written it, and it won for her great, 
though unsought, reputation. 



She became much interested in the Slavery question, and in 1855, pub- 
lished "Words for the Hour,"— another volume of poems. But it re- 
mained for her "Battle-Hymn of the Republic," inspired during the late 
war, to gain her a world-wide fame. 

Of this, her biographer in "Our Famous Women." says : —"When our 
laud was stained with the blood of its defenders, and the war-bugles 
rang through the country, her voice took up the cry and echoed back a 
war paean, grand enough for the march of the Republic to its greatest 
conquest, the victory of self." It has been unjustly attributed by some to 
Chaplain McCabe, because he sang it so frequently after it came out 
while he was doing noble work among the boys in blue. Here is the cir- 
eumstance which inspired the writing of it. In company with her hus- 
band aud a party of ladies and gentlemen, she made a memorable visit to 
the capital of the United States during the war. In company with 
friends at a review of troops, an interruption was caused by movements 
from the enemy. Reinforcements were sent to a party of soldiers that 
had been surrounded, and the review was abandoned for the day. The 
carriage containing Mrs. Howe and friends moved slowly a'.ong, sur- 
rounded by armed men. Among other things she sang the "John 
Brown Song " in her rich, melodious voice, which much pleased aud 
inspired her hearers. She then expressed a desire to write better words 
for that soul-stirring tune, remarking that she feared she would never 
be able to accomplish it. 

She retired to rest that night full of thoughts of battle, and awaking 
in the gray dawn next morning, she sprang from her bed, seized her pen 
and paper, and in a few moments the " Battle Hymn of the Republic " 
was completed. As she finished it she exclaimed : " I like that better 
than anything I have ever written." "Later Lyrics," a volume of 
poems, was published in 1866. Those which relate to her little boy's 
death are very tender and pathetic. She still resides in Boston, and 
still does valuable literary work. Mrs. Howe had the honor of being 
appointed National Superintendent of the Woman's Department in the 
New Orlean's Exposition, which continued from Dec. 1884 to May 1885, 
inclusive. 



BATTLE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC. 

The following was frequently sung by Chaplain C C. McCabe, while a 
prisoner in Libby, after hearing Old Ben (the colored paper-seller in 
Richmond) cry out : " Great news by telegraph ! Great battle at Gettys- 
burg ! Union soldiers gain de day ! " Upon hearing such glorious news, 
Chaplain McCabe sung this soul-stirring hymn, all the prisoners joining 
him heartily in the chorus, making the old prison-walls ring with " Glory, 
glory, hallelujah ! " 

1 Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the 

Lord ; 
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of 

wrath are stored ; 
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible 

quick sword : 
His truth is marching on. 
Chorus — Glory, glory, hallelujah ! 

2 I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred cir- 

cling camps ; 
They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews 

and damps ; 
I have read His righteous sentence by the dim and 

flaring lamps : 
His day is marching on. 

3 I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of 

steel, 
"As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my 

grace shall deal ; 
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with 

his heel, 
Since God is marching on." 



MISCELLANEOUS DEPARTMENT. PATRIOTIC POEMS. OTHER LANDS. 



759 



4 He has sounded forth the trumpet that sha.l never call 

retreat ; 

He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judg- 
ment-seat ; 

Oh ! be swift, my soul, to answer Him ! be jubilant, 
my feet : 
Our God is marching on. 

5 In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the 

sea, 
With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and 

me ; 
As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men 

free, 
While God is marching on. 

JULIA WARD HOWE, 1863. 



THE DAY OF EMANCIPATION. 



JANUARY 1, 1863. 

1 Dawning at last ! the morning sun is beaming, 

Glad and expectant, o'er the eastern hill ; 
Dawning at last ! adown the hill-side streaming, 
Until the splendor all the vale doth fill. 

2 Dawning at last ! through flame and smoke of battle, 

O'er faces pallid as their bed of snow ; 
Dawning at last ! O day whose earlier dawning 
Had saved our land these tears and weeds of woe. 

3 O'er trodden field and ruined home and city, 

O'er whitening bones and hearts bereft and sad, 
Scenes over which the angels weep in pity, 
Thy sunlight falleth beautiful and glad. 

4 Aye, beautiful o'er yonder hut thy dawning, 

Beside whose door a dark-browed infant plays, 
There's freedom for the child this New- Year's morn- 
ing* 
A crown of manhood woven from its rays. 

5 Freedom for child and sire through all the nation, 

Freedom to be a man and claim his own — 
To claim the soul for which Christ made oblation, 
His own right hand, his wife, his child, his home. 

6 Ah ! precious blood of father, friend, and brother, 

That stained the flowers on many a Southern 
plain ! 
Ah ! bitter tears of sister, wife, and mother, 
So sadly shed ! ye were not shed in vain. 

7 For lo ! from out this river of baptism 

A nation comes, regenerate and pure, 
The buried manhood of a race hath risen, 

To sit with men and God, eternal and secure. 

MRS. S. M. I. HENRY, 1865, 



GORDON. 



A RECITATION FOB BOYS. 

1 A sound from the desert ! 

A shout from the wall ! 
Like arrows the rays 

Of the southern sun fall. 
'T is the cry of the lion, 

The growl of his mate, 
'T is the prayer of the hero, 

That faces his fate, 
But his duty is done. 

2 Why tarries the flag 

Of the red-cross afar ? 
Why sleep in the harbors 

The dread ships of war ? 
Great England sits silent, 

Unanswering, dumb, 
Her hero sees plainly 

His death-hour has come, 
But his duty is done. 

3 The flash of the bullet, 

The shell's whizzing scream,— 
If they hoped to the last, 
The hope was a dream. 
For nearer and nearer 

The death-lions crept, 
The hero's soul blenched not 
, As round him they swept, 
For his duty was done. 

4 The eyes grow dim, watching 

Th' horizon's far line ; 
No British cheers waken, 

No bayonets shine. 
On pressed El Mahdi — 

There's treachery here ; 
Unconquered, undaunted, 

He faces death's spear, 
And his duty is done. 

5 life of the hero ! 

O death of the brave ! 
Unforgotten, go down 

To thy lone, desert grave. 
For many a life 

By thy lightning, alight, 
Shall burn up for others 

And flash through death's night, 
With its duty all done. 

ELLEN MURRAY. 

St. Helena, S, C. 1885. 



760 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



RIENZI'S ADDRESS TO THE ROMANS. 



1 I come not here to talk. You know too well 
The story of our thraldom. We are slaves ! 
The bright sun rises to his course and lights 

A race of slaves ! He sets, and his last beams 

Fall on a slave ; not such as swept along 

By the full tide of power, the conqu'ror led 

To crimson glory and undying fame : 

But base, ignoble slaves ; slaves to a horde 

Of petty tyrants, feudal despots, lords, 

Rich in some dozen paltry villages ; 

Strong in some hundred spearmen ; only great 

In that strange spell — a name. 

2 Each hour, dark fraud, 

Or open rapine, or protected murder, 

Cries out against them. But this very day 

An honest man, my neighbor, — there he stands, — 

Was struck, struck like a dog, by one who wore 

The badge of Ursini ; because, forsooth, 

He toss'd not high his ready cap in air, 

Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts, . 

At sight of that great ruffian ! ' Be we men, 

And suffer such dishonor ? men, and wash not 

The stain away in blood ? Such shames are common. 

I have known deeper wrongs ; I that speak to ye, 

I had a brother once — a gracious boy, 

Full of gentleness, of calmest hope, 

Of sweet and quiet joy, — there was the look 

Of heaven upon his face, which limners give 

To the belov'd disciple. 

3 How I lov'd 

That gracious boy ! Younger by fifteen years, 
Brother at once, and son ! He left my side, 
A summer bloom on his fair cheek ; a smile 
Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour 
That pretty, harmless boy was slain ! I saw 
The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried 
For vengeance ! Rouse, ye Romans ! rouse, ye 

slaves ! 
Have ye brave sons ? Look in the next fierce brawl 
To see them die. Have ye fair daughters ? Look 
To see them live, torn from your arms, distain'd, 
Dishonor'd ; and if ye dare call for justice, 
Be answered by the lash. 

4 Yet this is Rome, 

That sat on her seven hills, and, from her throne 
Of beauty, ruled the world ; and we are Romans ! 
Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman 
Was greater than a king ! 

5 And once again, — 

Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread 
Of either Brutus ! Once again, I swear, 
The eternal city shall be free. 

MART RUSSELL MITFORD. 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 

SONNET. (AN ACKOSTIC. ) 

Angel of Freedom ! Power to all the nice 
Beneficent ; one whose aspiring soul, 
Radiant and pure, strained for the highest goal ; 
A spirit steadfast, stern, yet full of grace, 
He never turned away his heart and face 
As he pressed on to fill life's noblest roll, 
Martyr and patriot. We in history's scroll 
Like his another name may never trace. 
In him what strength of faith from duties done ; 
Nor fear of death nor danger made him pause, 
Child of our country, proud Columbia's son, 
O best of all, champion of freedom's cause ! 
Light unto thousands bringing. Fame thus won 
Ne'er fails to gain and hold the world's applause. 

FLORENCE M. HOLEROOK. 

In the "Inter-Ocean." 
Chicago. May 30. 

1861-1865. 

1 The cry for " Freedom " or for " Death ' resounds, 

From frozen lake to Mississippi's mouth : 
The rugged mind of Lincoln guides the North, 
The gray-eyed eagle Davis leads the South. 

2 On, on they come ! the while the scythe of gray 

Sweeps low the lines of blue, like autumn leaves, 
The eager mouths of earth quaff deep of gore ; 
The granaries of Death heap high with sheaves. 

3 Steel clashes steel ! and now the two-fold cry 

Bursts from the stern lips of the nation's head, 

The patriot's cry for " Union," " Freedom," rings 

Through all the land, and echoes 'mid the dead. 

4 And patriotism swells the surging tide, 

With mighty hosts unnumbered as the stars — 
" Our country " stirs the patriot of the North, 
And nerves his sinews for the " War of Wars ! " 

5 On ! on ! and now the banners of the South 

Bend low to meet the kiss the dying give ; 
The South yields to the hosts — her cause is lost — 
Yet, though subdued, her truth and honor live ! 

6 Now Lincoln's hand has caught the Union flag, 

And firmly nailed it to the ship of State ; 
He stands to pilot her into the port — 
To sternly meet the stern decree of fate. 

7 And now a horror falls upon the land, 

The pulses of the North beat wild and high ; 
The weary Southland sees her last hope fade, 
And, with the dream of Lincoln, droop and die. 

8 'Tis finished! aye, the daring mission's filled! 

The grasp of Death rests on the iron hand 
That laid the Southern banner in its shroud, 

And flung the " Stars and Stripes " o'er all the 
land. 



VIRGINIA A. 
From "An Album of Immortelles." By per. O. H. Oldroyd, 

Memphis, 1388. 



MISCELLANEOUS DEPARTMENT. OUR MARTYRED DEAD. LINCOLN. GARFIELD. 



761 



APRIL 15, 1865. 
The way was long and cheerless, 

But dawn succeeded night ; 
That soul, so brave and fearless, 

Dwells evermore in light ! 
No shadows dim his glory, 

Our hearts his praise resound, 
And history tells his story, — 

Our nation's king is crowned ! 

SOPHIE E. EASTMAN. 

South Hadley, 1882. 

Iu " An Album of Immortelles." By per. O. H. Oldroyd. 

LINCOLN, THE EMANCIPATOR. 

Born to a destiny the most sublime 
Thou wert, O Lincoln ! In the march of time 
God bade thee pause, — and bid the oppressed go free ! 
Most glorious boon given to humanity ! 
Thou utterest the word, and Freedom fair 
Rang her sweet bells on the clear winter air. 
She waved her magic wand, and lo ! from far 
A long procession came, with many a scar, — 
A Race set free ! The deed brought joy and light; 
It bade calm Justice, from her sacred height, 
When faith, and hope, and courage slowly waned, 
Unfurl the stars and stripes, at last, unstained ! 
Thy crown most glorious in a ransomed Race \ 
High on our country's scroll we fondly trace, 
.In lines of fadeless light that softly blend, — 
Emancipator, hero, martyr, friend ! 
While Freedom may her holy scepter claim, 
The world shall echo with " Our Lincoln's " name. 



CORDELIA EAY. 



OUR MARTYRED PRESIDENT 

SUGGESTED BY THE DEDICATION OF THE NATIONAL LIN- 
COLN MONUMENT, AT SPKINGFIELD, ILL., 

October 15, 1S74. 

1 Mourn for the chief of the nation, who perished 

By the assassin's demoniac hand ; 
One whom we had chosen, and honored, and 
cherished, 
Whose blood sealed the clasp o'er Columbia's land. 

2 Praise — for oppression is banished forever, 

Her dark reign is over from river to sea ; 
In truth and in spirit, as now, sang we never, 

"Of the land of the brave, and the home of the 
free." 

3 Our God, who in wisdom the dark strife permitted, 

Though the bow was obscured in the midst of the 
storm, 
Now war-clouds are broken, and vengeance requited, 

Shows the wonders He worketh, His will to per- 
form. 

4 Then boast not of conquest, or wisdom ; but chided, 

In contrite submission and penitence bowed, 
Give thanks to the Lord, who our armies hath guided : 
For "Why should the spirit of mortals be proud ?" 



5 Yet long as our banner shall wave in her beauty, 

As long as we sing of the red, white and blue, 
Columbia will honor in pleasure and duty 

The memory of Lincoln, brave, honest and true. 

6 Assembled to-day are the pride of the nation, 

Surrounding the spot where his hallowed dust lies, 
Reviewing his service in grandest oration, 
Recording his virtues in loftiest praise. 

7 Though granite and bronze tower high where he 

sleeps, 
A nation's bereavement and grief to proclaim, 
More lasting and precious the love-light that keeps 
Enshrined in the hearts of the people his name. 

LUCY H. WASHINGTON. 

From "Echoes of Song," pub. by Rev. E. S. Walker, Springfield, IU. 



'NON OMNIS MORIAR." 

" I have completed a monument more lasting than brass, and more 
sublime than the regal elevation of pyramids, which neither the wasting 
shower, the unavailing north wind, nor an innumerable succession of 
years, and the flight of seasons, shaU be able to demolish." 

" I shall not wholly die, but a great part of me shaU escape Libitina." 
— " Thirtieth Ode of Horace " Book III. 

Ah ! Horace died, just as the morning sky 

Grew red with promise that the Lord was nigh ! 
But thou for whom to-day a world is grieving, 
Didst yield thy life, celestial light receiving 

From full-orbed truth — where he but darkly strove. 

Statesmen ! who recognized the " Law of Love ! " 
Christian — by no sectarian views confined ; 
Hero, and Martyr, in our hearts enshrined — 

Soldier ! whose latest victory was won 

By the sad, surgeful sea at Elberon, 

Whence thou arose to take thy crown on high — 
Garfield ! thou art not dead ! thou shalt not wholly 
die! 



AT ELBERON. 

IN MEMOBIAM, SEP. 19, 1882. 

1 Did the waves, muffled, beat 

A solemn dirge that memorable night ? 

Or shrink in sorrow from the mournful sight, 

And onward speed to meet 
The Infinite, that free from worldly strife, 
And restful, rolled before the ebbing life, 

Unto God's mercy -seat ? 

2 Unfaltering and alone, 

He felt the shore receding from his grasp, 
He felt the breaking of the powerful clasp 

Of hearts bound to his own. 
A nation, sobbing, knelt beside his bed, 
As silently he joined the noble dead, 

Upon the fields unknown. 



762 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



4 Wrapt in eternal peace, 

He rests apart, his life fulfilled in love, 

And guided by a Wisdom from above, 

Nor does his influence cease, — 
Mankind is nobler made. Ah ! not for fame 
He lived, though ages shall record his name ! 

Rest, Hero, rest in peace. 

FANNIE HUNTINGTON RUNNELS. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 

1 There's not a gentle heart in all the land 

But aches, through these slow-footed days of grief ; 
No rev'rent soul that ever spoke to God, 

But prays His blessing on our stricken Chief. 
And in the shadows hov'ring o'er his fate, 
The loyal millions of the people wait. 



2 Our land had many 

When from their midst God's prophet sought a 
King- 
Sons that were tall and strong and princely fair, 
But for them not waited oil and ring. 

The hidden prince in quiet ways was found, 
Unsought of men, but called of God and crowned. 

3 We wondered much, like those of olden time, 

When this same thing was done before our eyes, 
. And to the highest honors calmly came 

The David we had failed to recognize. 

Men choose as if the place were highest goal, 
God chooses rulers among princely souls. 

4 We called him Statesman, in the Senate halls, 

And Orator when setting hearts athrill, 
We named him Hero on the battle-field, 

And Chieftain by a sovereign people's will. 

But now we learn, through days of sore distress, 
That pain has made him grander than success. 

5 The man himself, so loving, pure and calm, 

Has been revealed through these slow days of pain ; 
We've found the heart that made his words so hot, 

The crystal soul that winged the splendid brain ; 
And so we bring with tears this highest meed, 
The man is greater than his greatest deed. 

* MARY T. LATHROP. 
Jackson, Mich. 
In " Union Signal." 
# I Samuel, ivi. 



GARFIELD IS DEAD. 

1 Droop mournfully, O starry flag, 

Above a nation's sorrowing breast, 
As once more 'neath thy shining folds 
A martyred President doth rest. 



Peal forth, wondrous, deep-voiced bells, 
Your slowest tones, your saddest knells, 
Unto an awe-struck world to show 
Our pain, our shame ! our voiceless woe. 

2 A hero, who, with steps sublime, 

Had climbed the hill of adverse fate ; 
Self-made, and greater than his time, 

For whose grand deeds our millions wait ; 
A man idealized and loved, 
Whose bravery and worth were proved ; 
A thousand lives could not atone 
For such a loss — our nation's own. 

8 Brave, patient heart ! Through months of pain 
And suffering, such as few can know, 
With careful thought for those he loved, 
Dauntless he fought the insidious foe, 
But all in vain ; for Garfield died 
As falls a tree — the mountain's pride — 
When from its high estate 't is hurled 
The echo woke a slumbering world. 

4 O reptile, clothed in human guise, 

Whose vile hand sent the assassin's ball, 
Did you think Heaven were high enough 

To pardon and forgive it all ? 
Did you think earth so fair and wide 
It had a place for you to hide ? 
Or did you dream that hell was broad 
Enough to miss the wrath of God ? 

5 Beloved martyr ! Christian saint ! 

Sweet be thy rest after life's pain. 
" God giveth His beloved sleep," 

He calls His children home again. 
Unfinished was thy work on earth, 
But angels greet thy Heavenly birth, 
And stars within thy crown are set, 
That grace no earthly coronet. 

6 And you, O sweetly loyal wife, 

Whose faith and hope would not give way, 
A million wife and mother-hearts 

Beat mournfully with yours to-day, 
A million hands would fain clasp yours, 
And share your sorrow — if they could — 
Whose patient and enduring love 
Has glorified all womanhood. 

8 Pity, O God ! our Nation's woe ! 

And lead us with a gentle hand ; 
Two martyred Presidents are now 

The Ministers of our dear land 
At Thy great Court, O Sovereign King ; 
Let them our cause before Thee bring ; 
And may our progress ever be 
Onward and upward, unto Thee. 

MARY A. BENSON. 

Alton, Sept. 20th. 

In " Union Signal." 



MISCELLANEOUS DEPARTMENT. PATRIOTIC. POEMS OF PEACE. 



763 



Xxm Sana f . <$&*. 



A few weeks ago I went with a party of cultivated Southern ladies to 
pay my respects to our noble Paul H. Hayne, poet-laureate of the 
South, and his lovely wife. Besides my hostess, Mrs. William C. Sibley, 
of Augusta, there was, among other charming women, Miss Maria L. 
Eve, daughter of one of Georgia's most celebrated physicians, and a 
celebrated woman in her own right, by reason of her poetic talent. 
Miss Josie Walton, a gifted mutual friend, had shown me the poem by 
Miss Eve, which I herewith enclose, and which has this history : The 
Mobile "Register" offered a prize for the best poem expressive of 
Southern appreciation in view of Northern help and sympathy during 
the terrible yellow fever calamity of 1879. There were fifty or more 
competitors, but the committee of award, composed of leading literary 
lights, preferred the poem of Miss Eve, on account of its simplicity and 
heart-power. It was read recently at a grand re-union of Confederate 
soldiers and received with unbounded enthusiasm, and an autograph 
copy being requested for preservation among their archives. Let these 
things be remembered by those who would have us believe the South 
can never cease to hate " the Yankees." Miss Eve sends me an auto- 
graph copy, which I highly value, and shall exhibit as one of the choic- 
est among the many tokens of fraternity I am grateful to cherish. 

Frances E. Willard. 

CONQUERED AT LAST. 

1 You came to us once, brothers, in wrath, 
And rude desolation followed your path. 

2 You conquered us then, but only in part, 

For a stubborn thing is the human heart. 1 

3 So the mad wind blows in his might and main, 
And the forests bend to his breath, like grain, 

4 Their heads in the dust and their branches broke ; 
But how shall he soften their hearts of oak ? 

5 You swept o'er our land like the whirlwind's wing; 
But the human heart is a stubborn thing. 

6 We laid down our arms, we yielded our will ; 
But our " heart of hearts " was uncomjuered still. 

7 "We are vanquished," we said, "but our wounds 2 

must heal ; 
We gave you our swords, but our hearts were 
steel." 

8 " We are conquered," we said, but our hearts were 

sore, 
And " Woe to the conquered " on every door. 

9 But the Spoiler came and he would not spare ; 
The angel that walketh in darkness was there ; — 

10 He walked through the valley, walked through the 

street, 
And he left the print of his fiery feet 

11 In the dead, dead, dead that were everywhere, 
And buried away with never a prayer. 3 

12 From our desolate land, from its very heart, 
There went forth a cry to the uttermost part. 

13 You heard it, O brothers ! — with never a measure, 
You opened your hearts and poured out your 

treasure. 

14 O Sisters of Mercy ! You gave above these ! 
For you helped, we know, on your bended knees ! 

15 Your pity was human ; but oh ! it was more, 
For you shared our cross, and our burden bore ; 



16 Your lives in your hands, you stood by our side ; 
Your lives for our lives — you laid down and died. 

17 And no greater love hath a man to give, 
Than to lay down his life that his friends may live. 

18 You poured in our wounds the oil and the wine 
That you brought to us from a hand divine. 

19 You conquered us, brothers ; our swords we gave, 
We yield now our hearts — they are all we have. 

20 Our last ditch was there, and it held out long ; 
It is yours, O friends, and you'll find it strong. 

21 Your love had a magic diviner than art, 
And " Conquered by kindness " we'll write on our 

heart. 

MARIA L. EVE, 1880. 

Augusta, Ga. 



THE HARP OF THE SEA. 



The first message transmitted across the Atlantic telegraph was, "Glory 
to God in the highest, on earth peace, good-will to men ! " 

Wild, harsh and discordant the song earth was sing- 
ing — 

The drum-beat of hatred swelled loud on the air; 
Red hands to the breeze the red banner was flinging, 

'Mid curses, that froze on her lips Mercy's prayer. 
From nation to nation the challenge was sounding, 

It wakened an echo from fettered and free , 
But while with the war-cry the earth was resounding, 

The angel of Peace hung his harp in the sea. 

Far, far 'neath the waves from the tempests controll- 
ing. 
Where the sea-weed is growing the white bones 
among, 
Though above it the waves are incessantly rolling, 

In stillness it singeth its beautiful song. 
And list ! comes a whisper, " Peace, peace through 
the ocean " — 
How like to the voice that once stilled Galilee ! 
And the earth, charmed to rest from its tempest 
commotion, 
Is singing " Peace ! peace ! " on the harp of the 



The drum-beat is silent ; the love-notes of blessing 

Are swelling, like Sabbath bells, sweet on the air ; 
A flag, the good-will of the nations expressing, 

Pure hands have unfurled, 'mid the anthem and 
prayer. 
From nation to nation the glad song is sounding, 

It waketh an echo from fettered and free, 
" All glory to God ! " through the earth is resound- 
ing, 

And " Good will to men ! " sings the harp of the 



764 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



4 " Peace ! good-will to men ! 
angel 
That wakes from the harp-string that beautiful 
strain : 
" All glory to God ! " is the blessed evangel — 

" To God in the highest, who cometh to reign ! " 
And hark ! from the land of the dark and benighted 

There crieth a voice, holy watchman, to thee ; 
Oh ! weary not, rest not till all lands, united, 
Sing " Glory to God ! " on the harp of the sea. 

MRS. S. M. I. HEURY, 1863. 



t is the hand of an 3 And we'll plant them still together, for 't is yet the 

self-same soil 
Our fathers' valor won for us by victory and toil ; 
On Florida's fair everglades, by bold Ontario's flood, 
And through them send electric life as leaps the 

kindred blood ! 
For thus it is they taught us who for Freedom lived 

and died, 
The Eternal laws of justice must and shall be justified; 
That God has joined together by a fiat all divine 
The destinies of dwellers 'neath the Palm-tree and the 

Pine. 



% Virginia $xm\ t 



Author of "The Palmetto and the Pine," is the well-known educator, 
editor, author and poet, She was born in Virginia, in 1830. Her 
nom-tle-plume is L'Inconnue. A fine sketch of her life and work ap- 
pears in a recent issue of " Womau at Work," (now the "Woman's Mag- 
azine" published in Brattleboro, Vt., by Mrs. E. T. Housh. 



THE PALMETTO AND THE PINE. 

1 They planted them together — our gallant sires of old — ■ 
Though one was crowned with crystal snow, and one 

with solar gold ; 
They planted them together, on the world's majestic 

height, 
At Saratoga's deathless charge, at Eutaw's stubborn 

fight ; 
At midnight on the dark redoubt, 'mid plunging shot 

and shell — 
At noontide gasping in the crush of battle's bloody 

swell, 
With gory hands and reeking brows, amid the mighty 

fray, 
Which surged and swelled around them on that mem- 
orable day, 
When they planted independence, as a symbol and a 

sign— 
They struck deep soil and planted the Palmetto and 

the Pine. 

2 They planted them together, by the river of the Years, 
Watered with our fathers' hearts' blood, watered with 

our mothers' tears : 
In the strong, rich soil of Freedom, with a bounteous 

benison, 
From their Prophet, Priest and Pioneer — our Father 

Washington ! 
Above them floated echoes of the ruin and the wreck, 
Like "drums that beat at Louisburg, and thundered 

at Quebec." 
But the old light sank in darkness as the new stars 

rose to shine 
O'er those emblems of the sections — the Palmetto and 

the Pine. 



4 Aye ! we'll plant them yet together, tho' the cloud is 

on their brows, 

And winds antagonistic writhe and wrench their stal- 
wart boughs ; 

Driving winds that drift the nations into gaping gulfs 
of gloom ; 

Sweeping ages, cycles, systems, into vortexes of doom ; 

Though the waves of faction rolling in triumphant to 
the shore, 

Are breaking down our bulwarks with their sullen 
rage and roar ; 

Serried armaments of ocean filing in line after line, 

Washing up the deep foundations of Palmetto and of 
Pine. 

5 Shall this, the soil of Freedom, from their roots be 

washed away 
By the chafing of the billows and the breaking of the 

spray ? 
No ! the Hand that rules the vortex which is surging 

now before us 
Above its "hell of waters " sets the bow of promise 

o'er us ; 
And the time will come when Discord shall be buried 

in the Past, 
The oriflamme of Love shall wave above the beach at 

last, 
And beneath the starry banner — type of unity divine — 
Shall stand those stately signals, the Palmetto and the 

Pine. 

6 Shall the old victorious Eagle from their boughs be 

wrenched away 

By the double-headed Vulture of Disunion and De- 
cay ? 

Forbid it, Heaven ! Columbia, guard thine emblems 
sheltered here 

To grace the brilliant dawning of this grand Centen- 
nial year : 

And bear them as thou marchest on with gonfalons 
unfurled, 

With thy feet upon the fetter, for the freeing of the 
world ! 

And guard thy Holy Sepulcher — Mount Vernon's 
sacred shrine — 

For this is Freedom's Holy Land, her promised 
Palestine. • 



MISCELLANEOUS DEPARTMENT. PATRIOTIC. POEMS OFPEACE. 



765 



7 O thou voice of God, outflowing from the lips of holy- 

Peace, 
Soothe the turmoil and the tumult, bid this strife and 

sorrow cease ! 
O'er savannas steeped in sunshine, over mountains 

dark with rain, 
Send the glad and thrilling tidings in thy sweetly 

solemn strain ; 
Let snowy North and sunny South send up the shout, 

"All's well ! " 
And the music of thy coming strike our heart-strings 

with its swell, 
(As to Jessie Brown at Lucknow, struck the air of 

"Auld Lang Syne," 
From the Highland pipes of Havelock) — save the 

Palm and save the Pine ! 

8 God platit them still together ! let them flourish side 

by side 
In the halls of our Centennial, mailed in more than 

marble pride ; 
With kindly deeds and noble names we'll grave them 

o'er and o'er, 
With brave historic legends of the glorious days of 

yore, 
While the clear, exultant chorus, rising from united 

bands, 
The echo of our triumph peals to earth's remotest 

lands ; 
While '• Faith, Fraternity and Love " shall joyfully 

entwine 
Around our chosen emblems, the Palmetto and the 

Pine. 

9 " Together ! " shouts Niagara his thunder-toned de- 

cree ; 
" Together ! " echo back the waves upon the Mexic 

sea; 
" Together ! " sing the sylvan hills where old Atlantic 

roars ; 
" Together ! " boom the breakers on the wild Pacific 

shores ; 
" Together ! " cry the People and " together " still 

shall be 
An everlasting charter-bond forever for the free ; 
Of liberty the signet-seal — the one eternal sign — 
Be those united emblems, the Palmetto and the Pine ! 

L. "VIRGINIA FRENCH. 



RING FREEDOM'S BELLS. 

Ring Freedom's bells, across all lands, 

Ring, happy bells, from shore to shore, 
Until your echoes from far strands 

Come back to us once more. 
Ring out a blood-bought country's worth ; 

O joyful bells, ring high, ring low, 
To celebrate a nation's birth, 

So many years ago. 



2. Ring loudly for the thirteen States 

That joined their hardy hands of old ; 
And let the story of their brave 

In stirring peals be told. 
But for their heroes slain, oh ! knell 

A tender dirge, so soft and low ; 
A nation's grief for those who fell 

So many years ago. 

3 Give forth a peal of richest sound, 

O music bells, from silver throats ; 
Let it on every breeze resound, 

Where Freedom's banner floats. 
A peal, Potomac's wave upon, 

Whose echo down the stream shall flow, 
For Washington, who led us on, 

So many years ago. 

4 Ring for the younger States that stretch 

Across the farthest Western shore, 
Where, hand in hand with old thirteen, 

Go the newer twenty-four ; 
Ring for them all in union grand, 

Proclaim, where'er your echoes go, 
These stand to-day, as those once stood, 

So many years ago. 

5 Ring sweetly, softly, O ye bells, 

For later slain, in blue and gray, 
Their valor tender memory tells, 

The rest is washed away. 
Ring saddest notes for Lincoln, dead, — 

Freedom's true friend and Slavery's foe, 
Grand hero, brave as all who bled 

So many years ago. 

6 Ring peaceful days that shall succeed ; 

Ring honor to the toiling brain ; 
Or sturdy hands that sow the seed, 

And reap the golden grain ; 
The hosts that gladder fields have won, 

And still up Freedom's heights shall go, 
Till finished is the work begun 

So many years ago. 



ELLEN O, PECK, 



A HUNDRED YEARS FROM NOW. 

1 The surging sea of human life forever onward rolls, 
And bears to the eternal shore its daily freight of 

souls ; 
Though bravely sails our bark to-day, pale Death sits 

at the prow, 
And few shall know we ever lived a hundred years 

from now. 

2 O mighty human brotherhood ! Why fiercely war 

and strive, 

While God's great world has ample space for every- 
thing alive ? 

Broad fields uncultured and unclaimed are waiting for 
the plow 

Of progress that shall make them bloom a hundred 
years from now. 



766 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



3 Why should we try so earnestly in life's short, nar- 

row span, 

On golden stairs to climb so high above our brother- 
man ? 

Why blindly at an earthly shrine in slavish homage 
bow ? 

Our gold will rust, ourselves be dust, a hundred 
years from now. 

4 Why prize so much the world's applause ? Why 

dread so much its blame ? 
A fleeting echo is its voice of censure or of fame ; 
The praise that thrills the heart, the scorn that dyes 

with shame the brow, 
Will be as long-forgotten dreams a hundred years 

from now. 

5 O patient hearts, that meekly bear your weary load 

of wrong ! 
O earnest hearts, that bravely dare, and striving, 

grow more strong ! 
Press on till perfect peace is won ; you'll never 

dream of how 
You struggled o'er life's thorny road a hundred years 

from now. 

6 Grand, lofty souls, who live and toil that freedom, 

right and truth 
Alone may rule the universe, for you is endless 

youth. 
When 'mid the blest with God you rest, the grateful 

land shall bow 
Above your clay in reverent love a hundred years 

from now. 

7 Earth's empires rise and fall. Time ! like breakers 

on thy shore 
They rush upon thy rocks of doom, go down, and 

are no more. 
The starry wilderness of worlds that gem night's 

radiant brow 
Will light the skies for other eyes a hundred years 

from now. 

8 Our Father, to whose sleepless eye the past and future 

stand 
An open page, like babes we cling to Thy protecting 

hand ; 
Change, sorrow, death, are naught to us, if we may 

safely bow 
Beneath the shadow of Thy throne a hundred years 

from now. 

MART A. FORD, 

GRANT IS DEAD. 

|0n hearing the university hell at Evanston toll for the death of Gen. 
Grant, at 9 o'clock A. M., July 23, 1885. J 

1 Toll bells from every steeple, 
Tell the sorrow of the people, 
Moan sullen guns and sigh 
For the greatest who could die. 
Grant is dead. 



2 Never so firm were set those moveless lips as now, 
Never so dauntless shone that massive brow. 
The " Silent Man " has passed into the silent tomb. 
Ring out our grief, sweet bell, 
The people's sorrow tell 
For the greatest wno could die. 
Grant is dead. 



3 " Let us have peace." 

Great heart, that peace has come to thee, 
Thy sword for freedom wrought, 
And now thy sword is free, 
While a rescued nation stands 
Mourning its fallen chief. 
The Southern with the Northern lands 
Akin in honest grief, 
The hands of black and white 
Shall clasp above thy grave, 
Children of the Republic all, 
No master and no slave. 
Almost " all summer on this line " 
Thou steadily didst fight it out, 
But Death, the silent, 
Matched at last our silent Chief, 
And put to rout his brave defence.- 
Moan sullen guns and sigh 
For the bravest who could die. 
Grant is dead. 



4 The huge world holds to-day 
No fame so great, so wide, 
As his whose steady eyes grew dim 
On Mt. McGregor's side 

Only an hour ago, and yet the whole great world 1 
learned 

That Grant is dead. 



O heart of Christ ! what joy 

Brings earth's new brotherhood ! 

All lands as one. 

Buckner, Grant's bed beside, 

The priest and Protestant in converse kind ; 

Prayers from all hearts, and Grant 

Praying we " all might meet in better worlds." 

Toll bells from every steeple, 

Tell the sorrow of the people, 

So true in life, so calm and strong, 

Bravest of all, in death suffering so long, 

And without one complaint ! 

Moan sullen guns and sigh 

For the greatest who could die. 

Salute the nation's head. 

Our Grant is dead. 

TRANCES E, WILLARD. 
In the "Inter-Ocean." 



MISCELLANEOUS DEPARTMENT. PATRIOTIC. POEMS OF PEACE. 



767 



IN PEACE. 



1 Flags of the nation droop low at half-mast ; 
Death o'er our eagle his shadow hath cast. 
The century wanes, and the great ones go fast. 

2 His was the Will that arose on our night, 
His was the hand to deliver with might, 
His now the soul plumed for heavenly flight. 

3 Stand forth, McGregor, a mount of the world, 
Death makes thee sacred ! Thy mourning unfurled 
Ensigns of sorrow, with tear-stars impearled. 

4 Tears that are trophies of love he has won, 
Northmen and Southron, East, West, are all one ; 
Captain of mighty hosts, Soldier, Well done ! 

5 Crest of the North, on thy bleak mountain side, 
Desolate, stricken, the mourners abide. 
Chieftain, thy grave in our hearts we will hide. 



"The To-Come of the world ! " Oh ! most glorious 
commission 
To each soldier enlisted in warfare divine. 
Not a sword or a spear shall we need in the battle, 
For the word of our Captain is, "Let your light 
shine." 
Marching on, marching on, with our banners unfurled, 
Be our watchword, "The Christ ! the To-Come of 
the world ! " 

NANNIE K.INSELLA. 
Chicago, 1881. 



THE MORTAL LIFE. 

A swallow poising in the candle-light, 

Surprised in confines — whence, where, what 
unknowing. 
Swift through the farther casement taking flight, 

Such is our life ; its measure coming, going. 

1AVINIA S. GOODWIN. 
"The Current." 1885. 



6 Saviour ! Adoring, we bring thee our slain, 
Courier of God, is the death-angel's paiD 

Thou who for man hast died, 

Thou who dost history guide, 

Thou, to supremest power great love allied ! 

7 Heart of our God, that is pledged on our side — 
Soldier, saint, sage or child, lover or bride. 

8 Worlds-full of each and all, find, 'neath the grave 
There, there the hiding of God's power to save. 

ISADOEE G. JEl'FERY, July 25, 1885. 



THE TO-COME OF THE WORLD. 



["America is the To-Come of the world.' 
missionary ordination in Chicago.] 



-Secretary N. O. CUrk, at the recent 



Hear the prophecy 



" The To-Come of the world ! 
glorious, 

How it rings like a joy-bell the ages adown, 
Since the promise was made of a Prince and a 
Saviour, 
Mighty Conqueror to be, and right worthy the 
crown. 
Ring the joy-bells again ! Let the echoes resound 
Over mountain and plain all the wide world around. 

"The To-Come of the world !" Oh ! how blessed the 
nation 

That responds to the call of this wonderful One ! 
In the land of His birth, amid hearts unbelieving, 

Could not many of His mighty wonders be done. 
Re it thine, O America, thine it may be, 
To believe on the Lord and His glory to see. 



LINES ON GENERAL GRANT. 

BTJKIED AUGUST 8, 1885. 

1 Hark ! the funeral bells are tolling, 

Requiems to the dead are sung ; 
Thunders from the cannon rolling, 
Tears from manly eyes are wrung. 

2 Yes, the Nation mourns her dead son, 

Weeps her loss — his gain forgetting, 

The "Man of Destiny," his race outrun 

Is crowned immortal, Victory's won. 

3 'T is finished. Tho' we nevermore 

Upon that dauntless form shall gaze, 

From pole to pole, from shore to shore, 

Shall gently waft the hero's praise. 



4 Hero on many a battle field. 

On none more brave than on that day 
When the greatest of conquerors called him to 
yield, 
To lay down his arms and obey. 

5 Oh ! such a life and such a death 

Shall they not wreath a glory round his name ? 
To grow more brilliant with every breath 
To blossom, and illume the scroll of fame. 

6 And so farewell ! sad word, farewell ! 

It is not death to die — why weep ? 
Remember, as we hear the hope's death-knell, 
That, "He giveth His beloved, sleep." 



768 WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

PREFATORY NOTE. 
ORIGIN OF MEMORIAL DAY. 

Decoration day was orignated at Arlington in 1862 by Mrs. Sarah J. Evans, who went with her hus- 
band into the Union Army a year after their marriage, and remained until the end of the war, ministering to 
the wounded and performing a service which ought to make her grave (she died in Des Moines only a few 
months ago) an object of interest throughout the nation. In the sad years of the war the Decoration-day 
procession was more like a funeral procession than the Memorial-day parade of the present time, and flowers 
were strewn upon the graves of soldiers as an act of mourning. It is evident that a change in the character 
of the memorial was to be expected, if its observance is to be made a perpetual custom ; for, after the death 
of all the friends of the soldiers who fell in the war, there will be none to decorate soldiers' graves with the 
same feelings of sorrow which made the Decoration day of the first decade an occasion of such solemnity. 

The sacrifice of life is not forgotten in its later observance, but exultation in the heroism which made the 
sacrifice, is now the chief element of the memorial, and properly. The scope of the memorial has been ex- 
panded, and as the day of all patriots who have suffered or performed distinguished service for their country, 
Memorial day is destined to permanent observation. All the brave who have died for the nation, and all 
the patriot dead who have performed conspicuous deeds for its welfare, in whatever sphere of life, should be 
remembered on Memorial day, and their graves should be strewn with flowers. — New York Mail and JEx- 
1884, 



TREAD SOFTLY. 



ALICE S. MITCHELL. 



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770 WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

IN THE VALLEY OF PEACE. OR COVER THEM OVER. 

Wcrds by Miss M. E. SERVOSS. By per. Music by Mrs. HARRIET HOLMAN. 

The entire poem from which these two stanzas are taken, is published in full, on page 772. 
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MISCELLANEOUS DEPARTMENT. PATRIOTIC. MEMORIAL OR DECORATION DAY. 



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WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



IN THE VALLEY OF PEACE. 

Down in the evergreen valley of Peace, 

Waiting the hour when earth's warfare shall cease, 

Waiting in silence, nor weary, nor worn, 

Rest the brave heroes our loyal hearts mourn. 

Come with bright garlands sweet-scented and rare, 

Cover these mounds while you whisper a prayer 

For the dear friends who know not where they lie 

Resting to-day 'neath the clear vaulted sky ; 

Over these hearts, once so fervent and true, 

Scatter sweet roses, and violets blue ; 

Never a flower for their graves was too fair, 

Twining them lovingly — drape them with care. 

When the first battle-call thrilled through the land, 

When every heart by the shock was unmanned ; 

All else forgotten, their country to save, 

Firmly they marched to the brink of the grave ; 

Heedless of danger, of shot and of shell, 

Now they are sleeping where bravely they fell : 

Sweet rest, sweet rest crowneth each martyred brow. 

Birds of the woodland, your joyous notes raise, 

Singing your beautiful songs to their praise. 

Flag of the Nation they died to uphold, 

Wave in their honor your every bright fold ! 

Stars of the firmament, shining on high, 

Bend to these heroes whose deeds cannot die ! 

Many the loved ones who mourn them to-day, 

Poor, childless mothers grown wrinkled and gray, 

Hearts that still listen their voices to hear, 

Eyes that have watched for them year after year. 

When 'we all meet at the judgment of souls, 

When the great scroll of God's record unrolls, 

Theirs shall be written in letters of gold 

High with the names of the heroes of old. 

Come with bright blossoms that grew in the wild-wood, 

Wreathe for them roses, sweet roses, and lilies, 

Fair lilies they loved in their childhood : 

Deck them with roses, with violets blue, 

Sure their reward, for Jehovah is true. 

MISS M. E. SERVOSS, 

Chicago, 111., 1881. 

By permission. Copyright 1881, by R. S. Harrington, and published 

with music, in sheet form, by R, A. Saalfield, 839 Broadway, New York. 

NASTURTIUMS. 

1 Bright flowers, still loyal to the summer's heart, — 

Flag of her blazonry on death-strewn field, — 
Hold high aloft your banners, act your part, 
And, like the patriot-martyr, never yield, 
But clasp, undaunted, your firm radiate shield ; 
Sword from your golden scabbard proudly wield! 

2 I know ye, glorious flowers incarnadine ! 

Your twining stems have grappled round my life ; 
For o'er twin patriot graves your blossoms lean, 
And on white stones are cut with sculptor's 

knife, — 
Symbol of blood shed in a country's strife, 
With sacred love and holy memories rife ! 



3 Your aromatic fragrance I inspire ; 
Type of how costly sacrifice ! the tear 

Of deep affection springs ; my strong desire 

Calls back those fresh young faces, souls of 

fire, — 
My brothers ! — offered on fair Freedom's pyre. 

4 Bloom till ye fall like heroes at the front ; 

With gold and crimson colors lead the fight ; 
How well your green escutcheon bears the brunt ! 
Your flaming rays still challenge winter's night, 
Guerdon that brave souls shall not suffer blight, 
But "precious shall their blood be in His sight ! " 

LOUISA P. HOPKINS. 



EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-FIVE. 



FOB MEMORIAL DAY, 



Twenty years have 

The Nation lives — the Blue, the Gray, 

Mingle in common brotherhood, 

Each loyal to his Country's good ; 

And should a foreign foe invade the land, 

No North, no South, but each with good right 

hand 
Will fight her wars and for her safety stand. 

Not vainly were those precious life-drops shed, 

Not vainly did the battle count its dead, 

Not is it all in vain 

That from the Gulf to piney-crested Maine, 

From ocean shore to ocean shore, 

The graves of soldiers mark the Country o'er — 

A span, if North or South — the honored hero lies, 

Of one great bond of loyal sacrifice. 

In yearly flower-strewn mound we read 
The reverent tribute men will pay to those 
Who, throwing self and self's small aims aside, 
To save the Nation's sanctity and pride, 
Rush to her rescue, in her hour of need. 

Land of the free ! Home of the earth's oppressed ! 

The hands which now strew flowers of Spring, 

In love, o'er thy defenders' earth-kept rest, 

Would, quick as the lightning flash, 

Draw loyal sword in thy behalf, 
Should there be power so rash 
As even to touch with unclean hand 
Thy blessed banner's staff ! 
Hearts loyal are not dead ; 
The blood of heroes has not all been shed. 

And for proud Liberty, the goddess of our land, 

In her estate of majesty to stand, 

The brave, the true, the loyal of her sons, 

The life despising, freedom-loving ones, 

Their aims, their fortunes freely, gladly given, 

Would build their lives in such a wall for her defense, 

As should reach up to bights of highest heaven ! 



MISCELLANEOUS DEPARTMENT: PATRIOTIC. MEMORIAL OR DECORATION DAY. 



773 



IN MEMORIAM. 



Strew the flowers, bright flowers, 

O'er the noble soldier-dead ; 

Put a starry cross at foot, 

And place a starry flag at head. 
Loving hands, tender hands, 
Loyal hands of comrades old, 
Spread the sunny mound of green 
With Spring's new blossomings of gold. 

Strew flowers, fair flowers, 

Make each grave of soldier bright 

With living hues of rose, and gold, 

And amethyst, and angel white. 

Comrades, o'er your comrade dead, 
Softly, gently lay them down ; 
A blood-red rose and one of white, 
Emblems of martyr's glory crown. 

The sons of soldiers, — and the sons 

Of those whose sires in battle died, 

Each little boyish bosom filled 

With ebb and flow of patriot pride — 

Fill well their little hands with flowers, 

Let them the graves of soldiers strew, 

A token that for their own land 

Their little hearts beat leal and true. 

Let maids, the daughters of the ones 
Whose mothers gave their noble sons, 
A wreath of fairest flowers weave 
To lay above each hero's grave. 

Strew flowers, bright flowers, 

Fair flowers, — one and all — 

Let them like sweet showers of loves, 

Or like a snowy flock of doves, 

Over each noble soldier's mound, 

By Spring's bright crown of emerald crowned, 

In grateful benediction fall. 

The flowers — they are emblems 
Of that coming end of night, 
When those who sleep 
In earth's cold keep, 
Clothed all in beauty bright, 
Shall grandly rise 
To meet in skies 
The risen Lord of Light. 

Then strew the soldier graves with flowers, 

With flowers their bosoms heap, 

In sign of resurrection morn, 

When those shall wake, who sleep ; 

And with a tear, — to mark the year, 

Gemming the flower-strewn sod, 

And with a low and loving prayer, 

Leave them alone with God. 



MBS. M. P, DAWSON. 

Hartford, May 30, 1885. 
The above is from a poem written and read by Mrs, Dawson at Hartford, 
Conn., on Decoration Day.) 



The surviving ex-prisoners and relatives will he interested in knowing 
that the Andersonville martyrs were notforgotten on "Decoration Day." 
Frank W. Smith, of Toledo, Ohio, an ex-prisoner who suffered in An- 
dersonville, Milieu, Blackshire and Florence prisons, was at Anderson- 
ville a short time before I visited the old stockade, looking over thn 
scenes of the horrors of twenty years ago. T. W, Bryant informs me 
that Mr. Smith came back to the National Cemetery at Andersonville 
on Decoration Day, and read the following beautiful poem at the Me- 
morial S.rvicesin the "city of the dead." It was written for the occasion 
by a lady whose name is signed below. [Ed. Des Moines ' ' Journal."] 



ANDERSONVILLE ON DECORATION DAY. 



MEMOBIAL DAY AT ANDEBSONVILLE, 1884. 

1 O Comrades, on each lonely grave we place one 

flower to-day 
More sweet than any that shall bloom upon the heart 

of May ; 
More flush in blue and crimson, with starry splendor 

crowned, 
Because the thunders raged above, the darkness 

hemmed around ; 
The flower that our fathers saw an hundred years be- 
fore, — 
A tiny tendril springing by the lonely cabin door, — 
'T was sown in fears, 't was wet with tears, till, lo ! 

it burst to view, 
The symbol of a nation's hopes, — the Red, the White, 

the Blue. 

2 Ah ! not in anger, or in strife, we come with laden 

hands, — 
The crimson retinues of war are off in other lands. — 
We bring the blossoms we have nursed to shed their 

honied breath, 
Where erst the reeling ranks of war unbarred the 

gates of death ; 
We lift the dear dead faces of our heroes to the light, 
We raise the pallid hands of theirs, we clasp and hold 

them tight ; 
We say ; O brothers, rise and see the peace you helped 

to woo, 
Whose snowy pinions hover o'er the Red, the White, 

the Blue. 

3 Not yours, O silent comrades, the ecstacy of strife, 
The haughty exaltation that rounds the hero's .ife ; 
Not yours the flash of sabers, the shouts of the advance, 
The gleam of thrusting bayonets that shiver as they 

glance ; 
Not yours upon the parapet your banner to unfurl, 
To die with victory on your lips, as back your feet 

they hurl ; 
The whisper of a kindling hope, while gaily over you 
The silken folds are dancing out — the Red, the White, 

the Blue. 



774 



WOMAJV IN SACRED SONG. 



4 Nay, to your homesick vision the mask of Death was 

up, 
His icy breath was round, his draught was in the cup ; 
A terror walks at noonday ; the dreams that throng 

the night, 
But take the wings of morning and vanish ere the light. 
But oh ! our fallen heroes, one gleam of heaven shines 
Upon the ghastly phalanxes, along the ragged lines, 
And eyes grown dim with watching are lit with 

courage new, 
They've heard the tramp of comrades, with the Bed, 
'the White, the Blue. 

5 O comrades of the prison, ye have not died in vain, 
For lo ! the march of harvests where war has trod the 

plain ! 
And lo ! the breath of lilies and of rose beyond compare, 
And the sound of children chanting where the cannon 

rent the air ! 
We clasp our hands above you, with tearful hearts to- 
day, 
Your brothers who have worn the blue, your brothers 

of the gray ; 
Our hearts are one forever, whatever men may do, 
And over all the glory of the Red, the White, the Blue. 

6 Ah ! not in strife, or anger, or idle grief we come, 
With thrill and throb of bugle, with clamor of the 

drum : 
We've heard the wings of healing above the war's 

surcease, 
And lo ! the Great Commander has set the watchword, 

" Peace ! " 
Peace, to the free-born millions who live to do and 

dare, 
Peace, in each brave endeavor, in whatever lot they 

share ! 
Above, the triune colors, so dear to me and you, 
The splendid flower that Freedom guards, the Red, 

the White, the Blue. 



"OUR UNFORGOTTEN DEAD." 

BEAD ON DECORATION DAT. HARTFOBD, CONN., 

In every loyal state to-day, 

Down dusty city-street and shady village-way, 

With martial tread they learned so long ago, 

With floating flags, with music, soft and low, 

With fragrant blossoms of the spring, 

With every tribute love can bring, 

They come, our living veterans come, 

And lay their offerings at the feet 

Of our dead heroes sleeping sweet, 

After the noise and the battle's heat, 

Each in his silent grassy home. 

" Our unforgotten dead ! " 

Could better, nobler words be said, 

Could grander, deeper book be read, 

Than this immortal story that we all love so, 



This spotless record of those lives of twenty years ago ? 
The scene before us changes. The Past has come 

again, 
And all these gallant comrades that now so still are 

lain, 
Are pressing on beside you, with brave hearts beating 

high, 
Are pressing on beside you, to conquer or to die ; 
You can see them marching onward, scorning every 

thought of fear, 
You can see their earnest faces, and their ringing words 

of cheer, 
In the thickest, blackest conflict, once again you 

plainly hear ; 
Father, mother, children, wife, 
Everything you hold most dear, 
Everything most cherished here, 
You are leaving, while the fife, 
The drum and trumpet call you onward to the fray, 
Loudly call the brave " Blue" southward, 
There to meet the ranks of gray. 
Through the long and weary marches, 
Where the smoke of cannon rolled, 
Through the dreary midnight watches, 
In the bitter, bitter cold, 
In the thickest of the battle, 
In the storm of shot and shell, 
One by one your comrades left you, 
On the field of glory fell. 
Many a silent prayer you uttered, 
Many a bitter tear you shed, 
As you hurried on and left them 
In the columns of the dead, 
In the burning, southern sunlight, 
Brave and steadfast, on you went, 
Through the rattling rain of bullets, 
From the rebel muskets sent, 
'Till the battles all were over, 
'Till the cruel war did cease, 
'Till beside the wreath of laurel, 
Lay the olive wreath of peace. 

* * * * # # 

" Our unforgotten dead ! " 
Yes, again to-day you're coming 
As you oft have come before, 
On death's still and silent camp-ground, 
You have met again once more ; 
Every year your ranks grow thinner, 
And a few more tents are spread, 
Every year a new flag floateth, 
In this city of the dead. 
As you place your snowy garlands 
On the waving grass to-day, 
Do you think of those brave brothers, 
Lying many miles away ? 
On the banks of every river, 
Where the southern sunlight gleams, 
In the field and tangled wild-wood, 
By the lonely lakes and streams, 
Where the white magnolia blossoms, 



MISCELLANEOUS DEPARTMENT. PATRIOTIC. MEMORIAL OR DECORATION LAY. 



775 



4 On the Carolina coast, 

Where the holly drops its berries 
In a ruby, shining host, 
Where the cotton sheds its whiteness, 
Where the long, gray mosses creep, 
Where the pines are dirges chanting, 
There our unforgotten sleep. 

5 " Our unforgotten dead ! " 

They know not your tears are falling, 

They see not the flowers you bring, 

They wake not, though drums are calling, 

They hear not the songs you sing ; 

After life's battle, they're quietly sleeping, 

Eyes closed forever and hands at rest, 

While a loving watch you are faithfully keeping, 

Over them, bravest, noblest, and best. 

In the fading light, at the day's declining, 

Marching away, you will leave them alone, 

Alone, with the stars above them shining, 

Alone, with the night wind's dreary moan ; 

But every garland that you have been twining, 

Every word you have spoken to-day, 

Is a message of love that you have been signing 

With your name, and one that will last alway. 

CARRIE E. BUGBEY. 
Hartford, Conn., May 30, 1883. 



ftoj. $mma C ©wntoiff 

Has an ever-ready and graceful pen. She is a very earnest worker in 
many good causes, especially that of temperance, For two years past, 
she has been the able and efficient president of the Thirteenth District 
of the Illinois Woman's Christian Temperance Union. Sept. 1885. 

BRING FLOWERS. 

SUNG ON DECORATION DAY IN DELAVAN, ILL., 1871. 

1 The nation hath said, 

" For the heroes that bled, 
That the union might never be severed— 
On their graves, in the May, 
Let us tenderly lay 
The blossoms affection hath gathered." 
Chorus — Then flowers bring, 
And praises sing, 
And echoes ring, 
With the story 
Of heroes brave 
Who freely gave 
Their lives to save 
Their country's glory. 

2 The deeds they have done, 
And the name they have won, 

Our grateful hearts cherish with fervor ; 
So an offering we bring 
Of the bright flowers of spring, 

And we'll sing of our heroes forever. 

EMMA E. ORENDORFF. 



FOR FREEDOM'S SAKE. 

1 O Wind ! If thou should find a grave, 

By every human love forgot, 
Where sleeps some lonely soldier brave, 

Sigh softly o'er the spot. 
Rustle the wild, long grasses there, 

And through thy chambers vast awake 
The echoes of his parting prayer 

Who died for Freedom's sake. 
2' O Bird ! Your morning mass sing there — 

There, in the dawning gray and dim ; 
And in the gloaming still and fair 

Sing there your vesper hymn. 
Over that unremembered grave 

A sweet memorial service make ; 
It is a soldier's, true and brave, 

Who died for Freedom's sake. 

3 Asphodel and Flowering Vine ! 

O fair Wild Roses, white and red ! 
In the long grasses intertwine 

A garland for the dead. 
With tears of dew at dawning dim 

Your saddest, sweetest offering make ; 
For flowers may weep and die for him 

Who died for Freedom's sake. 

4 Take roses in both hands, and strew 

The graves of those to honor known ; 
But oh ! one tender thought is due 

To him who died alone ! 
Alone, with none but God to see 

The young, brave soul his bondage break ; 
And yet he fought for Liberty, 

And died for Freedom's sake ! 

AMELIA E. BARR. 
Cornwall-on-the-Hudson, 1885. 



THE UNION ARMY. 

A MEMORIAL DAY TRIBUTE. 

1 Like some stupendous elm tree 

The Union army stands ; 
Its branches wave o'er many a grave — 

The graves that link two lands ; 
It spreadeth North, it spreadeth South, 

It spreadeth East and West ; 
It hangs o'er the cannon's silent mouth, 

Where a bird might build her nest. 

2 But the old limbs of this monarch 

Are dropping day by day ; 
By battles scarred, and by Time's scythe marred, 

They are falling fast away. 
The boughs that bore us the fruit of peace, 

That sheltered us through war's night, 
From the grand old tree are breaking free 

And dying in our sight. 



776 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



3 We know there are strong young branches, 

All full of the sap of life, 
But each old bough that is drooping now 

Grew dear through a nation's strife. 
We feel new pity and love and pride 

For the loyal boys in blue, 
As the ranks close in and the lines grow thin, 

And graves crowd fast on our view. 

4 Thrice beautiful and sacred 

Be this Memorial Day, 
When the warriors true, who wore the blue, 

Are all of them wearing the gray. 
Wearing the gray in their whitened locks, 

As with steady, martial tread 
They follow the ranks on mystic banks, 

And go marching down to the dead. 

5 Scatter the floral tributes 

Over the thickening graves. 
On the sun-kissed air, unstained and fair, 

Our splendid banner waves. 
Freedom grows well in our country's soil, 

Behold how it blooms and thrives. 
But we must not forget that its roots were wet 

With the blood of a million lives. 

ELLA WHEELER WILCOX. 

Meriden. Ct., May 27. 



PASSING AWAY. 

1 Passing away ; passing away ; 

The sweet Summer roses are passing away ; 
Their beauty is wasted, their fragrance has fled, 
And withering may lie in their clamp, lowly bed ; 
Aud fair, dewy morns in their splendor will rise, 
The pale stars glow soft in the evening's clear skies ; 
The cooling dew fall, and the musical rain, 
But these roses will brighten, ah, never again ! 

2 Passing away ; passing away ; 

Bright hopes of my youth — how they're passing 

away, 
With the beautiful visions that gladden. my eyes 
By daytime and nighttime, as sunlight the skies ! 
Oh ! hope may come back to my sorrowful heart ; 
Bright dreams from their long-silent chambers may 

start, 
But those of my youth I may woo all in vain, 
For they ne'er will return to their beauty again ! 

3 Passing away ; passing away ; 

Friends I have loved — how they're passing away ! 

I have watched them go down to that cold, solemn 

tide, 
While the pale, silent boatman kept close to their 

side ; 
I've caught the dull dip of their deep, muffled oar. 
As he bore them away to that echoless shore ! 
And my heart cryeth out in its desolate pain, 
But they ne'er will return to bless me again ! 



4 Passing away ; passing away ; 
Yet I know of a land where there is no decay, 
Where the balmy air's filled with the richest per- 
fume 
From sweet, fragrant flowers, and fadeless their 

bloom ; 
Where the soul never grieves as it doth here below, 
O'er fair, vanished dreams, o'er hope's fitful glow, 
Where linked and forever is love's golden chain, 
And parting words chill us. Oh ! never again ! 



MRS. BISHOP SIMPSON. 

tor*. 

1745-1833. 

Hannah More was the daughter of Jacob More, a village schoolmaster 
at Stapleton, in Gloucestershire, England, where she was born in 1745. 
Her father, gave her the rudiments of a classical education, which she 
finished at her sister's boarding school in Bristol. 

When seventeen she published her first work, a pastoral drama, "The 
Search after Happiness." She was engaged to be married to an elderly 
gentleman of fortune, who did not marry her, but gave her an annuity 
for life, and £1000 at his death. With these means she was able to pur- 
sue a literary career at London, until a sense of religious duty caused 
her to leave the metropolis, and reside near Bristol with her sisters. 
She occupied herself with writing very useful works and tracts. "The 
Shepherd of Salisbury Plain " had soon a sale of a million of copies. 

For nearly seventy years she continued her literary career. She wrote 
many secular, aud numerous sacred tragedies. Among the latter are 
"Plorio," "The Bas Bleu," "Sensibility," and "Sir Edward of the Browne." 
The celebrated Dr. Johnson, of England, considered her the best wo- 
man poet of her generation. "From one of her sacred dramas entitled, 
"Daniel," the following speech of Daniel on being condemned to death, 
is selected. She died Sept. 7, 1833. 

AND WHAT IS DEATH? 
And what is death, my friend, that I should fear it ? 
To die ! why 't is to triumph ; 'tis to join 
The great assembly of the good and just : 
Immortal worthies, heroes, prophets, saints ! 
Oh ! 't is to join the band of holy men, 
Made perfect by their sufferings ! 'T is to meet 
My great progenitors ; 't is to behold 
The illustrious patriarchs ; they with whom the Lord 
Deign'd hold familiar converse ! 'Tis to see 
Bless'd Noah and his children : once a world. 
'Tis to behold (O rapture to conceive !) 
Those we have known, and loved, and lost below : 
Behold Azariah and the band of brothers 
Who sought in bloom of youth the scorching flames ! 
Nor shall we see heroic men alone, 
Champions who fought the fight of faith on earth; 
But heavenly conquerors, angelic hosts, 
Michael and his bright legions- who subdued 
The foes of Truth ! To join their blest employ 
Of love and praise ! To the high melodies 
Of choirs celestial to attune my voice, 
Accordant to the golden harps of saints ! 
To join in blest hosannas to their being ! 
Whose face to see, whose glory to behold, 
Alone were heaven, though saint or seraph none 
Should meet our sight, and only God were there ! 
This is to die ! Who would not die for this ? 
Who would not die that he might live forever ? 

HANNAH MORE. 



MISCELLANEOUS. CRUMBS OF COMFORT. THOUGHTS FOR LIFE'S EVENING HOURS, 



777 



THE TWO LEGACIES. 

1 What do we leave to our beloved ? 
A little Gold, all stained with tears, 
And gained with toil of bitter years, 
And kept with constant care and fears — 

2 A Home, whose every room doth know 
The sounds of mortal pain and woe ; 
Where death hath freedom to and fro — 

3 Some pleasant Acres, where with toil 
Bright flowers will beautify the soil ; 
To be of frost and storm the spoil — 

4 And with it all, perchance, a Name, 
High written in the roll of Fame ; 
Which our descendants soil and stain. 

5 A common Grave, which none may shun, 
The end of all — the earthly sum 

Of all that's done beneath the sun. 

6 What did Christ leave to His beloved ? 
His Word, the surest, plainest guide ; 



His certain Promise to provide 
For every want that can betide — 

7 The sweetness of His Love untold, 
That nothing good can e'er withhold, 
And in His heart our griefs doth fold— 

8 His Peace, an angel uncoufessed, 
That broodeth o'er the troubled breast 
Till all is tranquil, calm, and rest — 

9 The Comforter, who stills our sighs, 
And wipes the tears from weeping eyes, 
And whispers hopes of Paradise — 

10 The parting words at Bethany, 
The Blessing and the verity 
Of " where I am, there shall ye be." 

110 sweetest Christ ! Hear Thou my prayer, 
Of Legacy so grand and fair 
Make me inheritor and heir. 



LI1LIE E. BAKR. 



THE DARK SHALL BE MADE LIGHT. 




1. A bright - er day is draw - ing near, The dark shall be made light, When morn - ing 

2. Press for - ward then, thou anx - ious soul, Tho' oft with wea - ry feet, For joy and 

3. Bright an - gel forms are hov - 'ring near, To guide us in the right, And wins - per 



rives the 

peace shall 

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From "Good Cheer," edited 



Prof. T. Martin Towne and Prof. J. 



778 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



PASS THIS WAY 
1 This way ! 



BUT ONCE. 



"Where sweet-breathed violets usher in the Spring, 
Where Summer roses spicy fragrance bring, 
Where Autumn blooms in richest colors blend, 
Where Winter's snowy robes their beauty lend, 
I pass this way but once ! 

2 This way ! 

Where melting love looks out from beaming eyes, 
Where Sorrow's sympathy brings glad surprise, 
Where mothers with full souls their children press, 
Where little hearts give back the fond caress, 
I pass this way but once ! 

3 This way ! 

Where joy, the purest, richest, most sincere, 
Is soonest followed by the scalding tear ; 
Where the warm crimson tide a breath may chill, 
Where swift disease the rapid pulse may still, 
I pass this way but once ' 

4 This way ! 

Where " silent cities " ever grow apace, 
Beside each noisy town whose beauty, grace 
And strength are taxed the noiseless growth to aid, 
With stern demand that may not be gainsayed, 
I pass this way but once ! 

5 This way ! 

Where words of tenderness may prove a balm, 
Where look of love the grief-tossed heart may ealm, 
Where 'neath the Rock the sin-sick soul may hide, 
Where prayer the gate of pearl throws open wide, 
I pass this way but once ! 

6 This way ! 

Where pilgrim steps may never backward turn ; 
Sweet friends, shall not our souls within us burn 
To scatter, as we go, what good we may, 
And lay up treasures for a brighter day ? 
We pass this way but once ! 



THE BEAUTIFUL LAND. 

1 Speak to me of the beautiful land, 
Speak to me of the heavenly strand ; 
Of white sails lit with a softer glow 
Than moonlight falling on wreaths of snow ; 
Of streams that flow over pearly beds, 
Where graceful willows bend their heads ; 
Speak to me of the heavenly strand — 
Speak to me of the beautiful land. 

2 Speak to me of the fruits most rare, 
That blush and ripen in purer air 

Than is wafted here from our sweetest groves ; 

Speak of the angel band that roves 

Under the arbors down by the sea ; 

Waft some heavenly strains to me, 

A lonely ehild on Time's dark shore ; 

Waft some exquisite music o'er ; 

Speak to me of the angel-band, 

Speak to me of the beautiful land. 



3 Speak to me of their endless joys, 
Speak to me of their sweet employs ; 

Of the tree of knowledge with no dark blight, 
No chilling frost and no wintry night ; 
Of the One who has died my soul to save, 
Of the mother who lives beyond the grave ; 
Lives, and watches and waits for me, 
Under the arbors down by the sea ; 
Perchance she is waving now her hand, 
Beckoning me to the beautiful land. 

4 Shadowy boatman, I fear thee not ; 
Come to me from the unseen grot. 
Nearer and nearer he comes each day, 
It cannot be he is far away ; 

I can almost see — I can almost see 

Death's shadowy boatman coming for me. 

On the storm-lashed shore, where the throng is great, 

Every evening I stand and wait ; 

Wait for the boatman to reach the strand, 

And bear me hence to the beautiful land. 



THE LAND O' THE LEAL. 

1 I'm wear in' awa', John, 

Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, John ; 
I'm wearin' awa' 

To the Land o' the Leal. 
There's nae sorrow there, John, 

There's neither cauld nor care, John, 
The day's aye fair 

I' the Land o' the Leal. 

2 You've been leal an' true, John, 

Your task's ended noo, John ; 
And I'll welcome you 

To the Land o' the Leal. 
Then dry your tearfu' e'e, John, 

My soul langs to be free, John, 
And angels beckon me 

To the Land o' the Leal. 

3 Our bonnie bairn's there, John, 

She was baith gude an' fair, John ; 
And Oh ! we grudged her sair 

To the Land o' the Leal ! 
But sorrow's sel' wears past, John, 

And joys are comin' fast, John, 
The joy that's aye to last 

I' the Land o' the Leal. 

4 Our friends are a' gane, John, 

We've lang been left alane, John 
We'll a' meet again 

I' the Land o' the Leal. 
Then fare-ye-well, my ain John, 

This world's care's very vain, John, 
We'll meet and aye be fain 

I' the Land o' the Leal. 

I LADY NAIRN. 



OUR YEARS. 




Our lives will be told by the light we shed 
On those who follow where we may lead, 

And our years be measured by what is said 

On the soul's worn page, which the Judge will: 
read. 



MISCELLANEOUS. CRUMBS OF COMFORT. THOUGHTS OF LIFE'S EVENING HOURS. 



779 



MY LESSON. 

There was a time in which I did not know 
The blessedness of sorrow, nor could see 
How that dread cup proof of Christ's love could be, 

Nor why He gives because He loves us so. 

I was impatient, and to learn was slow ; 
And yet, this lesson He has taught to me, 
Watching, until I learned the mystery ; — 

With tenderest care, while I lay faint and low, 

When faded from me every earthly thing, 

Through the long darkness He was close beside, 
'T was to Him only I could call and cling, 

'T was on His love alone that I relied, — 

That wondrous love no mortal e'er can sing 
Or know, who has not suffered by His side. 



NO DEATH. 

I cannot prove it, but pray tell me, friend, 
What would you think of any artist, who 
Should work with patient hand and impulse true 

To paint great pictures, and, the happy end 

Attained, one quick strong blow should lend, 

Rending the speaking canvas through and through ? 

I cannot prove it ; but what would you say 
Of one, who, looking on the marble, sees 
The angel hidden there, and by degrees, 

Works till it also sees the light of day, 

Then strikes against his perfect carven thought, 
Against the wonder his own hands have wrought — ■ 

Forever laying all its beauty low ?' 

Shall God do worse than this ? Nay, friend, not so. 



In a letter from the author of the following poem, written during the 
summer of 1884 while spending the season at Ocean Grove, she says :— " I 
have been learning lessons for myself, lately, from a lady — deaf to out- 
ward things, hut wonderfully taught of God. I call her my ' seer', she 
wears so thin a veil of flesh, and sees spiritual things so clearly. She tells 
me, in regard to my art (I suppose you know my vocation is not 
verse making, but picture making), that God can do wonders through the 
passive hand— that He will stretch forth His hand through ours,— if we 
let Him— to work in things little and great, and the power of Life will 
be felt in and through them. ' But'— she adds—' we must hold as still 
as death, to let Him work.' I hope He is doing this work for you, and 
that you are bearing no burdens in it, feeling no fear as to results." 
Cordially yours. 

Ma by A. Lathbury. 
Ocean Grove, July, 1884. 

ASPIRATION. 

Wings ! wings ! 
To leave the level of earthly things ; 
The dust of the under-world ; the din 
Of law and logic ; the ghost of sin ; 
The eyes of prisoners at the grate ; 
The voice of beggars beside the gate ; 
The sense of something averse to good — 
A warped intention — a vicious mood 
In the face of nature ; a sense more keen 
Of lapse, and breakage, and death within ; 
The self that stifles, and clings and stings ; 

Wings ! wings ! 



Wings ! wings ! 
To touch the hem of the veil that swings, 
As moved by the breath of God, between 
The world of sense and the world unseen ; 
To swoon where the mystic folds divide, 
And wake a child, on the other side ! 
To wake and wonder if it be so, 
And weep for joy at the loss of woe ; 
To know the seeker is sought and found ; 
To find Love's being, but not his bound ; 
Oh ! for the living that dying brings ! 

Wings ! wings ! 



gtrs. $tanfo, m Corey, 

Was born in Brookline, Mass. She was married at nineteen, and 
soon after made a tour of the most interesting countries of Europe. 
On her return she published a volume entitled " The Broken Vow, and 
other Poems," nearly all of which were written between the ages of 
fourteen and eighteen. They are all dictated by a truly Christian spirit, 
and many of them are quite meritorious for one so young. The one be- 
low was written about 1848, when she was not more than seventeen or 
eighteen years of age. 

WHEN IS THE TIME TO DIE? 

1 I asked a glad and happy child, 

Whose hands were fill'd with flowers, 
Whose silvery laugh rang free and wild, 

Among the vine-wreathed bowers. 
I cross'd her sunny path and cried, 

"When is the time to die ? " 
"Not yet ! not yet ! " the child replied, 

And swiftly bounded by. 

2 I ask'd a maiden ; back she flung 

The tresses of her hair : 
A whisper'd name was on her tongue, 

Whose memory hover'd there. 
A flush pass'd o'er her lily brow, 

I caught her spirit's sigh , 
" Not, not," she cried, " Oh ! no, not now I 

Youth is no time to die." 

3 I ask'd a mother, as she prest 

Her first-born in her arms, 
As gently on her tender breast 

She hush'd her babe's alarms. 
In quivering tones her answer came, 

Her eyes were dim with tears, 
"My boy his mother's life must claim, 

For many, many years ! " 

4 I question'd one in manhood's prime, 

Of proud and fearless air, 
His brow was furrow'd not by time, 

Or diram'd by woe and care. 
In angry accents he replied, — 

And gleam'd with scorn his eye, 
"Talk not to me of death," he cried, 

"For only age should die." 



780 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG, 



5 I questional Age ; for him, the tomb 

Had long been all prepared, 
But death, who withers youth and bloom, 

This man of years had spared. 
Ouce more his nature's dying fire 

Flash'd high, as thus he cried : 
" Life, only life, is my desire ! " 

Then gasped and groaned and died. 

6 I ask'd a Christian — "Answer thou 

When is the hour of death ; " 
A holy calm was on his brow, 

And peaceful was his breath ; 
And sweetly o'er his features stole 

A smile, a light divine ; 
He spoke the language of his soul, 

" My Master's time is mine ! " 

AMANDA. M. BDMOND. 

|aitns §xmll m$t 

Was born about the year 1859, and died in 1883, making her about 24 
years of age at the time of her departure. Her life was passed 'almost 
entirely in the city of Milwaukee, Wis., where her universal talents did 
not fail to bring her into recognition and distinction. She was slight in 
figure, but attractive in face, form and manner, and her exquisite voice 
was pronounced rich and powerful. Her townspeople say of her that 
she knew how to sing and what to sing. She was a member of the Epis- 
copal Church, beloved and honored. At au early age she had a very 
keen insight and appreciation of the best literature, and when but 
twenty years of age wrote the book notices for the Milwaukee "Sen- 
tinal." 

Of her poems, her biographer — Hattie Tyng Griswold— says : "That 
they were real poems by a poet whose songs gushed from the heart, no 
one ever questioned. They told of love and daring, pain and passion, 
struggle and unrest; of deep longing and questioning of the poet's 
heart, not to be mistaken. Here was evidently a poet born, and not 
made.'' 

The following is the last poem she ever wrote, penned as she was ap- 
proaching the "shadowy land," as some term it, but the real, true 
home, to all whose faith is stayed in Christ. 



6 O dear lost love ! O new love yet too strange 
For lawful kiss ! walk with me wraith and form ; 
Somewhere I may descry in this sad change, 
Stars in the storm. 



FANNY DRISCOLL WHITE, 1883. 



IF WE HAD BUT A DAY. 

1 We should fill the hours with the sweetest things, 

If we had but a day ; 
We should drink alone at the purest springs 

In our upward way ; 
We should love with a life-tim's love in an hour, 

If the hours were few ; 
We should rest, not for dreams, but for fresher power 

To be and to do. 

2 We should guide our wayward or wearied wills 

By the clearest light ; 
We should keep our eyes on the heavenly hills, 

If they lay in sight. 
We should trample the pride and the discontent 

Beneath our feet ; 
We should take whatever a good God sent, 

With a trust complete. 

3 We should waste no moments in weak regret, 

If the day were but one ; 
If what we remember and what we forget 

Went out with the sun, 
We should be from our clamorous selves set free, 

To work or to pray, 
And to be what the Father would have us be, 

If we had but a day. 

MAR? L. DICKINSON, 

In "Edelweiss." 
New York. 1882. 



LA VOYAGEUSE. 

1 The gray waves surge between me and the shore 
Of my old world ; through heavy falling tears 

I see the land slip from me evermore — 
The land of sunny years. 

2 O summer skies ! so blue and bright, and fair ; 

O woods song-haunted ! drowsy, plashing streams 
O land where love held roses red and rare ! 
land of happy dreams ! 

3 Farewell, O dear old world! No more my feet 
Shall tread thy paths in sunshine or in rain ; 
Who leaves thy golden shores so safe, so sweet, 

May not return again. 

4 O strange new world I near so swiftly now, 
What harbor dost thou offer me and mine — 
A hungry bay with cliffs of frowning brow ? 

Or isles divine ? 

5 I keep my level eyes across the waste 

Of heaving waters, with a heart grown calm ; 
In all life's piteous sacrifice and haste 
Love holds a balm, 



ROCK OF AGES. 

1 " Rock of Ages cleft for me," 

Thoughtlessly the maiden sang, 
Fell the words unconsciously 

From her girlish, gleeful tongue. 
Sung as little children sing, 

Sung as sing the birds in June ; 
Fell the words like light leaves sow: 

On the current of the tune — 
" Rock of Ages, cleft for me, 

Let me hide myself in Thee."' 

2 Felt her soul no need to hide — 

Sweet the song as song could be, 
And she had no thought beside ; 

All the words unheedingly 
Fell from lips untouched by care, 

Dreaming not that each might be, 
On some other lips, a prayer — 

" Rock of Ages, cleft for me, 

Let me hide myself in Thee." 



MISCELLANEOUS. OUR DEAD. (OR OUR DEAD DEPARTED. 



J HI 



3 " Rock of Ages, cleft for me " — 

'T was a woman sung them now, 
Pleadingly and prayerfully ; 

Every word her heart did know. 
Rose the song as storm-tossed bird 

Beats with weary wing the air ; 
Every note with sorrow stirred, 

Every syllable a prayer — 
•' Rock "of Ages, cleft for me, 

Let me hide myself in Thee." 

£ " Rock of Ages, cleft for me " — 

Lips grown aged sung the hymn 
Trustingly and tenderly, 

Voice grown weak and eyes grown dim. 
" Let me hide myself in Thee ;" . 

Trembling though the voice, and low, 
Sose the sweet strain peacefully 

As a river in its flow ; 
Sung as only they can sing, 

Who life's thorny paths have pressed ; 
Sung as only they can sing 

Who behold the promised rest. 

6 "Rock of Ages, cleft for me," 

Sung above a coffin-lid ; 
Underneath, all restfully. 

All life's cares and sorrows hid. 
Never more, O storm-tossed soul, 

Never more from wind or tide, 
Never more from billows' roll 

Wilt thou need thyself to hide. 
Could the sightless, sunken eyes, 

Closed beneath the soft gray hair, 
Could the mute and stiffened lips, 

Move again in pleading prayer, 
Still, aye still, the words would be, 

" Let me hide myself in Thee." 

ELLA MAUD MOORE. 

(Wife of Joseph E. Moore, Esq.) 

Thomaston, Me. 



3 Are there joys untold in those realms above 

With whose meaning mortals may vainly cope ? 
Blooms there a sweeter rose than love ? 

Sings there a happier bird than hope ? 
Was the waking all that thy dreams foretold 
Of the palm and palace and gates of gold ? 

4 Thou didst love me truly ; I doubt it not. 

To part was bitter though silent pain. 
In the far-off land am I yet forgot ? 

Is mourning empty and memory vain ? 
Hark ! Was that a whisper, so soft, so near ? 
It is but the sighing wind I hear. 

5 How fair to me was thy fading face, 

Bright with a tender and tranquil glow ! 
Heaven had lent thee its promised grace, 

A drawing rapture was on thy brow ! 

Thy smile What shines so within the door ? 

Only the moonlight just touching the floor. 

6 We were happy, love, in those summer days, 

The days of sunshine so bright, so long" ; 
Pleasant our walks by the flowery ways, 

Sweet the communing by word and song. 

Listen ! O melody, come once again ! 

All silent ! I must have been dreaming then. 

7 I hear the wash of the troubled tide 

As it breaks on the cold, unheeding shore ; 
The elm trees grieve by the river side, 

And the lonely pines reply, '"No more ! " 
Low in the earth hangs the star of dawn : 
Has the angel visitant come and gone ? 

8 Surely one moment she stooped to see 

The light on my hearth, and her glance was kind 
Such presence veiled from our sight must be ; 

They are not faithless though we are blind. 
In the light of the same undying love, 
We watch below and they watch above. 



CHANGED. 



A VIGIL. 



1 All-Soul's day ! Where have I heard or read 

An old-time legend, sad and sweet, 
That to-night return the remembered dead 

And walk among us with phantom feet? 
The watcher heeded nor sigh nor sound, 
But till dawn is breaking, they throng around. 

2 Beloved ! Thou hast been gone from me 

A year and a day. I will watch to-night ; 
Mv door shall be left ajar for thee ; 

I will brighten my fire and trim my light, 
And. musing softly of other days, 
Vigil I'll keep by the midnight blaze. 



1 Dear faded eyes ! 

Ye were so full of tears for others' sighs ; 

So full of smiles, 

To cheer the pathway of the weary miles ; 

So full of care, 

When there was need or danger anywhere ; 

Ye could not idly brook 

One loveless look. 

2 Dear pallid lips ! 

From out your paleness now no blessing slips 

Once ye were red, 

As yonder rose in yonder garden, dead. 

Once ye would open, 

Only to let the gentle word be spoken ; 

How could we let you miss 

The answering kiss ? 



782 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



3 Dear helpless feet ! 

Once ye were strong and firm and sure and fleet; 

Ready to run 

On any errand, for sweet mercy done ; 

Ready to bear 

The heavy end of every load of care ; 

How could we 

Your failing footsteps e'er unnoticed see ? 

4 Dear withered hands ! 

Ye were so eager to do love's commands ; 

So skilled to hold 

The cup of blessing ; tenderly enfold 

In your embrace 

The weary form, or cool the burning face ; 

How could we grasp 

Some other hand, forgetful of your clasp ? 

5 Eyes ! Look not so ! 

Give us one glimpse of reason, ere you go ; 

Open, white lips ! 

And_ give one tender word, in death's eclipse. 

Before those feet 

Shall walk unfailingly the golden street, 

Let us see 

Those eyes and lips, just as they used to be. 



3m Mm §&$. 



We know not to what other sphere the loved who 

leave us go, 
Nor why we're left to wander still : nor why we do 

not know. 

3 But this we know ; our loved and dead, if they should 

come this day — 
Should come and ask us "what is life ?" not one of us 

could say. 
Life is a mystery as deep as ever death can be, 
Yet Oh ! how sweet it is to us — this life we live 

and see ! 

4 Then might they say, — these vanished ones, — and 

blessed is the thought ! 
So death is sweet to us beloved, though we may tell 

you naught ; 
We may not tell it to the quick — this mystery of 

death — 
Ye may not tell us if ye would, the mystery of 

breath. 

5 The child who enters life comes not with knowledge 

or intent, 

So those who enter death must go as little children 
sent. 

Nothing is known. But I believe that God is over- 
head ; 

And as life is to the living, so death is to the 
dead. 



"Probably no editor in tbe country occupies a more delightful sanc- 
tum than that of Mrs. Mary Mapes Dodge in The Century Co.'s new 
home in New York; and few editors have the faculty of knowing so 
thoroughly what is practical and pleasant reading for youth. Mrs. Dodge 
is the daughter of Prof. James J. Mapes. of New York City. She married, 
and was left a widow, with two sons, at a very early age. To the edu- 
cation of these sous she has given all the time and intelligent attention 
that a devoted mother could. In 1870 she first acted in an editorial ca- 
pacity on " The Hearth and Home." For nearly ten years, for she was 
present at the birth and christen ing of " The St. Nicholas Magazine," 
has Mrs. Dodge been its editor. She has written numerous juvenils 
hooks. Her "Hans Brinker" has been translated into many languages. 
" Baby World " is her most recent compilation, though " Donald and 
Dorothy " is the book she prizes most highly." (1885)- 

She has written considerable verse of a religious nature, but the one 
poem that touches the deepest human experience, which breathes com- 
fort in the bitterest human anguish, is— 



THE TWO MYSTERIES. 

1 We know not what it is, dear, this sleep so deep and 

still, 
.The folded hands, the awful calm, the cheek so pale 

and chill, 
The lids that will not lift again, though we may call 

and call ; 
The strange, white solitude of peace that settles 

over all. 

2 We know not what it means, dear, this desolate 

heart-pain ; 
This dread to take our daily way, and walk in it 
again ; 



A YEAR WITH JESUS. 

1 " A year with Jesus " — legend writ in gold 
Above the portals where the months unfold ; 
Its roseate halo lights the New Year morn, 
And gilds a footway for the days unborn ; 
Weeks, months and seasons redden in the glow, 
No secret that they hide is mean or low ; 

The morning star again its glad song sings, 
And morning splendor gilds its healing wings. 

2 " A year with Jesus ! " What though care may pressV 
Our Burden-bearer makes the pressure less ; 
Sorrow, bereavement, penury or fears, 

His hand shall pour the balm and wipe the tears. 
When fierce temptation lies in ambush drear, 
We need not yield, the tempted Lord is near. 
Nor ever can the loneliest lonely be, 
Who walks his yearly journey, Lord, with Thee. 

3 " A year with Jesus ! " As a child at school, 
Self-yielded to His true and loving rule, 
Grown in His wisdom wise, to perfect day 
We tread the brightness of our upward way ; 
And though some lessons illy learned may be, 
Some blots deface our rude chirography, 
The ever-present Master, with His eye, 
Shall all erase, shall each defect supply. 



MISCELLANEOUS. OUR DEAD. (OR OUR DEAR DEPARTED) 



'83 



4 "A year with Jesus ! " Working day by day 
New stones upon His temple walls to lay ; 
To win fresh, flowery crowns with perfume sweet, 
And cast them hourly at His wounded feet. 
A year of golden nights and happy days, 
Filled full of deeds of love and words of praise, 
Of moments throbbing with His accents low — 
The highest bliss His folded sheep may know. 

5 " A year with Jesus ! " It may be that sin 
Into this heavenly year will enter in ; 
That the world's hollow and deceitful glare 
May dim the morning glory of the air ; 

Yet, soul, though wintry storms of dread and doubt 
May seem to shut His blessed presence out, 
He waiteth but the cry of faith from thee — 
Is with thee, and through all the year will be. 

6 " A year with Jesus ! " What if, ere its hours 
Have sped their course, another home be ours ; 
More full, more rich, more real and more bright 
Will glow the aureole of our year of light. 

Thus, friends, we give each other words of cheer — 
Jesus be with you all the coming year ; 
And, Lord, the glory of each New Year be 
Its days and moments consciously with Thee ! 



NEVER GROW OLD- 

1 Thou wilt never grow old, 

Nor weary, nor sad, in the home of thy birth ; 
My beautiful lily, thy leaves will unfold 

In a clime that is purer and brighter than earth. 
O holy and fair, I rejoice thou art there, 

In that kingdom of light, with its cities of gold ; 
Where the air thrills with angel hosannas, and where 
Thou wilt never grow old, sweet, 
Never grow old ! 

2 I am a pilgrim, with sorrow and sin 

Haunting my footsteps wherever I go ; 
Life is a warfare my little to win — 

Well will it be if it end not in woe. 
Pray for me, sweet, I am laden with care, • 

Dark are my garments with mildew and mold ; 
Thou, my bright angel, art sinless and fair, 
And wilt never grow old, sweet, 
Never grow old ! 

3 Now can'st thou hear from thy home in the skies, 

All the fond words I am whispering to thee ? 
Dost thou look down on me with the soft eyes, 

Greeting me oft ere thy spirit was free ? 
So I believe, though the shadows of time 

Hide the bright spirit I yet shall behold : 
Thou wilt still love me, and — pleasure sublime — 
Thou wilt never grow old, sweet, 
Never grow old ! 



4 Thus wilt thou be when the pilgrim, grown gray, 
' Weeps when the vines from the hearthstone are 
riven ; 
Faith shall behold thee as pure as the day 

Thou wert torn from the earth and transplanted to 
heaven, 
holy and fair, I rejoice thou art there, 

In that kingdom of light, with its cities of gold, 
Where the air thrills withangel's hosannas, and where 
Thou wilt never grow old, sweet, 
Never grow old ! 

MRS. HOGARTH. 

"MY SAVIOUR AND I." 

(As I turned and entered the house, such a sense of loneliness came 
over me that for a momeut I thought I must die with the agony of it. 
Just then I seemed to hear a voice say, " Do not feel so desolate ! Jesus 
is waiting in your room for you.") 

1 He is waiting for me ; I know he is there, 
As I wearily climb the long winding stair ; 
He is waiting above, in my lonely room, 

'Mid the evening shadows and dark'ning gloom. 
And my feet have passed in through the open door. 
His arms are outstretched, his sweet smile I see ; 
He says : " Thou art weary ! child, come unto me. 
Come, tell me thy sorrows, thy pains and thy fears, 
Thy hopes unfulfilled through wearisome years ; 
Though the story is old, and thou'st told it before, 
Yet 't will ease thy sad heart to repeat o'er and o'er 
To One who so loves thee, thy story of grief — 
For, witness ! I failed ne'er to give thee relief. 
Nay, fear not to open thy sad soul to me ; 
I was tempted, my child, in all points like thee." 

2 So we let in the twilight, my Saviour and I, 
While the stars twinkle out in the beautiful sky ; 
We talk it all over — -my pains and my fears, 
My hopes unfulfilled through wearisome years ; 
Of duties neglected in gratitude shown 

To a Friend who is love and mercy alone — 
Until self-convicted, I start, and would fly ; 
But His soft hand restrains me: "Fear not, it is I; 
And thou knowest my love ,• I freely forgive. 
Be strong ! of good courage ! I'll help thee to live 
Henceforth a life truer, more noble, and pure : 
Remember the promise to those who endure." 

3 Some way, as we talk there, my sad heart grows light, 
And my sorrows seem naught, they fade out of sight ; 
He strengthens and calms me, and soothes me to rest, 
With my hand in His, my head on His breast, 
Like Johm the Beloved, who lay there of old, 

And, like him, I drink in such comfort untold, 
That life's woes all recede, clamors all cease, 
Where His kind, tender smile fills my soul with sweet 

peace ; 
And the stars twinkle out on the beautiful sky 
As we sit in the twilight — " My Saviour and I." 

HAGAR, 1884. 



784 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

1 O Rosamond, thou fair and good, 
And perfect flower of womanhood, 

Thou royal rose of June ! 
Why did'st thou droop before thy time ? 
Why wither in the first sweet prime ? 

Why did st thou die so soon ? 

2 For, looking backward through my tears 
On thee, and oti my wasted years, 

I cannot choose but say, 
If thou had'st lived to help and guide, 
Or thou had'st lived and I had died, 

'T were better far to-day. 

3 O child of light, golden head ! 
Bright sunbeam for one moment shed 

Upon life's lonely way — 
Why did'st thou vanish from our sight ? 
Could they not spare my little light 

From Heaven's unclouded day ? 

4 O friend so true, O friend so good ! 
Thou one dream of my maidenhood, 

That gave youth all its charms — 
What had I done, or what had'st thou, 
That, through this lonesome world till now, 

We walk with empty arms ? 

5 And yet, had this poor soul been fed 
With all it loved and coveted, — 

Had life been always fair, — 
Would these dear dreams that ne'er depart, 
That thrill with bliss my inmost heart, 

Forever tremble there ? 

6 If still they kept their earthly place, 
The friends I held in my embrace, 

And gave to death, alas ! 
Could I have learned that clear, calm faith 
That looks beyond the bonds of death, 
. And almost long to pass ? 

Sometimes I think the things we see 
Are shadows of the things to be ; 

That what we plan we build ; 
That every hope that hath been crossed, 
And every dream we thought was lost, 

In heaven shall be fulfilled. 

CAEY'S LAST POEM. 



7 Sc 



LOOKING BACK. 

1 1 heard a voice long years ago, 
A voice so wondrous sweet and low, 
That trembling tears unbidden rose, 
From the depths of love's repose ; 
It floated thro' my dreams at night, 
And made the darkest day seem bright ; 
It whispered to my heart " My love," 
And nestling there, forgot to rove. 



2 But ere our summer pass'd away, 
That gentle voice was hushed for aye ; 
I watched my love's last smile and knew 
How well the angels loved her too, 
Then silent, but with blinding tears, 
I gather'd all the love of years, 
And laid it with my dreams of old, 
Where all I lov'd slept white and cold. 



LOUISA GRAY. 



HUSH ME. 

In Frances Ridley Havergal's study ; in memory of my precious sister's death, 
June 3, 1879. 

1 Hush me, Lord Jesus ! I cannot yet be still ; 
In vain I try to say, it is Thy will ; 

My path is lonely ; there is no one nigh 
To share my sorrow, or to soothe my sigh. 
Hash me, Lord Jesus ! 

2 One voice is hushed ; my sister's merry voice, 
So sweet, so tuneful, as she sang " rejoice ! " 
From me, my song-bird flew so far away, 
Soft echoes leaving, when she could not stay. 

Hush me, Lord Jesus ! 

3 So strange to miss my darling's footfall light, 
Her smile I see not, sunshine ever bright ; 
No tiny tokens now are brought to me — 
Ferns, mosses, flowers, or shells beside the sea. 

Hush me, Lord Jesus ! 

4 O bruised Saviour, Thou wilt never break 
The bruised reed, and never wilt Thou take 
Thine arm from underneath Thy leaning child, 
Who trusts and clings through all the desert wild. 

Hush me, Lord Jesus ! 

5 Yes, I have proved Thy faithful word is true, 
" Just as a mother will I comfort you ; " 

I know thy sorrow, and thy need of rest " 
Leaning I cry, upon my Saviour's breast — 
Hush me, Lord Jesus ! 

6 The hush of heaven seems stealing over me, 
The quiet haven nears — there, there I long to be. 
O kingly comfort ! sweetest whisper nigh, 

"A little, little while," no need again to sigh, 
Hush me, Lord Jesus. 

MAJRIA V. G. HAVERGAL, 1882. 

•'MOEGE IHR DIE ERDE LEICHT SEIN."# 

1 Rest softly, earth, upon her breast, 

Who nourished me in helplessness, 
Who ga-e the home, that blessed nest — 
Rich largess of unselfishness. 

2 Rest softly, earth, upon the heart 

That beat with constant tenderness 
For all whom she, with loving art, 
Gave daily of her helpfulnesss. 

*"May the earth rest softly o'er her " A German sayiDg of one dead. 



MISCELLANEOUS. OUR DEAD. (OR OUR DEAR DEPARTED.) 



785 



3 Rest softly over silent lips 

That ever smiled in cheerfulness ; 
O'er clasped hands and quiet feet ; 
O'er eyes that shone forgivingness. 

4 O Earth, we lay her in thy breast ; 

Our hearts feel grief's deep bitterness, 
As here we place her, long to rest, 
Our souls feel all life's littleness. 

5 Though grief may wear the human heart, 

That mourns its loss in humanness, 
Rest softly, till no more we part, — 

She taught us faith's bright hopefulness. 

ADA H. KEPLEY, Dec, 1882. 



THOU AND I. 

1 Strange, strange for thee and me, 

Sadly afar ; 
Thou safe, beyond, above, 

I 'neath the star ; 
Thou where flowers deathless spring, 

I where they fade ; 
Thou in God's paradise, 

I 'mid the shade. 

2 Thou where each gale breathes balm, 

I tempest-tossed ; 
Thou where true joy is found, 

I where 't is lost ; 
Thou counting ages thine, 

I not the morrow ; 
Thou learning more of bliss, 

I more of sorrow. 

3 Thou in eternal peace, 

I 'mid earth's strife ; 
Thou where care hath no name, 

I where 't is life ; 
Thou without need of hope, 

I where 't is vain ; 
Thou with wings dropping light, 

I with time's chain. 

4 Strange, strange for thee and me, 

Loved, loving ever ; 
Thou by life's deathless fount, 

I near death's river ; 
Thou winning wisdom's lore, 

I strength to trust ; 
Thou 'mid the seraphim, 

I in the dust. 



PHCEBE CART. 



IN MEMORIAM. 
Paul Brown, died Sabbath morning, August 22, 1880. 

1 One week of joy in heaven ; 
One week of bliss supreme ; 
One week of sinless pleasure, 
Where choicest jewels gleam 



And glitter 'round the throne above, 

On brows of angels dear ; 
One week without the suff'ring 

So bravely borne while here. 

2 Gone from the midst of loved ones ; 

Gone from companions dear ; 
Noble of heart and patient, 

" Heady to go, without fear.'" 
Never a word of repining ; 

Ever loving and kind ; 
Partaking, without ceasing, 

Of the Saviour's heart and mind. 

3 Buried beneath the flowers ; 

Beautiful, beautiful bloom ; 
Sleeping beneath white daisies, 

In the sequestered tomb. 
Pillow and cross of beauty ; 

Crowns not painful to wear ; 
Would that your suff'ring here 

Had been half as easy to bear. 

4 Slumbering 'neath the lilies 

And roses so fair and white ; 
Wreaths of fresh, delicate flowers, 

Garlands so fragrant and bright. 
Never a grave more lovely, 

All canopied o'er with bloom ; 
Emblems of love and affection 

For thy lamented tomb. 

5 Gone in thy youth and freshness, 

To unending bliss above ; 
And waiting spirits- greet thee 

In a glorious home of love. 
Leave we thy body 'neath blossoms ; 

Beautiful, beautiful flowers ; 
Knowing thy soul is breathing 

The fragrance of Paradise bowers. 

MRS. a. c, s, Springfield, 111., Aug. 29. 1880 

IN MEMORIAM. 

John Coleman, infant son of Robert C. and Willie H. Eve, aged. 
seventeen months. 

1 He knew the world was all a wild, 

He knew the way was dark and dim,. 
And so He sent a little child 
To lead the others up to Him. 

2 A messenger, divinely wise — 

He seemed to know that he had come 
Commissioned from beyond the skies 
To show the way and bring them home* 

3 The baby lips had scarcely known 

The utterance to mortals given, 
Yet had a language all their own, 
The unforgotten words of heaven. 

4 The baby hands are beckoning 

Across the flowery fields, so fair ; 

The tender feet have left their print 

Along the way that leadeth there. 



786 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



5 The little foot-prints never pass — 

Though softly now the feet are lying 
Beneath the flowers and the grass, 

With no more pain and no more crying. 

6 And still the tiny foot-prints stay — 

They all point heavenward and home, 
And we can never miss the way 
If as a little child we come. 

MARIA L. EVE. 

Augusta, Ga„ 1883. 

TRANSFORMATION. 

A butterfly basked on a baby's grave, 

Where a lily had chanced to grow ; 
*' Why art thou here with thy gaudy dye, 
When she of the blue and sparkling eye 

Must sleep in the churchyard low ? " 
Then it lightly soared through the sunny air, 

And spoke from its shining track : 
" I was a worm till I won my wings ; 
And she whom thou mourn'st like a seraph sings. 

' Would'st thou call the blessed one back?' " 

MKS. SIGOURNEY. 



THE GIFT OF TEARS. 

1 The legend says ; In Paradise. 

God gave the world to man. Ah me ! 
The woman lifted up her eyes ; 

" Woman, I have but tears for thee." 
But tears ? and she began to shed, 
Thereat, the tears that comforted. 

2 (No other beautiful woman breathed, 

No rival among men had he ; 
The seraph's sword of fire was sheathed, 

The golden fruit hung on the tree, 
Her lord was lord of all the earth, 
Wherein no child had wailed its birth.) 

3 "Tears to a bride?" "Yea, therefore tears." 

" In Edeu ? " " Yea, and tears therefore." 
Ah ! bride in Eden, there were fears 

In that first blush your young cheeks wore 
Lest that first kiss had been too sweet, 
Lest Eden withered from your feet. 

4 Mother of women ! Did you see 

How brief your beauty, and how brief, 
Therefore, the love of it must be 

In that first garden, that first grief ? 
Did those first drops of sorrow fall 
To move God' s pity for us all ? 

5 O sobbing mourner by the dead, 

One watcher at the grave grass-grown ; 
O sleepless for some darling head, 

Cold pillowed on the prison stone, 
Or wet with drowning seas. He knew 
Who "-ave the gift of tears to you ! 



MEMORIES. THE FIRST FIRE. 



It was a family custom to cluster around the great broad fire-place 
early in the Fall, aud with due ceremony to kindle the fire which was to 
burn all winter ; aud it was the delight of Libbie to apply the torch 
and kindle it with her own hand. 

1 As we gather around the fire-place, 

And watch the bright, glad blaze, 
Our hearts grow sad when we look around, 
And think of other days. 

2 There's a vacant place 'round the fire to-night, 

For one of my children is gone • 
I sit and listen, and think perhaps 
She will return ere long. 

3 He.r rocking-chair sits in its place, 

Her foot-stool before it drawn ; 
But the beautiful feet have journeyed far, 
And the loving voice is gone. 

4 She has gone to the mansions far away, 

Which Christ went to prepare ; 
She will welcome me when life is done, 
I shall find her waiting me there. 

5 She slept in the twilight bright and clear, 

At the close of a winter day — 
We little thought, as we watched her face, 
She was sleeping her life away. 

6 We had no warning that death was near, 

To enter our household band ; 
He called, and she meekly followed Him 
Away to the Spirit Land. 



Carlinville, 111., Feb., 1877. 



THE PRAYING BAND. 



1 Out of a darkened room I drew my friend, 

And knowing every step and where was light 
Assured my leading to be safe as sight, 
And bade her on that utterly depend. 

2 Then she leaned on me as secure from harm 

Till, as we neared the darkest place of all, 
I heard uncertain touches on the wall. 
And felt a lessening weight upon my arm. 

3 Ah, me! how Love, both human and divine. 

Must feel the hurt, when Trust, impelled by 

Doubt, 
Leans one arm less to stretch the other out, 
And groping, does but half of self resign ! 

CHARLOTTE F. BATES, 



MISCELLANEOUS. OUR DEAD. (OR OUR DEAR DEPARTED.) 



787 



A HERO'S DEATH. 

Not at the battle front, writ of in a story ; 

Not on the blazing wreck, steering to glory ; 

Not while in martyr-pangs, soul and flesh sever, 

Died he this hero new, hero forever. 

No pomp poetic crowned, no forms enchained him, 

No friends applauding watched, no foes arraigned him, 

Death found him there, without grandeur or beauty, 

Only an honest man doing his duty : 

Death found and touched with finger in flying : 

Lo ! he rose up complete — hero undying. 

DINAH MULOCH CKAIK, 



DE PROFUNDIS. 

1 The face which, duly as the sun, 
Rose up for me with life begun, 
To mark all bright hours of the day 
With daily love, is dimmed away — 

And yet my days go on, go on. 

2 The tongue which, like a stream, could 
Smooth music from the roughest stone, 
And every morning with "Good day" 
Made each day good, is hushed away — 

And yet my days go on, go on. 

3 The heart which, like a staff, was one 
For mine to lean and rest upon ; 
The strongest on the longest day 
With steadfast love, is caught, away — 

And yet my days go on, go on. 

4 And cold before my summer's done, 
And deaf in Nature's general tune, 
And fallen too low for special fear, 
And here, with hope no longer here 

While the tears drop, my days go on. 

5 The world goes whispering to its own, 
"This anguish pierces to the bone." 
And tender friends go sighing round, 
"What love can ever cure this wound ? " 

My days go on, my days go on. 

6 The past rolls forward on the sun 

And makes all night. dreams begun, 
Not to be ended ! Ended bliss ! 
And life that will not end in this. 
My days go on, my days go on. 

7 Breath freezes on my lips to moan ; 
As one alone, once not alone, 

I sit and knock at Nature's door, 
Heart-bare, heart-hungry, very poor, 
Whose desolated days go on. 

8 I knock and cry . . . Undone, undone ! 
Is there no help, no comfort . . . none ? 
No gleaning in the wide wheat plains 
Where others drive their loaded wains ? 

My vacant days go on, go on. 



9 This Nature, though the snows be down, 
' Thinks kindly of the bird of June. 
The little red hip on the tree 
Is ripe for such. What is for me, 
Whose days so winterly go on ? 

10 No bird am I to sing in June, 
And dare not ask an equal boon. 
Good nests and berries red are Nature's 
To give away to better creatures — 

And yet my days go on, go on. 

11 I ask less kindness to be done — 
Only to loose these pilgrim-shoon 

(Too early worn and grimed) with- sweet 
Cool deathly touch to these tired feet, 
Till days go out, which now go on. 

12 Only to lift the turf urimown 

From off the earth where it has grown, 
Some cubit-space, and say, " Behold ! 
Creep in, poor Heart, beneath that fold, 
Forgetting how the clays go on." 

13 What harm would that do ? Green anon 
The sward would quicken, overshone 

By skies as blue ; and crickets might 
Have leave to chirp there day and night 
While my new rest went on, went on. 

14 From gracious Nature have I now 
Such libera] bounty ? May I run 
So lizard-like, within her side, 

And there be safe, who now am tried 
By days that painfully go on ? 

15 A voice reproves me thereupon, 

More sweet than Nature's, when the drone 
Of bees is sweetest, and more deep 
Than when the rivers overleap 

The shuddering pines, and thunder on. 

16 God's voice, not Nature's — night and noon 
He sits upon the great white throne 

And listens for the creatures' praise. 
What babble we of days and days ? 
The Dayspring He, whose days go on. 

17 He reigns above, He reigns alone : 
Systems burn out and leave His throne ; 
Fair mists of seraphs melt and fall 
Around Him, changeless amid all : — 

Ancient of days, whose days go on ! 

18 He reigns below, He reigns alone, — 
And having life in love forgone 
Beneath the crown of sovereign thorns 
He reigns the jealous God. Who mourns 

Or rules with Him, while days go on ? 

19 By anguish which made pale the sun, 

I hear Him charge His saints that none 
Among the creatures anywhere 
Blaspheme against Him with despair, 
However darkly days go on. 



788 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



20 Take from my bead the thorn-wreath brown ! 
No mortal grief deserves that crown. 

supreme love, chief misery, 
The sharp regalia are for Thee 

Whose days eternally go on ! 

21 For us . . . Whatever' s undergone, 
Thou knowest, wiliest what is done. 
Grief may be joy misunderstood : 
Only the good discerns the good. 

I trust Thee while the days go on, 

22 Whatever's lost, it first was won : 
We will not struggle nor impugn. 
Perhaps the cup was broken here 

That heaven's wine might show more clear. 
I praise Thee while the days go on. 

23 I praise Thee while my days go on ; 

1 love Thee while my days go on ! 

Through dark and dearth, through fire and frost, 
With emptied arms and treasure lost, 
I thank Thee while my days go on. 

24 And, having in Thy life-depth thrown 
Being and suffering (which are one), 
As a child drops some pebble small 
Down some deep well and hears it fall 

Smiling . . . so I ! My days go on ! 

MRS. ELIZABETH B. BROWNING. 



THE GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S BURIAL. 

1 Bring flowers : for back to kindred dust 

We give our dead to-day ; 
Bring flowers, upon a long-tried heart, 

In toil-worn hands to lay. 
But not for her the florist's art 

Shall heap the sweet regret, 
Of pansy and of heliotrope, 

Tea-rose and mignonette. 

2 The frosts of more than ninety years 

Have bleached the locks of gold 
That lay upon her mother's knee 

In many a shining fold, 
When she, so wrinkled now, and grey, 

Knelt, at the twilight fair, 
A little, rosy, dimpled child, 

And learned her earliest prayer. 
3 ' Of those who watched her infant years, 

Or shared her childish play, 
Or knew her girlhood's hopes and fears, 

Not one is here to-day. 
Nor is there of that later group, 

She saw about her bloom, 
One left to weep beside her bier, 

Or lay her in the tomb. 
4 But still her old home stands, embowered 

In fragrant locust-trees ; 
The sweet-brier that her father trained 

Still sweetens every breeze. 



The rose-trees that she used to tend 

Beside the door-step grow, 
The grass-pinks load the balmy air 

With hints of long ago. 

5 Across the wall the pleasant wood, 

Wherein her girlhood strayed, 
Still breathes its wealth of fragrance out, 

Still spreads its cooling shade. 
There, haply, 'neath the odorous pines, 

Her early dream of love 
Made sweeter all the woodland scents, 

And charmed afresh the grove. 

6 Then bring the bayberry and the fern, 

The locust's heavy plume, 
The brier-rose and the cinnamon 

In the old beds that bloom. 
Bring spicy pinks, and lilies sweet 

Beside the wall that blow — 
Such lilies as that garden knew 

A hundred years ago. 

7 Fragrant with loving deed and word 

And old-time courtesies, 
Her life its fitting emblem found 

In flowers such as these ; 
A life whose quiet, modest bloom 

We knew but in decay — 
The lingering sweetness of a rose 

Slow withering away. 

8 Apart from all she loved in youth, 

She ends her pilgrimage. 
This face we hide, to us has been 

Always the face of age. 
But mindful of her' early home, 

Her girlhood's sunny hours, 
We lay upon the aged breast 

The dear, old-fashioned flowers. 

MISS E. F. FRY*. 

iiast Milton, Mass., 1885. 



IS IT WELL? 

1 Beloved, is it well ? the glorious morning 

Rises in beauty o'er the Eastern skies, 
And on the wings of love in the still dawning, 
My thoughts turn toward thee, and my prayers 
arise. 

2 Beloved, is it well ? in full-orbed splendor 

The holy day advances to its noon, 
And longing thoughts rise, pure and sweet and 
tender — 
Ah, if I might behold thee, dear one, soon ! 

3 Beloved, is it well ? the day decreases, 

The sunset glow fades slowly in the West, 
And lulled to peace by sweet, sleep-giving breezes, 
The weary earth is sinking into rest. 



MISCELLANEOUS. OUR DEAD. [OR OUR DEAR DEPARTED.) 



789 



4 Beloved, is it well ? the night grows deeper, 

And peace broods o'er me as I kneel alone, 
And pray that He, the soul's all-faithful keeper, 
May keep His watch to-night above His own. 

5 Beloved, it is well ? though the dear faces 

Are hid from sight, and in a far-off land, 

God keepeth watch o'er all the distant places, 

He will protect us with His loving hand, 

And so it will be well ! 



3 Face to face in the better land, 

Art thou not near us as we go ? 
We cannot touch thy beck'ning hand, 
"We only feel the undertow. 

4 Thy parting words of trust, so dear, 

" Jesus will strengthen me," 
Are echoing still from far and near — 
Safe passport to eternity. 



ALICE M'ELROT GRIFFITH. 
Springfield, 111., Feb., 1884. 



THE CLOUD, 



NOT DEAD. 



O ROSY CLOUD THAT FLOAT'ST AWAY. 

1 O rosy cloud that float'st away, 

By western sunbeams warmly kissed, 
Who e'er would deem thy bosom gay 
Was only dark and chilling mist ? 

2 More fair ye days of life divine 

When tints the world love's rosy fire, 
When time unheeded makes no sign, 
And granted seems the soul's desire. 

3 Yet never cloud knew half such gloom 

As darkens round earth's loveliest spot, 
When turning silent from the tomb 
The loving knows the loved is not ! 

4 Ah ! cloud, thou art but fleeting dew, 

Ah ! form, as vanishing as cloud, 
Thy glories, Sun, thou wilt renew ; 
The Soul, immortal, knows no shroud. 

XATHERINE MAY KIRK.PATRICK. 
Dillon, Mon., 1883. 



SPIRIT QUESTIONINGS. 

MEMORY OF WILLIAM A. TUKNEY, WHO DIED FEBRU- 
ARY, 1883. 



Mrs. Clemmer's verse is rich in the domestic affections, and in several 
poems laments for the lost child or friend. In " Not Dead," she refers 
to Alm in a Cary Swift, the youngest sister of Alice and Phoebe Cary.— 
Chicago " Tribune." 

1 Show me thy woman face — the sweet, sweet face 
That I must love forever — strong to bless, 
Drawing all souls toward thee with the grace 
Of its unfathomable tenderness — 

Those eyes, those eyes ! 

2 And now I mind me of a vanished June, 
When we, above the sad, sonorous sea, 

Sat side by side, and thy deep gaze drank in 
A deeper life ; from its infinity 
It spake with thee. 

3 You murmured, gazing on the crowning woods, 
" In such an air, and under such a sky, 
Lulled by the rhythm of eternal floods, 

'T would be so holy and so sweet to die — 
To die, and live." 

4 I saw the luminous lifting of thine eyes, 
And trembled— lest upon the scented sward, 
Waiting to bear away my precious prize, 
Stood the invisible angel of the Lord, 

All veiled to me. 

MART CLEMMER, 



(When this young brother was summoned to "come up higher," a 
bright light went out on earth, but, we believe, to shine with brilliancy 
in Heaven. A young man of great promise ; a deacon in the first Pres- 
byterian Church of Springfield, 111., and an active member of the Young 
Men's Christian Association, his demise was lamented by an unusually 
large number, for one so young. He was the only son of a widowed 
mother of wealth and high social position. A student, in the law de- 
partment of the University of Michigan, he was called to the Univer- 
sity above. 

1 Trusted friend, of years agone, 

Where, Oh ! where art thou ? 
Canst see the wreck in life's new dawn, 
Or anguished hearts in the now ? 

2 All our floral tokens faded, 

Weirdness of the sleet-storm fled ; * 
Love and death alike are shaded 
By the sun-clouds overhead. 

# In February, 1883, occurred the great sleet-storm. 



THE LAST MEETING. 

1 If I had known, if I had known, 

That day we met upon the street, 
That nevermore, in any zone 

Of earth's wide spaces, we should meet, 
What different greeting had been mine ! 
What different farewell had been thine ! 

2 If we had known, or dimly guessed, 

That close to you were waving wings, 
If some low voice within your breast 

Had whispered of eternal things ; 
What solemn message, high and deep, 
You would have given me to keep. 



790 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



I now recall^— (how strange it seems!) 

You spoke of " writing." Ah ! my friend ! 
From that land beyond my dreams 

What wondrous letter you would send ! 
Here in my silent room I sit, 
And hush my breath to think of it. 
If I had known ! If I had known ! 

Still, to myself, the words I say, 
As o'er your grave the snows are blown, 

For surely it was yesterday, 
When, for a moment's little space, 
You stood there, smiling in my face. 
I did not know, I could not know — 

The angels keep their secrets well ; 
But as from earth to Heaven they go, 

I think some kindly one will tell 
That in remembrance of that hour 
I lift to you this little flower. 



Was the daughter of Rev. Ebenezer Washburn, a member of the 
New York M. E, Conference, from early manhood, until his death at 
nearly ninety years of age. She was born in New Haven, Conn., Nov. 
12, 1805, and died at the home of her daughter, Mrs. J. H. Fancher, in 
Racine, Wis., Sept. 1868. 

In June, 1839, she left her home in Conn., and, with her husband, 
S. H. Kellogg, removed to the wilderness of Wisconsin. On the first 
Sabbath that found them in then- neat log cabin, she gathered the chil- 
dren of the settlers around her, ten in number, and organized the first 
Sabbath School in the county, which has been continued without inter- 
ruption to the present time, at the place known as " Kellogg Corners." 

Denied pursuits and pastimes common to girlhood, by an asthmatical 
cough that fastened upon her delicate frame as early as her eighth 
year, she was denied regular schooling as well, save when, by the power 
that guided her father's life, the conference assigned him a city charge, 
At such times she was placed among the pupils of indulgent private 
schools, in which the city of New York and neighboring ones abounded. 
Having four sisters more sturdy than herself, she was a privileged char- 
acter in the home. As she grew in years and the bright intellect within 
began to speak from out the earnest gray eyes looking forth from a 
broad forehead framed in chestnut hair, not one there.that did not give 
it recognition, but the master-mind of the father most of all. Yet even 
as his heart warmed with the pride of kinship, he was over-shadowed by 
a knowledge of the hindrance to development, that the finely- wrought 
network of sensitive nerves must prove ; and there seemed to awaken 
within him, a great and tender solicitude for his gifted, but early-stricken 
one. From that time on, the mingling of the two lives was something 
beautiful to behold : out among his people, ever against the background 
of the massive, storm- washed, rugged face of the minister, was to be seen 
the delicate lineaments of the pale-faced daughter, as upon his rounds 
she went and came with him, sharing his thoughts and ministrations, 
drinking at the deep fountains of his extended knowledge.and ever bask- 
ing in bis tender love. Down in the corner of his study she had her 
chair. His books were her books, his friends, in a measure, her friends. 
Many a time a visitor, at sight of the face of the brown-haired mite 
kindling with interest, would pause suddenly in the discussion being 
held with the " brother Washburn" with whom so many loved to break 
crumbs of theology, and, bending a pleased gaze upon the child, say :— 
" And who have we here, brother ? " Thus it will be seen that very early 
was the little Electa guided into waters, deep, for her years, and that, 
for all her shut-in life, she was vouchsafed some rare privileges. In her 
younger days, very proud was the stern-visaged reverend of his little 
daughter's wealth of hair, not heavy, but fine-spun, glossy as satin's 
sheen, and of a dark nut-brown hue, with a tendency to cling round ; a 
caressing finger, like a thing of Ufe : yet to have looked upon him you 
would have thought him one not likely to note the little things of life. 



Very often he might have been seen with one hand holding open his 
leather-bound volume, while the other passed to and fro over the un- 
bound tresses of the child. Once, at the opening of a day, the little 
maiden proved restively impatient under the brusbingand combing, pre- 
paratory to a day at school. Her tones caught the attention of the grave 
man near : for a moment his eyes were raised from off his book, and 
rested in contemplation of the little face. Then he said, in the text-like 
voice that was ever his: — "Let her go, mother," and by him, words 
were seldom recalled. Out upon the city pavement the Miss was 
obliged to take her way to the school awaiting her, under what seemed 
to her, (for the world had not then sanctioned the style of "hair flying,") 
a flaunting banner of shame that must prove life lasting. And thus 
was the little diamond in the rough, cut and burnished, until, wherever 
it was tossed later upon the by-paths of life, its worth was quickly rec- 
ognized. In the varied scenes that opened to her, in connection with 
the active life of prominence her father led, she found suitors, and the 
names of some of these have since been written in characters that 
have awakened admiration; but the girl responded only to the one whose 
name she so gladly donned, and with whose destiny she ever after re- 
mained linked. But if an honest love can crown a woman regally, then 
was she thus crowned ; for, through all the changing vicissitudes that 
came to the two in their home upon the then frontier, a life filled with 
hardships such as few dream, for one as delicately nurtured and organ- 
ized as was she, his love was ever spread, as were the garments of old, 
along the way that she was to enter upon, while green branches of loyal 
adoration were gathered fresh with each new day, and waved above her 
pathway. Wherever it was possible, her husband interposed a barrier 
between her and approaching hardship ; and with delicate forethought 
from first to last passed on before her smoothing the way : — yes, 
even to the last ; for by the length of a year's step, he passed in advance 
of her to the golden gate, and thus, for the timid one following in his 
steps so long, was still more assurance, if possible, of the way given, 
though her trust in Jesus was implicit. In their home at Janesville. 
Wis., where the closing years of then" life were spent, „Mrs. Kellogg 
gathered around her a choice circle of friends, that was unrestricted 
by church or party. To her sick-room the minister brought his choicest 
thought as though to know its weight and value ; the man of letters 
found himself being guided by her cool, impartial judgment ; the eager 
aspirant, nerve-steadied for success or defeat ; while for the young people 
of her chosen church, she was as a living encyclopedia of universal 
knowledge. Though never rich in this world's goods, the lines society 
oft-times imposes were never felt by the fair spirit who wove songs by 
the night -lamp of suffering, and gasped out days some would have 
called too interminably long. Hopeful, serene, and helpful, each day 
that opened found her not only the star to a husband's life, but to her 
eight children as well, to whom, for all her load of suffering, she had 
proved a true mother, beside the two who early joined the angel bands. 
In the summer that proved her last, she left the home of her eldest son, 
E. H. Kellogg, Esq.. then of Milwaukee, Wis., but later of Chicago, HI., 
to spend a few weeks with her daughters at Racine, Wis. When, a few 
days after her coming, she was told that her feet were touching the final 
waters, self, even then, found it impossible to claim a space within her 
thoughts. Only of things of interest pertaining to this one and that 
who were among the group around her, did she give utterance ; and a 
few moments before the last weary sign of release, she lifted the hand of 
her youngest daughter, (Mrs. Belle Kellogg Towne,) who, as a young 
wife, was going down for the first time into motherhood, and said lov- 
ingly, and with deepest of solicitude : " Could I but see 'round this one 
little turn for you, dear, I should die content." The twin-boys of whom 
she unknowingly spoke, are nearly young-men grown ; and hardly 
do they realize how a benediction was wafted to them from the very 
threshold of the celestial portals. 

Perhaps we cannot close this sketch any more fittingly than by giving 
space to the words she breathed forth when asked, soon after the death 
of her father, to pay a tribute to bis memory. 

THE MOANING HARP. 

IN MEMORY OF REV. EBENEZER WASHBURN, BY HI8 
DAUGHTER. 

Awake once more, my slumb'ring harp, awake ! 
Long hast thou silent on the willow hung, 
Save when by fitful night winds swayed, 
One quivering chord wailed out the plaint of grief. 



MISCELLANEOUS. OUR DEAD. (OR OUR DEAR DEPARTED.) 



791 



Dost thou not know a prince in Israel, 

A Christian hero, laden with the spoils 

Of victory, hath fallen at his feet ? 

Hast thou no laurel wreath to twine around 

The urn of one whose deeds of high comprise, 

And true philanthropy, have, with the good 

And great, his name enrolled ? 

Ah. me ! no echo, save that monotone, — 

Alas ! alas ! my father, thou art gone. 

Come, sacred muse, attune my trembling lyre, 

Bid it send forth heart-stirring strains 

Of other days, which, in a thousand hearts, 

Shall waken pleasing memories of Christ's 

Embassador, who fearlessly, like Paul, 

Poured forth the thunders of a broken law ; 

Or like Apollos, with persuasive eloquence, 

Proclaimed salvation to a guilty world ; 

Tell how he kept the faith, fought the good fight, 

Finished his course with joy, and won the crown. 

Begin, my harp, begin the enraptured lay. — 

'T is all in vain, one chord responds alone, 

Alas ! alas ! my father, thou art gone ! 

List, 't is the voice of kindred sympathy, 

"Whose last appeal, prompted by filial love, 

Rebukes my selfish grief, and nerves me, once 

Again, to sweep the silent chords. Would that 

In fitting harmonies I might portray 

His private worth, how he excell'd in all 

The kind amenities in social life, 

As husband, father, friend — e'eu now I seem 

To feel the pressure of his hand upon 

My head ; I see the fond, paternal smile, 

And hear the words, " My daughter," from his lips. 

That word awakes one chord, one strain alone, 

Alas ! alas ! my father, thou art gone ! 

Oh ! by those thronging memories which thrill 

My quivering heart, urge me no farther. 

In vain shall honor, gratitude, or love, 

Essay thy tuneful powers, O silent harps ! 

Some other bard, perchance, with skillful hand, 

Whose harp-strings twine not round a stricken heart, 

May yet perform the painful, pleasing task 

To me denied, and by his sacred theme inspired, 

Pay a just tribute to departed worth. 

Come, bending willow, on thy pensile bough 

My tuneless lyre I silently replace. 

There let it softly to the night wind moan, 

Alas ! alas ! my father, thou art gone ! 

MRS. ELECTA 8. KELLOGG, 



EARLY TAKEN. 



1 She seemed so young, so young to die ! 
Life, like a dawning, rosy day, 
Stretched from her fair young feet away, 
And beams from the just-risen sun 



Beckoned and wooed and urged her on. 
She met the light with happy eyes, 
Fresh from the dews of paradise, 
And held her sweet hands out to grasp 
The joys that crowded to her clasp, 
Each a surprise, and all so dear : 
How could we guess that night was near? 

2 She seemed so young, so young to die ! 
When the old go, we sadly say, 

'Tis Nature's own appointed way ; 

The ripe grain gathered in must be, 

The ripe fruit from the laden tree, 

The sere leaf quit the bare, brown bough ; 

Summer is done, 'tis autumn now, 

God's harvest-time ; the sheaves among 

His angels raise the reaping-song, 

And though we grieve, we would not stay 

The shining sickles on their way. 

3 She seemed so young, so young to die ! 
"We question wearily and vain 

What never answer shall make plain : 
" Can it be this the good Lord meant 
"Which frustrates His benign intent? 
"Why was she planted like a flower 
.In mortal sun and mortal shower, 
And left to grow, and taught to bloom, 
To gather beauty and perfume ; 
Why were we set to train and tend 
If only for this bootless end ? " 

4 She seemed so young, so young to die ! 
But age and youth — what do they mean 
Measured by the eternal scheme 

Of God, and sifted out and laid 
In His unerring scales and weighed ? 
How may we test their sense or worth, 
These poor glib phrases, born of earth, 
False accents of a long exile, 
Or know the angels do not smile, 
Holding out truth's immortal gauge, 
To hear us prate of youth and age ? 

5 She seemed so young, so young to die ! 
So needed here by every one, 

Nor there : for heaven has need of none. 
And yet, how can we tell or say ? 
Heaven is so far, so far away ! 
How do we know its blissful store 
Is full and needeth nothing more ? 
It may be that some tiny space 
Lacked just that little angel face, 
Or the full sunshine missed one ray 
Until our darling found the way. 

strsAN coorrDGE. 
•'Christian Union." 



792 



WOMAN IN SA CRED SONG. 

CLOSE BY THE BEAUTIFUL RIVER. 



1. Thro' the new Je - ru - sa - lera, Lined with fair - est flow - ers, 

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CARRIE A. VARNEY. 



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MISCELLANEOUS. OUR DEAD. {OR OUR DEAR DEPARTED.) 

DOUGLAS. 



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Music by LADY JOHN SCOTT. 




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Doug - las! Doug - las! ten - der and true. 




MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, &c. 



Jaraet Jmortt Sjoffori 



Was born in Calais, Maine, in 1835. Her chief works have been " Sir 
Kohau's Ghost ; " " The Amber Gods ;"" Azarian ; " " The Thief in the 
Night;" " New England Legends ; " "Art Decoration applied to Furni- 
ture ; " "The Servant Question ; " "The Marquis of Carabas," and "Hester 
Stanly at St. Mark's," besides a large number of choice religious poems. 
For years her home has been on Deer Island, between Newburyport 
and Amesbury, where, among the singing pines, it is a fitting residence 
for the poet and author, 



AT CHRISTMAS TIDE. 

To-night, as on all Christmas eves, 

I think the moon in Palestine 
Silvers the grayly-drooping leaves 

That on the Mount of Olives shine, 
And. white as snows lie in the light 
On some remote and sacred height, 
The great brown-open flowers must be 
In the garden of Gethsemane. 

And wide across the wilderness — 

Once trodden by such weary feet — 
How tenderly the skies must press 

With tingling darkness, low and sweet ! 
What strange, remembering thrills must run 
Through the cedars of Mount Lebanon, 
And how, in chrism where they spill, 
The dews of Hermon must distill. 



3 Surely to-night some sign shall rest 

About the Holy Land, to tell 
Of the presence that once made it blest. 

Surely the quivering east shall swell, 
Shall break in one great star, and throw 
Such glory on the waves as though 
The Lord still walked upon the sea 
By the dark shore of Galilee ! 

4 Oh ! to be there this Christmas time, 

And see the heavens above one wheel 
And when they opened in that prime 

And let great spirits forth ! To feel 
With eager, trembling heart, perchance, 
Some mighty memory advance 
With trailing garments, while the soul 
Touches the hem, and is made whole. 

HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD, 1884- 

THE DAY OF DAYS. 
1 Not in the budding spring-time, 

When purple violets grow, 
And crocus and narcissus 

Their peaceful blossoms show ; 
Nor in the sunny summer, 

When roses sweet and fair 
And spicy pinks give freely 

Their fragrance to the air ; 
Nor in the pleasant autumn, 

When golden turns the maize, 
And trees with fruit are laden, 

Is set the Day of days. 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, &c 



795 



But in the dreary winter, 

Amid the frosts and snows, 
It shines, and heav'nly brightness 

Upon the world bestows. 
Just when sad hearts are needing 

Some promise and some cheer, 
Lo ! there it is before them, 

The treasure of the year. 
And sorrows are forgotten, 

And happy songs are sung, 
And kindly, joyous greetings 

Are heard from old and young. 
And all the blooms of spring-time, 

And summer's flowers gay, 
And all of autumn's beauty 

Seem crowded in one day — 
The Day that lights the winter 

Like gem in jet enshrined, 
Or picture wondrous lovely 

By ebony confined. 
Then welcome it, my children, 

With thankfulness and praise, 
The Day that brought the Christ-child — 

The precious Day of days ! 



Said I, His country ? all the earth 
Belongs to Him, by right of birth ; 

And when He came, obscure, unknown, 
Into a world His hands had made 
(By sin and death in ruin laid), 

He came but to redeem His own. 



AT 

! considered on 



THE PORTAL- 

; o£ England's best poets of the present day, 1885. 



MAKOARKT EYTINGE. 

CHRISTMAS, 1878. 

"Great is the mystery of Godliness ; God was manifest in the flesh." 

1 What awe on Mary's spirit fell, 
What tender worship, who can teJl ? 

What gratitude without alloy, 
When first within her youthful arms 
She clasped the babe, whose perfect charms 

Should fill the universe with joy. 

2 She heeded not the gloom of night, 
That manger looked to her more bright 

Than if the sun above it shone ; 
The shadows from her soul were gone, 
For unto her the child was born, 

The promised Heir of David's throne. 

3 "Thou holy Child," she softly sung, 
"Thy name shall dwell on every tongue ; 

My son, my Saviour, here I see ; 
No mother's love was ere like mine, 
No other bore a Babe divine, 

And 't is no sin to worship Thee." 

4 Almost two thousand years are told, 
The world itself is growing old, 

And still, with gifts of gold and gem, 
We celebrate the natal day 
Of Him who in the manger lay, 

By Mary's side, at Bethlehem. 

5 And still, because they met His eyes, 
We love the distant Syrian skies ; 

We love the hills and vales He scanned ; 
The waves He hushed seem blessed yet, 
His glory rests on Olivet, 

His country is " The Holy Land." 



1 Standing by the veiled Portal, 

On the threshold of the Year, 
Fain would we its depths discover, 

Thro' its shadowy foldings peer. 
Nay, we may not raise the curtain ; 

Well its secret it doth hold ; 
Only day by day, unhastened, 

Shall the mystic scroll unfold. 

2 Back along the days departed, 

As we may not look before, 
Gaze we on the lengthening pathway 

We have trodden heretofore. 
Ah ! The mystery has faded ; 

Thick the dust along it lies : 
Once it seemed enchanted, hidden 

As now this is from our eyes. 

3 Is the mystery departed ? 

Let us nearer, closer look, 
Scanning it with earnest heeding, 

As some dim-remembered book. 
See our footprints ! Now how stedfast! 

Now how wandering and astray ! 
God be thanked, that His chastising 

Led us back into the way ; 

4 Here, the Cloudy Pillar led us ; 

There, the sunshine was serene ; 
But, where'er the cloud o'erspread us 

Still His bow was in it seen. 
And amid the direst anguish 

Where our faltering footsteps trod, 
One was with us in the furnace, 

Like unto the Son of God. 

5 There, the pathway was illumined 

As it were with Angel's smile ; 
Angel footsteps trod beside us, 

Lent us for a little while. 
Ah ! the way seemed dark and dreary 

When they left us for their rest : — 
When we meet beyond the Portal 

We shall know why it was best. 

6 Dimly may we guess the Future 

By the Past that we have known. 
He who hitherto hath led us 

Will not leave us now alone. 
Trust we then His loving guidance ; 

He will lead us by the hand, 
Till the pilgrimage is ended, 

Till within His courts we stand. 



796 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



THE SONG IN THE DARK. 



1 I heard a little bird sing out one morning, 

While yet the darkness overspread the sky, 
And not a single streak of rose gave warning 
That day was nigh ; 

2 It sang with such a sweet and joyful clearness, 

The silence piercing with a note so fine, 
I started, thrilled with sudden sense of nearness 
To love Divine. 

3 "O weary heart," it seemed to utter " hearken ! 

God sends a message to you in my song ; 
The day is coming, though the shadows darken, 
And night is long. 

4 "God sees your eyelids heavy — not with slumber : 

The sorrowful tears that make their brightness dim. 
And all your patient prayers (no man can number) 
Are known to Him. 

5 "The day shall come, your darkness dispossessing ; " 

And while the bird sang, on my eyelids prest 
A weight of sleep, the weary brain caressing 
To happy rest. 

6 I slept as children sleep, tired out with crying ; 

God knows, not 1, when I had slept before ! 
I waked, to find the gracious sunshine lying 
Along the floor. 

7 And in its blessed light to see returning 

The face of one that was the world to me ; 
The face my heart, with bitter grief and yearning, 
Had ached to see. 

8 The day had come indeed ! O sweetest singer, 

The song you sung me in the dark was true, 
And would that I could be so swift a bringer 
Of joy to you ! 

9 Your nest should rock in greenest branches, truly, 

And there your shy brown mate and downy brood 
Should chirp to you, and spread their winglets duly, 
Nor lack for food. 

10 No cruel sportsman ever should molest you, 

No sudden tempest ever cause affright, 
Nor any ills that birds are heir to fret you, 
By day or night. 

11 Vain wish, alas ! and valueless completely ; 

For whether it was blackbird, wren, or lark, 
Or silver-throated thrush, that all so sweetly 
Sang in the dark, 

12 I never knew — you never more came near me ; 

But I can trust you, clearly, to His care 
Whose tender pity sent your song to cheer me 
In my despair. 

MAKY E. BRADLEY. 

ON THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. 

1 It chances once to every soul 

Within a narrow hour of doubt and dole, 

2 Upon Life's Bridge of Sighs to stand, 
"A palace and a prison on each hand." 



3 O palace of the rose heart's hue ! 

How like a flower the warm light falls from you 

4 O prison with the hollow eyes ! 
Beneath your stony glare no flowers arise. 

5 O palace of the rose-sweet sin ! 

How safe the heart that does not enter in ! 

6 O blessed prison walls ! How true 

The freedom of the soul that chooses you ! 

ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS. 

IF I COULD KNOW. 

1 If by a wish I could withdraw 

The future's veil, to-night — 
Could know what God in tenderness 
Holds hidden from my sight — 

2 I would not seek the veil to lift, 

Nor make that knowledge mine ; 
I still would leave all in His hands, 
And trust His care divine. 

3 Is some great sorrow waiting me? 

'T is better not to know : 
Why shadow all my happy days 
With dread of coming woe ? 

4 Of this I'm sure : if sorrow waits, 

God's love is waiting, too ; 
I'll lean my weakness on His strength 
And He will bear me through. 

5 Perhaps some joy — some wondrous joy, 

Is held for me in store ! 
Would daily blessings grow less sweet 
For knowing it before? 

6 Then keep it safely hid, dear Lord, 

Until that blissful hour 
When on my trusting heart is laid 
Joy's full and perfect flower. 

7 It may be neither joy nor grief 

'T will long be mine to share ; 
. Could I with calm, untroubled soul, 
This strange, sad knowledge bear ? 

8 Or should I shrink to finddiow near 

Death's wailing angel stands ? 
I cannot tell, but gladly leave 
All in my Father's hands ; 

9 Assured that, as the past has been, 

The future still shall be : 
Each day will bring its needed grace, 
Its needed strength to me. 



OUR POETS. 
1 Why do you sing of Grecian myths 
O gifted, noble poets ? 
Our land is full of earnest deeds 
In war or peace ; of human needs, 
Of sunny skies, of verdant trees, 
Of gardens like Hesperides. 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER. <kc. 



2 As fair as Phryne are our fair ; 
Our men as brave as Ajax are ; 
Naught to Penelope is due 

More than our women, tried and true. 

3 Antietam's blood as Troy's is red ; 
Art, with great Phidias, is not dead ; 
And Plato's state may live again, 
Portrayed by just as brilliant pen. 

4 Delve not, great singers, in the past, 
The present needs you ; in these last 
Great cycles of a Christian age, 
You have a royal heritage ; 

5 To teach that knowledge is for all, 
The peasant in the meanest stall 
As for the king ; that highest place 
Is open to the lowest race. 

6 If it is worthy ; speech be free, 

And thought be boundless as the sea ; 
That force is brutish ; peace and love 
Shall in the future richly prove 

7 Man to be Godlike in his birth ; 
Labor be honored in the earth ; 
Who works with either hand or pen 
Wins homage from his fellow men. 

8 Pleasure in killing beast or bird 
Be counted savage, and unheard 
In humble cot or princely hall, 
Woman be honored ; equal all 

9 Before the law, and God ; that sin 
Shall not set open door to win 
Our loved ones ; purity is best, 
And pays its wage with interest. 

10 gifted, noble singers, write 

For us who are the living ; 

Be prophets, harbingers of light, 

Your highest talents giving, 

11 To lead man to his best estate ; 

To study and aspire ; 
For he is poet truly great 

Who helps his brother higher. 



LO, A MIGHTY HOST. 

1 Lo ! a mighty host is rising now, 

See ! their banner is unfurled! 
Its fair legend, Truth and Righteousness, 
Spread the tidings thro' the world. 

2 See the mighty host advancing now ! 

Look ! the proud oppressors flee ! 
So our country breaks its fetters off, 
And her captive sons are free. 

3 Weary watchers, cease your vigils now, 

For the morning surely comes ; 
Night is fleeing, joy is dawning now 
On your hearts and on your homes. 



4 Sing, O Zion ! no more desolate, 

Lift thine eyes, the brightness see ! 
Thy Redeemer makes thee glorious, 
Thine oppressors bend to thee. 

MRS. M. A. COLLINS. 
Copyright, 1874, and set to music by w. H. DOANE. 
In " Fountain of Song." By per. Biglow & Main. 

THE EDICTS OF THE CENTURY, 

1 Upon the century's battlements 

God's waiting heralds gather, 
And they scan the heavens above them, 

And they peer into the night ; 
And they cry, "O watchman ! tell us 

If the shadows are departing, 
If in the glorious morning-time 

They surely shall be light." 

2 " We have heard," say they, "His chariot wheels 

Roll onward through the darkness, 
Roll onward o'er the coastland, 

Like the surges of the deep, 
And the thunders boom before Him 

As the cannon in the battle, 
And the noisy nations listen 

To His mandates as they sweep." 

3 All through the silent centuries 

His plans have been unfolding ; 
All through the slumbering ages 

His firm decrees have stood ; 
They are echoing down the mountains, 

They are echoing through the valleys, 
And the breakers loud proclaim them 

Upon the ocean flood ! 

4 " Let the wrong that rules the nations 

Be hurled from off my footstool ; 
Let right prevail in all the lauds," 

The mighty edict rings. 
The darkness is departing, 

And the day of light is dawning, 
Through the dungeon of the captive, 

And the palace gates of kings. 

5 "Ye shall level down the mountains, 

Make straight the crooked highways, 
For my messengers are on the wing, 

My counsels will not wait ; 
And my charioteers drive swiftly 

On the whirlwinds of the ages, 
And swiftly write the chronicles 

Upon the book of fate." 

6 " Ye shall hurl from your high places 

The idols ye have builder!, 
The Molochs staiued with crimson blood 

That purple-eth the land ; 
Lo ! the peoples lift my standard, 

And the battle trumpet soundeth, 
To the van guard or the rear guard, 

Go forth at my command." 

MRS. ELIZABETH YATES RICHMOND, 

In "The New Era," 1885. 

is; " The Present Problem," a temperance story; " How Success is Won " 
Europe," and some others. She is deeply interested in philanthropic 



798 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



EASTER FLOWERS. 



1 Glad bells rang in the Easter morn, and I 

Was sad and weary of the things of time ; 
Nor would I list the Angel choir that sang, 

In softest harmony, to their sweet clime ; 
And still their tuueful notes pealed on, until 

The forests and the fields, and all the air> 
Were filled with music of the Easter bells, 

And Easter flowers were blooming everywhere. 



7 The shadows lengthened, and the day was spent, 

And lingering still, I listened to the flowers ; 
"Fair teachers, ye have brought me peace," I cried, 

"And giv'n me strength for suffering's bitter hours." 
The night came on, and daylight sank to rest. 

The earth was still — the happy birds — the air ; 
The Easter bells and hushed their joyous song, 

But Easter flowers were blooming everywhere ! 



J. ZITELLA COOKE, 
" The Continent." 



2 And midst the joyous ringing of the bells 

I caught the low, sweet voices of the flowers — 
For God doth grant to them a tongue to soothe 

The heart that aches in this sad world of ours — 
And still they murmured, till mine ear did* lose 

The swelling paean of the happy bells, 
And I stooped low, that I may hear once more 

The story that a simple flow'ret tells. 

3 " I know that ye are bright and beautiful," 

I cried ; " and your sweet breath doth wake again 
The memories of yore, and bind anew 

The golden links of thought's electric chain ; 
Ye mind me of the loved and lost, and joys 

And hopes of days that were too bright to last ; 
But can ye give them back to me again ? 

One word from out the dead and silent Past ? 



4 " Alas, your whispers are but mockeries ! 

From earth's cold graves ye have returned, but 
where 
The precious ones who went to sleep with you ? 

Do ye of them no sign, no tidings bear ? 
And still with such a loving tenderness 

They plead, that I could not refuse to hear ; 
And lo ! close to my side a Passion Flower 

Proclaimed, in accents wondrous sweet and clear— 

5 " I bear a sigh and message from that Blessed One 

Who suffered eighteen hundred years ago ; 
And through the rolling centuries of time 

I tell the story of His cross and woe ! " 
And then a Lily fair, whose snowy cup 

Hung o'er the crystal stream, spoke, in a voice 
Of calm, assuring love, and bade my heart 

Forget its grief, and looking up, rejoice. 

6 " I bear sweet tidings from Our Father's house ; 

Look on my face ; behold, I am in His care ! 
Upon His hand I live, from day to day, 

And spotless robes of radiant beauty wear." 
, Half-hidden Violets then took the theme, 

And spoke the graces of humility ; 
And Jasmines, from their leafy coronal, 

Told of a life from mortal sorrows free. 



la larrr g. $. Steta% m pra^, 



Was born at Vernon, New York, Oct. 5, 1842. She has written con- 
siderable prose and verse for many years, ar.d all of it is of a high order 
of excellence. She has contributed to various Magazines and Journals, 
and is the author of the celebrated " How he saved St. Michael's," that 
has been wafted far and near by celebrated elocutionists. Mrs. Stansbury 
is called a writer of rare quality, (rather than quantity;) and a woman in 
the highest sense, by those who know her best. A lady of culture and 
position, she befittingly adorns her beautiful home at Appleton, Wis. 
.The world will doubtless rceeive gems of poetry from her graceful pen, 
in the years to follow. 



ALTAR-LILIES. 

1 My feet had sought the chapel-door too soon, 

And, pausing still without, I strove in vain 
To feel the peace of Sabbath afternoon 

Hush to like rest my weary heart and brain. 

2 The valley, to the far hills' circling rim, 

All sun full stood, — a cup of golden wine 
Poured for earth's solemn feast ; — my eyes were 
dim, 
Discerning not the sacrament divine. 

3 A bell's deep clangor thrilled the scented air, 

And o'er the worshippers' slow-gathering bands 
The grove, responsive to its call for prayer, 
Waved, suddenly, a thousand leafy hands. 

4 I entered then, and in a dim alcove 

Sat, fain to hide my grief from others' sight, — 
The while, outside the window poised a dove 
Dropping ringed shadows through the painted 
light. 

5 God's message to me waiting thus apart, 

Came not, that day, through solemn prayer or 
psalm, 
Yet slowly, softly, sank upon my heart 
The benediction of a wordless calm. 

6 On a low bench, within the altar-rail, 

There stood a vase of flowers, the offering 



Of one who traced God's steps o'er hill and dale 
And laid again His blossoms at His feet. 
7 A lava-vase, with tales of mountain-throes, 

And craters yawning to the deep profound, — 
It held white lilies pure as Alpine snows, 
And clinging sprays of ivy clasped it 'round. 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, &c. 



799 



8 " So, heart," I said, "all scarred with hidden fire, 5 

Take form and beauty from the Hand divine, 
To hold the lilies sweet of pure desire, 
And let immortal hopes about thee twine ! 

9 " Then, not to thee alone shall be the break 

Of fairer dawns, — the peace that follows strife — 
The breath of love and gratitude shall make 

Such sweetness 'round thee in the aisles of 6 
life, 
10 " That some bowed soul, low-pressed by grief and 
care, 
Shall feel its deadened pulses wake and stir, 
Lift its sad brow to greet the heavenly air, • 

And rise, a free and joyous worshipper ! " 7 

MARY A. P. STANSBURY. 

Appleton, Wis., 1872. 



to. % s. 



tbitittg, 



Was born in Boston in 1821. 

Since her return from abroad, has spent her summers at Alstead, 
N. H., though her home is in Milton, Mass., near Boston. She is every- 
where known as one of the first in rank, among the literary women of 
the 19th century, especially as a writer for young readers. "Mother 
Goose for Grown Folks;" "We Girls;" "The Other Girls;" "Buttered 
Crusts;" "The Gayworthys;" "Patience Strong's Outing," are among 
her choice prose works; while her pretty poems, so sparkling and bright, 
are scattered through school books and Magazines, doing much toward 
creating a taste for healthful literature in the minds of young people. 

Two collections of Mrs. Whitney's poems are entitled " Pansies, " and 
" Footsteps on the Sea." published in 1857. 

THE HEART OF THE YEAR. 

1 White lay the world in her burial web; 
Deep in December her life was at ebb ; 

Gray with great clouds, all the air-height was dim ; 
Frost-fingers cruel and stealthy and slim, 
Stiffened and sheathed every brier and stem, 
Breaths of slow death-wind detaining on them. 

2 Heavy tree-branches swayed upward and fell, 
Moved like the swing of a funeral bell. 
Where were the toss and the shimmer of June ? 
Glory of green that had vanished so soon ? 
Bird-song and bloom ? I outquestioned with fear : 

" Heart of Winter ! Oh ! art thou the Heart of the 
Year ? " 

3 Hush of snow, and dull moan of the trees, — 
Durance of all, — was there answer in these ? 
Durance ! That said it. The things that endure — 
Bear, and wait on — are the things that are sure ! 
Not in the shroud, or the pall, or the tear — 

Deep in the life, is the Heart of the Year ! 

4 Down where the pain and the shrinking can be, 
Buds the great Summer, for earth and for me. 
Down at the quick it must gather awhile, — 
Grow to the fullness, — for blossom and smile ; 
Where the hope hides, under hindrance and loss, 
Lies the heart-meaning, the sign of the cross ! 



Now it is June ; and the secret is told : 
Flashed from the buttercup's glory of gold, 
Hummed in the bumblebee's gladness, and sung 
New from each bough where a bird's-nest is swung ; 
Breathed from the clover-beds when the winds pass, 
Chirped in small psalms through the aisles of the 
grass. 

Beauty of roses, — the.lavish sweet light, — 
Splendor of trees, rearing up the blue height, — 
Smell of the strawberry, — balsam of pine, — 
Bliss of the brook, — and this rapture of mine ! 
Tell they not all, now their heyday is here, ' 
Heart of the Summer is Heart of the Year ? 

Billowing forest, and balm-bearing breeze, — 
Outcome of life, — lies the answer in these ? 
Waiting, fulfilling, — holds neither the whole ; 
Greater the gospel than joyance or dole ; 
Whether His snows or His roses befall, 
Heart of the Father is Heart of it all ! 

ADELINE D. T. WHITNEY. 

In "The Century," 1882. 



GOD'S LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 

I think God throws the lights and shades with care, 

Across the canvas of each human life. 

O'er one that starts in shadow, He will cast 

So rich a glow some time in after life, 

As serves to wipe the dark remembrance out ; 

Or He will give one such a sunny youth, 

The light will stream on through all after years, 

And glint the very portals of the grave. 

For me, there is no time when storm and wind, 

And surge and roar of madly tossing waves, 

So deafen me I cannot hear from far 

The tinkle of the joy bells of my youth. 

The silvery echoes come caressingly, 

And sweep as softly as an angel's wing, 

Above my weary, worn, storm-beaten breast, 

And I forget my sorrows for a time, 

The angry billows and the starless sky, 

And roam again a child in sunny fields ; 

Gathering flowers where the meadows slope 

So cool and green, out toward the beckoning sea. 

Ah me ! who says delusion is not sweet ? 

" But are you stronger, when the dream has fled, 

To battle with life's woes ? " perhaps one asks. 

Stay ! and if not, what matter ? God is Love, 

And doles not out His gifts with cautious hand, 

Lest they should more than meet our direst need. 

The mother's not content to give her child 

Those things alone that make it strong and wise ; 

But ever there's an overplus of love, 

That trickles out in trinkets, baubles, toys, 

Caresses, and a thousand, thousand things 

That have no use but simply to make glad. 

Our Father, through all nature, teaches this: 

That Love is greater than our utmost need, 



800 



WOMAN- IN SACRED SONG. 



And ever beads the brimming measure o'er 
With pearly drops of Heaven's own fullness born. 
The flowers and ferns, the water and the trees, 
Insects and birds and clouds, all have their use ; 
But Oh ! the perfume and the coloring, 
The grace of outline and the endless song, 
What are all these but Love's divine excess, 
The soft caresses of the mother side 
Of the Great Heart that fills our triune God ? 
So too, this wondrous gift of memory — 
This golden hinge on which God's purpose turns, 
(For the to-come is born of the has-been) — 
E'en this most needful of all gifts to man, 
Bears on its front an effluence divine, 
A radiant reflex of the morn or life ; 
Fair with all forms of ever-changing lights, 
Vocal with vague, delicious, dreamy sounds, 
That babble to us sunny pastorals, 
When the grand epic of the added years 
Would crush us with its heavy, stately tread. 
And, as the mother croons some nursery rhyme- 
To make her suffering child forget the pain 
That meanwhile steadily works out its cure — 
So, in these sweetly flowing cadences 
That steal up through the crash and din of life, 
And lay a hush so softly on it all, 
May we not hear a loving Father's voice 
Striving to soothe us in the bitter hours 
That pain and sorrow, His physicians, bring, 
The while they purge the soul and make it clean ? 
For we are children, children always, here ; 
And get so weary at "the game of life" — 
So fevered in the race, so bruised with falls, 
We need the simple nursery rhyme of love 
Far more than all the wisdom of the schools. 
And Oh ! God's book of rhymes, how full it is ! 
Suited to every form of ill we bear ; 
What song e'er swept the ages through so clean, 
Driving the stormy passions from the breast, 
Bringing such balm and healing in their stead — 
As the sweet, simple story of the Cross — 
" The old, old story," always fresh and new ? 
And yet 'tis but His tenderest lullaby — 
The cradle-song of our humanity — 
In which the germ of truths that lie beyond 
Our present feeble grasp, is warded about 
In the soft folds of all-adaptive Love ? 
And we are soothed, and comforted, and blest, 
Where naked Truth would but hav<- awed and crushed. 
When we are strong and well and older grown, 
And from this earthly nursery have gone 
To take possession of our mansions there, 
Then we can bear the wondrous symphony 
That holds it all inblent, harmonious: 
The soft, seolian whisperings of Love, 
The swift, sharp, piercing anvil-stroke of Pain, 
The slow vibrating chords of Suffering, 
The grandly swelling organ peal of Truth, 
Responsive each to each, in concord all ; 



The child's fresh note of joy and innocence 
Finding its complement an octave higher ; 
Rising into the rapture of the saint, 
Through minor tones of sorrow, sin and death. 
Each life is God's Great Theme epitomized — 
Eden in octave with Jerusalem, 
Gethsemane and Calvary between. 

MBS. EDWARD L. SKINNER. 



A WORKINGWOMAN. 

1 Life gives us armor for the fate we meet ; 

Our sense is blunted when our pain is old ; 
A blacksmith's hand is hardened to the heat; 

A beggar's foot is torpid in the cold. 
So every man develops incomplete : 

You'd taste the tang in such a crust as mine, 

And be indifferent to your daily wine ; 
But to the starving palate, bread is sweet ! 

2 A woman gave me shelter from the rain ; 

Her thrilling warmth was like a dumb caress ; 
No pang is like that pang of happy pain 

In souls unused to healing tenderness ; 
Such clay as ours grows callous toward disdain ; 

We waste no anguish on perpetual slight ; 

But, trust me, we can feel a sharp delight 
Your deadened spirit will not know again ! 

3 I went at dusk a lonely watch to keep. 

A rough man stopped me, muffled to the chin ; 
I took his place ; the way was long and steep, 

The wagon groaned, the white sacks hemmed 
me in ; 
In unwarmed hearts such kindnesses strike deep ; 

That human touch uplifted and renewed 

Through long, laborious days of solitude 
And feverish nights of unrefreshing sleep. 

4 Where the wide hearth with rosy comfort glowed, 

I drank new courage for advancing day ; 
In the bleak wind, against the. dusty load, 

My swelling, overburdened heart gave way. 
His silent figure kept the narrow road ; 

I felt the panting horses heave and strain, 

Till night fell back from many a lighted pane 
And through the fog the village steeple showed. 

5 We laboring women are too early wise ; 

" Unformed " we are, by comfort, pleasure, 
care. 
No wonder, then, we're crooked in your eyes, 

Too rudely shaped by trouble and despair. 
You stare so hard the natural shrinking dies ; 

We're fortunate and grow bold and suffer less, 

Being strongest in a power of happiness 
That nothing this side Heaven satisfies. 

DORA READ OOODALJR. 
Sky Farm, Berkshire Co., Mass., 1884. 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, &e. 



801 



INJUSTICE. 

1 Ah, brothers, had ye wisely taught this vital truth 

of yore, 
That mothers most of all should learn all patriotic 

lore. 
This picture we would not have witnessed o'er 

and o'er. 
A vine-wreathed cottage at the even-tide, 
With children kneeling at the ingle-side, 
Sweet mother voices through the shadows creep, 
While children echo, "lay me down to sleep." 
The years go by ; the mother's work seems o'er, 
The boy is sure he knows a great deal more 
Than father e'er forgot, or mother ever knew, 
And all the women of her century, too. 

2 And when with mother instinct she defends 
Her right to choice of rulers, or commends 
One of her boys whom she first taught to know 
The difference vast twixt Freedom's friend or foe, 
Her boy will sometimes in her face dare look, 
And say a woman's business is to cook. 

The boy whom she alone taught how to pray, 
The sacred rights of conscience dares impeach, 
Denies his mother's right to pray or preach. 

BOYNTON HARBERT. 

"The New Era," 1885. 



A BIT OF LACE. 



Only a bit of lace, 

Only a few ells long ; 
The whirr of a wing in a second's grace 
Could blow it away without a trace, 
So light was the fairy bit of lace ; 

Hardly the thing for a song ! 
Hardly the thing for a song ! But wait ; 
There is a story to relate. 

Summer in Calvados ; 

A woman all bent and old, 
So blind that she totters as she goes ; 
Her hair is as white as the driven snows ; 
Faint with hunger the whole village knows, 

But lace like her's brings gold ; 
It is so fine, brings gold. Oh ! wait, 
She is weaving early, weaving late. 

Calvados' leaves are shed ; 

The summer is over and gone ; 
Calvados' winters are cold, 'tis said, 
There's a house where eyes with tears are red; 
The blind old mother is laying dead, 

But the bit of lace is done. 
" See ! the lace is done, Sir Priest. Oh ! wait, 
The pay is sure, though sometimes late ! " 



Summer arose across the seas, 

Summer on land, in sky, 
Summer in a heartless heart at ease, 
With swift, white hands to snatch and seize 
Gifts from a lover, who kneels to please 

Each mood as it flits by. 
What mood is this flits by ? Oh ! wait, 
My sweet ! 'T is bought ! The man comes late ! 



Only a bit of lace, 

Only a few ells long ; 
But the whole of a life, and a life's last' grace, 
Gone in a moment, without a trace, 
Were in the threads of that bit of lace. 

Oh ! the death and doom in the song ! 
Oh ! the death and doom in the song ! But wait : 
The mills of the gods grind slow, grind late ! 



In "The Independent," 1884. 



WORSHIP, 



GOD IN NATURE. 



Oh ! it is sweet to go away alone 

In Nature's solitudes, and, 'neath the vast, 

Empyrean dome of her own temple grand, 

Worship the God to whom her altars are 

Upreared, to honor whom she offers up 

Her hourly, daily, yearly sacrifice 

Of beauty and of song. 

2 Whoe'er hath stood 
Between the everlasting, pine-clad hills, 
That rise above the shadows of the earth 
Into the calm, unclouded light of heaven, 
And listened to the tones outrolling from 
Their caverns deep and grand, like organ swells, 
Blent with the sweeter sounds of bird and wave, 
And hath not felt within his wondering soul 
That the eternal God was there revealed, 
Until the eye suffused and throbbing heart 
Gave token of His power ? Who hath not felt 
At such a time, in such a place, his soul 
Expand, until its greatness seemed to fill 
The universe, and reach the throne of God ? 

I seem akin to God to-day — akin 
To all created things. These hills and trees 
My brothers are, these flowers my sisters sweet, 
Nature my mother kind and true, and God 
The Father of us all — a blessed band ! 

It thrills my deepest soul to feel the calm, 
Great heart of Nature, filled to overflow 
With the quick essence of the life of joy 
Beating so near to mine. How every leaf 
And every flower seems trembling with the bliss 
That pulses through its every vein ! I love 
These days, this tuneful month of June, so glad 
With song. I love this wrinkled earth ; each nook 



802 



WOMAN IJY S ACHED SONG. 



And corner of the grand old thing is dear, 
Because God made it, and because it is 
So old. 

3 'Tis a grand place to live, this earth, 
And life itself 's a grand and glorious thing. 
I love to live. Each coming day doth bring 
Enough of the supremest, rarest joy, 
To compensate for all its direst ills, 
And leave enough beside to make God kind 
And life a blessing. I would live, and take 
The mingled cup from out the hand of God, 
And bless Him for the mingling. God is good, 
And earth is good, and good hearts throb, between, 
In many human bosoms. 

MRS. S. M. I. HENRY. 

In "Victoria." 

By per. Messrs. Hitchcock & Waldon. 

THE OLD AND NEW. 

1 All truth is no less dear, or radically true, 

"Whether it dawns to-day on thought's frontiers, 
Or has been named, belov'd, and had its work to do, 
Been recognized, and anchored by, a thousand 
years. 

2 No reverence for age simply because 't is old, 

Unless 't is worthy of our veneration too, 
No casting it aside as too outgrown to hold, 
Or anchor by, until we prove it weak, untrue. 

3 No limitless accepting of the dawning " new," 

Unknowing what it rests upon, or where it tends. 
Nothing fears test that has a worthy work to do, 
Or would adjust fair means to earnest, upright 
ends. 

4 No fierce rejection of another's fresher thought, 

Because no sanction of the past seals it for you. 
With like authority as stamps what has been 
wrought, 
So was the very Christ once measured by the 
Jew. » 

) God's truest leaders 'tween the " New and Old " 
must stand, 
Though oft rejected by the brotherhood of both ; 
With open heart toward each, and outstretched 
beck'ning hand, 
Teaching the great, great lessons of diviner 
growth. 

6 They who are wiser than their time, whose mental 

eyes 
Are more far-seeing, and of wider grasp and 
sweep, 
Whose heart's desire swift follows where their vision 
flies, 
Are often saddest in their time ; they cannot reap 

7 While scarce the ground is yet prepared for them 

to sow, 
And yet the vision of the harvest passes on ; 
A soul alive to all the need of what shall grow, 
And what the reaper's thankful song shall be — ■ 



Each dispensation hath its Noahs and its arks, 
Its men and life-boats over vast transition seas, 

To carry safe the winnowed "Old" and watch the 
marks, 
Seaworthy marks, on what "survives," of all 



ISADORE G, JEFFERY. 

Chicago, 1883. 



LAVA. 



1 "The lava always finds the sea." 
Thus on volcanic shores tradition runs, 
And wild, dark faces, gilded by the glare 

Of the dumb mountains' distaut menace, turn 
Contented to their quaking villages : "His home 
That landward lies, in peace shall be. 
Forever will the fire seek for the sea." 

2 " The lava always finds the sea." 

Sleep well, wise flames, through all the coming 

years, 
The silent, subtle years that bide their time. 
Lie ye in wait, be lithe, your hour shall spring 
On every soul of us. Poor fools are we 
Who dream between the crater and the sea ! 

3 " The fire will always find the sea." 
Writhe and recoil, rebellious will, 

Dash hither — yonder — pile the seething waves, 
A hundred purple channels cut, 
But that which hath been, is the thing to be, 
Conquered, thou yieldest to the ordered sea. 

4 " The fire must always find the sea." 

O passionate outbreak of the bursting heart ! 
Beautiful lava ! red as bounding blood, 
Terrible lava ! scorching as remorse, 
Leap on. Flow fast. Obey the old decree 
That cools and kills thee in the Eternal Sea. 



THE RIGHT TO BE A WOMAN. 

The right to be a woman as we may, 
Complete and perfect — not a lump of clay 
On which each clumsy potter trys his skill, 
And thinks to mold and fashion it at will. 
With mind and heart trained to their nicest sensi 
With instincts fine and quick intelligence ; 
High in our aims as Heaven itself is high, 
Broad in our views as is the boundless sky ; 
In sympathies as large as are the needs 
Of the round world, and queenly in our deeds ; 
Hedged by no stinted method where we stand, 
Dispensing God's own fullness from our hands ; 
Bound by no narrow dogmas, old and gray, 
To live and walk just in a certain way ; 
But large and liberal, grandly brave and free, 
As God, who made us, meant that we should be. 






HiUm 




GENIUS. 
[From a Painting by E. Voclheniot.] 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, die 



803 



OUR CALLING. 

1 What is a woman's mission 

In this work-a-day world of ours ? 
To wander in gardens Elysian, 

And dally with Cupids and flowers ? 
To stand as a heading for sonnets, 

A toast for rude men at their wine : 
A milliner's peg to show bonnets ; 

A star in the gay world to shine ? 

2 Or is woman's province her oven ? 

To fry and to bake and to stew ; 
Her one aim to be not a sloven ; 

Her merit to make all thiugs new ; 
Is the needle her sceptre of office ; 

Her regal insignia the broom ? 
And perpetually sewing on buttons, . 

The Sisyphus path of her doom ? 

3 What then is a woman's true mission ? 

To beat the faint rhythm of bars ? 
With glasses to aid her weak vision, 

To peer into secrets of stars ? 
With Darwin to trace her relations 

In molecule, plasmoid, or ape ; 
With Spencer to use God's creation 

To question the words which He spake ? 

4 No ! woman's true mission is higher 

Than each and all others combined ; 
Her music the heavenly lyre, 

Her study the infinite mind. 
A watchman she stands where life's battle 

Rolls fiercely o'er moorland and fen, 
And tells through the thunder and rattle 

God's wonderful thoughts unto men. 

5 One hand on the glory supernal, 

One hand on this world of unrest, 
Her heart for the pity eternal, 

A faithful and sheltering rest. 
No serge of the cloister enfolds her, 

But happy, and hopeful, and sweet, 
She brightens the eye that beholds her 

In mart, or on roadside, or street. 

6 She shines for the darkened who need her, 

She speaks for the sorry and sore ; 
Art, science, and nature, all feed her, 

That more she may give from her store. 
Courageous against all oppression, 

She fearlessly stands for the right, 
Her pure accents calling truth's legions 

To quit them like men in the fight. 

7 While oft in the sunset's red gloaming 

She murmurs a lullaby low, 
Or charms back the wanderer roaming, 

With word-magic loving and low ; 
The white hands are fever-heats soothing, 

And reverent robing the dead, 
Or deftly the bright needle using, 

And moulding the sweet daily bread. 



For this is the true woman's mission, 

Its field as humanity wide ; 
To see with love's clarified vision 

Man's needs and their cure side by side ; 
As free as the winds or the angels, 

All fetters, all meanness above, 
To hearts and to homes God's evangels, 

Our calling, His calling, is love. 



MABGAREI K. WINSLOW, 1888. 

In "Advocate and Guardian." 



A SONG OF HOPE. 

1 We sing the time that's coming, 

When all who love the Lord 
Shall dwell in perfect brotherhood, 

And so fulfil the word — 
And time when faith and science 

Shall radiantly unite, 
To span J with fadeless coronal, 

The waiting brow of Night. 
Coming — coming; the shadows melt 
And through the rainbow mists of dawn 

Truth lifts her lovely face. 

2 We sing the time that's coming, 

When woman, pure and free, 
Shall wield the sovereignty of love 

In sweet humility — 
Shall share her brother's burdens 

With heart, and hand, and brain, 
Till both in garments fair and white, 

The mountain top shall gain. 
Coming — coming ; I hear the fetters fall, 
I see the golden gate of day 

Swing wide to welcome all ! 

3 We sing the time that's coming, 

When war shall be no more — 
When symphonies of peace shall rise 

From happy shore to shore ; 
When ocean's farthest islet 

Shall hear Messiah's voice, 
And o'er His last returning sheep 

The shepherd shall rejoice. 
Coming — coming ; sweet friends, 't will not be long ! 
I note the sweep of hurrying wings — 

I catch the seraph's song ! 

4 O wondrous day that's coming, 

We hail thy herald beams ! 
Thy rising beauties far outshine 

Our fancy's fairest dreams, 
O kingdom of the blessed, 

O city of the free, 
Thou New Jerusalem, come down ! 

We wait, we long for thee ! 
Coming — coming ; thank God ! through rifted skies 
Steal down the music and the balm 

From fields of paradise. 

MRS. JUDGE LANDON, 188*. 



804 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG, 



BIRTHDAY IMPROMPTU. 

TO MISS FBANCES E. WILLABD. 

Your birthday, — and what can I ask 

The years to bring to you ? 
What shall I plead may be fulfilled, 

What dreams that may come true ? 
Dear friend, I only breathe one prayer, 

In reverent trust I come, 
And ask that through your life, alway, 

God's will divine be done. 



* LILIAN WHITING. 



mitm m}M\ Smfora. 



Letitia Elizabeth Landon was born in Hans Place, Chelsea, in 1802. 
Her short poems, inserted in the " Literary Gazette," were successful, 
and continuing to publish poetry, under the signature of "L. E. L," in 
periodicals and volumes, she became one of the popular writers of the 
day. She also produced several prose works. In 1838 she married 
George Maclean, governor of Cape Coast Castle, where she died sud- 
denly on the 15th of October, 1839. 

BENARES. 



City of idol temples and of shrines 
Where folly kneels to falsehood — how the pride 
Of our humanity is here rebuked ! 
Man, that aspires to rule the very wind, 
And make the sea confess his majesty; 
Whose intellect can fill a little scroll 
With words that are immortal ; who can build 
Cities, the mighty and the beautiful ; 
Yet man, this glorious creature, can debase 
His spirit down to worship wood and stone, 
And hold the very beasts which bear his yoke 
And tremble at his eye as sacred things ! 
With what unutterable humility 
We should bow down, Thou blessed One, to Thee ; 
Seeing our vanity and foolishness, 
. When, to our own devices left, we frame 
A shameful creed of craft and cruelty. 

MRS. LANDON. 

A SONG FOR WOMEN, 

1 Within a dreary, narrow room 

That looks upon a noisome street, 

Half fainting with the stifling heat 
A starving girl works out her doom. 

Yet not the less in God's sweet air 
The little birds sing free of care, 
And hawthorns blossom everywhere. 

2 Swift, ceaseless toil scarce winneth bread ; 

From early dawn till twilight falls, 

Shut in by four dull, ugly walls, 
The hours crawl round with murd'rous tread, 
And all the while in some still place, 
Where intertwining boughs embrace, 
The blackbirds build, time flies apace. 



3 With envy of the folk who die, 

Who may at last their leisure take, 
Whose longed-for sleep none roughly wake, 
Tired hands the restless needle ply. 

But far and wide in meadows green 
The golden buttercups are seen, 
The reddened sorrel nods between. 

4 Too pure and proud to soil her soul, 

Or stoop to basely gotten gain, 
By days of changeless want and pain 
The seamstress earns a prisoner's dole. 

While in the peaceful fields the sheep 
Feed, quiet ; and through heaven's blue de 
The silent cloud-wings stainless sweep. 

5 And if she be alive or dead 

That weary woman scarcely knows, 

But back and forth her needle goes 

In tune with throbbing heart and head. 

Lo'! where the leaning alders part, 
White-blossomed swallows, blithe of heart, 
Above still waters skim and dart. 

6 God in heaven ! shall I, who share 

That dying woman's womanhood, 
Taste all the summer's bounteous good 
Unburdened by her weight of care ? 

The white moon-daisies star the grass, 
The lengthening shadows o'er them pass ; 
The meadow pool is smooth as glass. 



A. MATHESON, 

' MacmiHan's Magazine." 



Jranm S. ©sgoorj. 



For many years the following poem has been, and still is almost daily 
quoted, or portions of it, in some paper, but always anonymously, It 
was written by Mrs. Osgood, nee Lock, who was a native of Boston. 
She was a sister of Mrs. Wells who is represented in this work. It was 
through the celebrated Lydia M. Child, an esteemed friend of the fam- 
ily, that the fruits of Mrs. Osgood's genius were permitted to be read by 
the world while she was yet very young, before marriage, under the name 
of "Florence." It was during her bridal tour to Europe, and while in 
London, just after her union withj the distinguished artist whose name 
she bears, that her first volume of poems was published, entitled '* A 
Wreath of Flowers from New England." This brought her to the notice 
and friendship of the Hon. Mrs. Norton, and she received much cour- 
teous attention from people of noble birth and talent. On herreturn to 
America, she edited " The Flowers of Poetry," and a magazine called 
"The Ladies Companion." In 1841 she published " The Snow Drop." 
and several other books for children. In 1848 another volume of poems 
made its appearance, and for two years thereafter she was a busy writer. 
It is said there was nothing mechanical about her, but her productions 
were like the bubbling of a natural fountain. Simplicity, the trans- 
parent simplicity of truth, grace and "adaptation ~to sound of sense" 
characterized her articles best of ail. She was termed "!an eloquent 
. teacher of wisdom and truth" by contemporaneous writers. She was 
born in 1812 and died in 1859. 

SLANDER. 

1 A whisper woke the air — 
A soft, light tone and low, 
Yet barb'd with shame and woe ; 
Now, might it only perish there! 
Nor farther go. 

eminent newspapers in various 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, &c. 



805 



2 Ah me ! a quick and eager ear 

Caught up the little meaning sound ! 
Another voice has breathed it clear, 

And so it wanders round, 
From ear to lip — from lip to ear, 

Until it reached a gentle heart, 
And that — it broke. 

3 It was the only heart it found, 
The only heart 't was meant to find, 

When first its accents woke ; — 
It reach'd that tender heart at last, 
And that — it broke. 

4 Low as it seem'd to other ears, 
It came a thunder crash to hers, 

That fragile girl so fair and gay, — 
That guileless girl so pure and true. 

'T is said a lovely humming-bird 
That in a fragrant lily lay, 
And dreamed the summer morn away, 
Was kill'd but by the gun's report, 
Some idle boy had fired in sport ! 
The very sound — a death-blow came ! 

5 And thus her happy heart that beat 
With love and hope, so fast and sweet, 
(Shrined in its lily too — 
For who the maid that knew 

But owned the delicate flower-like grace 

Of her young form and face ?) 
When first that word 
Herdight heart heard, 

It fluttered like the frighten 'd bird, 
Then shut its wings and sigh'd, 
And, with a silent shudder — died ! 



FRANCES S. OSGOOD. 



NO SECTS IN HEAVEN. 

1 Talking of sects till late one eve, 

Of the various doctrines the saints believe, 
That night I stood in a troubled dream 
By the side of a darkly-flowing stream. 

2 And a "Churchman" down to the river came, 
When I heard a strange voice call his name : 
"Good father, stop ; when you cross this tide, 
You must leave your robes on the other side." 

3 " I'm bound for Heaven ; and when I'm there 
I shall want my Book of Common Prayer ; 
And though I put on a starry crown, 

I should feel quite lost without my gown." 

4 Then he fixed his eye on the shining track, 
But his robes were heavy, and held him back ; 
And the poor old father tried in vain 

A single step in the flood to gain. 

5 I saw him again on the other side, 
But his silk gown floated on the tide,. 
And no one asked in that blissful spot 
Whether he belonged to the "Church" or not. 



6 Then down to the river a Quaker strayed — 
His dress of a sober hue was made. 

" My coat and hat must be of gray, 
I cannot go any other way." 

7 Then he buttoned his coat straight up to his chin, 
And steadily, solemnly waded in ; 

And his broad-brimmed hat he pulled down tight 
Over his forehead, so cold and white. 

8 But a strong wind carried away his hat ; 
A moment he silently sighed over that, 
And then he gazed to the further shore :, 
The coat slipped off, and was seen no more. 

9 As he entered Heaven, his suit of gray 
Went quickly sailing — away — away ; 
And none of the angels questioned him 
About the width of his beaver's brim. 

10 Next came Dr. Watts, with a bundle of psalms 
Tied nicely up in his aged arms, 

And hymns as many — a very wise thing — 

That the people in Heaven "all round" might sing. 

11 But I thought that he heaved an anxious sigh, 
As he saw that the river ran broad and high, 
And looked rather surprised as, one by one, 
The psalms and hymns in the waves went down. 

12 And after him with his MSS., 

Came Wesley, the pattern of godliness ; 

But he cried, " Dear me, what shall I do ? 

The water has soaked them through and through." 

13 And there on the river far and wide, 
Away they went on the swollen tide ; 

And the saint, astonished, passed through alone, 
Without the manuscript, up to the throne. 

14 Then gravely walking, two saints by name, 
Down to the stream together came, 

But as they stopped at the river's brink, 
I saw one saint from the other shrink. 

15 " Sprinkle or plunge — may I ask you, friend, 
How you attend to life's great end ? " 
"Thus with a few drops on my brow, 

But I have been dipped as you see me now. 

16 "And really I think it will hardly do, 

As I'm ' close communion,' to cross with you ; 
You are bound, I know, to the realms of bliss, 
But you must go that way and I'll go this." 

17 Then straightway plunging with all its might 
Away to the left — his friend to the right, 
Apart they went from this world of sin, 

But at last together they entered in. 

18 And now, when the river was rolling on, 
A Presbyterian church went down ; 

Of women there seemed an innumerable throng, 
But the men I could count as they passed along. 

19 And concerning the road, they could never agree, 
The old or the new way, which it could be ; 
Not even a moment paused to think, 

That both would lead to the river's brink. 



806 



WOMAN IN SAC BED SONG. 



20 Or, " I'm in the old way and you're in the new ; 
This is the false, and that is the true," 

But the brethren only seemed to speak, 
Modest the sisters walked, and meek. 

21 But if ever one of them chanced to say 
What trouble she met with on the way — 
How she longed to pass the other side, 
Nor dared to cross over the swelling tide, — 

22 A voice arose from the brethren then ; 
Let no one speak but the " holy men," 
For have you not heard the words of Paul, 
Oh ! let the Women keep silence all ? 

23 I watched them long in my curious dream, 
Till they stood by the borders of the stream ; 
Then just as I thought the two ways met, 
But all the brethren were talking yet, — 

24 And would talk on till the heaving tide 
Carried them over side by side ; 

Side by side, for the way was one — 
The toilsome journey of life was done. 

25 I saw them all on the other side, 

There was no deception, no chance to hide ; 
The life they had lived, the work they had done, 
Made mauy poor souls as bright as the sun. 

26 And the priest and Quaker, and all who died, 
Came out alike on the other side : 

No forms, or crosses, or books had they — 
No gowns of silk, or suits of grey, 
No creeds to guide them, or MSS., 
For all had put on Christ's righteousness. 



MRS. CLEVELAND. 



|ba Start factor 



4 They let all the brightness shift ever before them, 

Nor gather a share ere it flutters away, 
The clouds, filled with hope, that bend lovingly o'er 
them, 
When touched by their glance, — turn from rose-tint 
to gray. 

5 Oh ! why should we walk ali our days in the shadow, 

And wound our tired feet with the brambles of care, 
When life of itself is a green-daisied meadow 

Where each may weave garlands of flowers to wear ? 

6 'T is well we should cling to the standard of Duty, 

But not to walk blindly, unheeding the sun : 
God gave us the world with its blossoming beauty, — 
And we may blend brightness and shadow in one ! 



Was born at Springfield, 111., but has resided the most of her life in 
the neighboring city of Jacksonville. She has marked literary talent, 
and, though still quite young, ranks among the best poets of her native 
state. She has recently finished a story in prose, pronounced by critics 
to be of much excellence. It has just been published as a serial, in the 
" Jacksonville Journal." Miss Taylor doubtless has a brilliant and use- 
ful future before her. 

OUR HERITAGE. 

Life seemeth to me like a beautiful poem ; 

Its tenderest line is the innermost soul, 
And youth is the preface, — the heart-touching proem— 

That like golden sunlight illumines the whole. 
Some drift thro' the spring-time ne'er heeding its 
beauty, 

And crush the shy roses that lie at their feet ; 
They tread in the paths leading only to duty, 

And miss all the "glad" that makes living so sweet. 
Tho' thirsty, they hear not the low plashing fountain 

That scatters its spray on the grass at their side ; 
Tho' weary, they toil up the high sun-scorched 
mountain, 

Nor rest in the vale where the cool shadows bide. 



IDA SCOTT TAYLOR. 
Jacksonville, 111., 1884. 



DEAR HANDS. 

Roughened and worn with ceaseless toil and care, 
No perfumed grace, no dainty skill, had these ; 
They earned for whiter hands a jeweled ease, 

And kept the scars unlovely for their share. 

Patient and slow, they had the will to bear 

The whole world's burdens, but no power to se: 
The flying joys of life, the gifts that please, 

The gold and gems that others find so fair. 

Dear hands, where bridal jewel never shone, 
Whereupon no lover's kiss was ever pressed, 
Crossed in unwonted quiet on the breast, 
I see, through tears, your glory newly won, 
The golden circlet of life's work well done, 
Set with the shining pearl of perfect rest ! 

SUSAN MAR SPALDING.. 



COULD WE KNOW ALL. 



1 Could we know all, we might no longer dare 
To judge so harshly even those who wear 
The scars of sin alike on soul and face ; 

But Pity then, with tear-wet eyes, might trace 
The wicked skill of circumstance to snare ; 
And Love, with new and tender insight, share 
The heritage of woe that some must bear ; 
And Justice, wed to Mercy, win new grace, 
Could we know all. 

2 Ah ! seldom then the pharisaic prayer 
Would pass our lips : in lives become aware 
Of Fate's dread forces, this could find no place ; 
But Charity would all mankind embrace, 

And bitter judgments crown no life's despair, 
Could we know all. 

GRACE S. WELLS. 
In " The Chicago Tribune." 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, &c. 807 

THE OLD MAID. g Life and love and hope and beauty paled before the 

star of duty, 

1 O November, weird November, when each fading, That shone o'er her soul's blue heaven with a 

dying ember steady, radiant fire ; 

From Summer's fires of glory lies in ashes round g^e returned the troth-plight token, though her 

thy feet, _ _ heart was nearly broken, 

How you cause me to remember, with your wailing As s h e wa t c hed upon time's altar her last cherished 

winds, November, _ hope expire. 
All the sadness and the sorrows of a life that was 

not sweet. 9 Ah ! this lover of her choosing blames her so for 

2 When the Spring's fair hands caressing, touched the . what he's losing ! ,2,.,, 

meadows with a blessing, And *> P rove . hin ?. self completely all such child- 

And they woke to brighter beauty, where the „ wh change" above, 

wooing sunshine smiled, He precedes his acceptation of her calm renunciation 
Inasheltered English valley-where the sunlight With a sermon on the frailty of a woman s strong- 
seemed to rally est love ' 
All its scattered forces — a young mother kissed 10 g^e had dreamed of other parting, when, the bitter 
her child. teardrops starting, 

3 Kissed her first-born, eldest daughter. And the She had trod the darkened pathway through her 

waves their anthems taught her, own Gethsemane, 

As they beat upon the pebbles that make music When his arms would fondly hold her, and, as with 

on the shore, a spell, enfold her 

And she caught their intonation and their weird In a sweetness to go with her, through the lonely 

reverberation, years to be. 

And she sang them to the baby on her bosom, o'er -,,-,■,,,, . -, , 

and o'er ^ ^ ne a thought that every trial, she must bear with- 

4 And it grew a winsome maiden with a wealth of Wq ^ brighter in the future, for the moments 

beauty laden, she would rest 

And a voice of wondrous melody for songs her Iq hig ar her Qnl j ^ hig face bent 1qw 

mother taught : above her 

Always singing, e'en in speaking, so for music she mile ghe ^^ Qut &n her go with her 

went seeking, head Q hig breast> 

And from bird and bee and brooklet, all their F 

sweetest songs she caught. 12 Ah! her voice of wondrous sweetness, it could bring 

5 There were many came to woo her, but at last, when her life completeness 

love came to her, . Could she leave her daily labor long enough to 

To her opened eyes new beauty every form of win a name ; 

nature bore. But the duty ever nearest lay before her still the 

In the Summer that came after, all the world was clearest, 

full of laughter, Kept her feet from seeking pathway up alluring 

And the token of her troth-plight on her hand she heights of fame. 

gai y wor . ^ j^ tbe s t orm y Autumn weather paced she, hour by 

. 6 Months passed on, and nearer ever came the hour hour together 

when she must sever Where the waves' delirious fever flung the white 

All the fond associations that her happy girlhood spray on the shore 

knew ' Seeing in the surging ocean something of the wild 

But, secure of earthly heaven in the promise he had commotion 

§ lven > . That would sometimes seize and shake her, to her 

So she only saw before her happiness as sure and inmost being's core 
true. 
7 Happy days that soon are fleeting, wept for as they 14 When a11 self rose U P unbidden, from the place 

are retreating ! where it lay hidden, 

Other cares and other duties soon her earnest Flun g the chains from inclinations she had kept 

thoughts engage ; subdued with care, 

For a business speculation failed, and she with con- And they smiled in grim derision, while her soul, 

sternation Wlthm lts P"son, 

Saw her parents, poor and helpless, stranded on Flung its white arms up to Heaven, in the strength 

the shores of age. . oi dumb despair. 



808 WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

15 It was then that, hours together in the stormy MY LEGACY- 

Autumn weather, 

She would struggle with the tempest, by the 1 They told me I was heir : I turned in haste, 

sounding sad sea waves, And ran to seek my treasure, 

Till with soul and body weary, in the darkness, weird And wondered as I ran, how it was placed,— 

and eerie B- I should find a measure 

She could once more leave her passions in their Of gold, or if the titles of fair lands 

uufor°-otten °raves. And houses would be laid within my hands*. 

16 Sometimes in her daily going back and forth unto 2 I journeyed my roads ; I knocked at gates ; 

her sewing ' •"■ spoke to each wayfarer 

O'er her pale and classic features falls a sadly I met, and said, "A heritage awaits 

wistful shade ; Me. Art not thou the bearer 

When the children near her straying, pause to Of news ? some message sent to me whereby 

whisper in their playing, I le arn which way my new possessions lie ? " 

And she hears a smothered murmur of her name, 3 Some asked me in ; naught lay beyond their door ; 

and then " Old maid." Some smiled and would not tarry, 

17 In her daily avocation, her distasteful occupation, But said that men were just behind who bore 

Where in pay for utmost labor, she but little wages More gold than I could carry ; 

f oum j And so the morn, the noon, the day, were spent, 

She, instead of growing sadder, slowly climbed While empty-handed up and down'l went. 

contentment's ladder, 4 At last one cried, whose face I could not see, 

Bearing all her burdens with her, climbed it slowly, As through the mists he hasted : 

round by round. " Poor child, what evil ones have hindered thee 

18 In her heart of hearts she's keeping treasures that, Till this whole day is wasted ? 

awake or sleeping Hath no man told thee that thou art joint heir 

Still she guards with jealous study from 'the garish With one named Christ, who waits the good to 

light of day, share ? " 

Half a Summer's glint and glimmer, on the waves, 5 The one named Christ I sought for many days, 

its moonlight shimmer, In many places vainly ; 

And the tender, pretty nothings, that a lover learns I heard men name His name in many ways ; 

to say. I saw His temples plainly ; 

19 But her eyes, so sweet and tender, from all homeli- But they who named Him most gave me no sign 

ness defend her, To find Him by, or prove the heirship mine. 

Though her cheeks have lost their roundness, and 6 And when at last I stood before His face, 

her lips their rosy glow, I knew Him by no token 

Though the little corkscrew ringlets (by irreverent Save subtile air of joy which filled the place ; 

girls called stringlets), Our greeting was not spoken ; 

That she still puts on paper, have become as In solemn silence I received my share, 

white as snow. Kneeling before my Brother and joint heir. 

20 So the years steal from her beauty, while she treads 7 My share ! No deed of house or spreading lands, 

the path of duty, As I had dreamed ; no measure 

But the ones who know her story think they see Heaped up with gold ; my elder Brother's hands 

a radiance faint, • Had never held such treasure. 

A transparent emanation, from Divine self-abnega- Foxes have holes, and birds in nests are fed ; 

tion, My Brother had not where to lay His head. 

That is folded round about her like the halo round 8 My share ! The right like Him to know all pain 

a saint. Which hearts are made for knowing ; 

For " Gems of A pdetry." The right to find in loss the surest gain ; 

GOOD HEART. To reap my joy from sowing 

,_ /lji ,,,,,. , in bitter tears ; the right with Him to keep 

1 Better trust all, and be deceived, A . , . , , s . ... „ , * 



And weep that trust and that deceiving, 



A watch by day and night with all who weep. 



Than doubt one heart that, if believed, 9 M y share J .To-day men call it grief and death ; 

Had blest one's life with true believing. T } se f the joy and life to-morrow ; 

_., , . ,, . . . ,, , , ^ I thank my father with my every breath, 

Oh! in this mocking world, too fast ,, .,.■ ' . ■>„„„„ , „ t ™ ^ 

„.,.,. » j • A i i.v r or this sweet legacy ot sorrow ; 

The doubting fiend o ertakes our youth ; And th h ^^ ^ tQ ^ ■„ ^ „ 

Better be cheated to the last With Chri «= u ^ h agk Him f ^ tfa share> , ; 

Than lose the blessed hope of truth. ' J 

ANNE KEMBLE. HELEN HUNT JACKSOW. 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, &c. 



809 



la Ida |n»t gate. 

The maiden name of " H. H." was Helen Maria Fiske. She was the 
daughter of Professor Nathan W. Fiske, of Amherst College, Mass. 
She was born at Amherst, Oct. 18, 1831, and was educated in part at 
Ipswich Female Seminary, and partly at Dr. Abbott's school in New 
York City. She was early married to Captain (afterward Major) Ed- 
ward B. Hunt, of the Engineer Corps, U. S. A., a man not only emi- 
nent in his profession, but of high repute for his scientific attainments. 
His wife resided with him at various military stations — West Point, 
Washington, Newport, and other places. In this way she gained a wide 
knowledge and experience that was afterward so charmingly utilized in 
her writings. She excelled in description. Like the New England wo- 
man she was, the moral side of her nature was intense and powerful. 
All events in her mind squared themselves by the rule of right and 
wrong. It was this tendency in her that led her in late years to the 
head of the Boston movement for redressing the wrongs of the IndiaDS. 
In this movement she is as well known as in her writings. They had 
several children, all of whom died in early infancy, except one boy, 
Rennie, who lived to the age of about ten, and was an unusually beau- 
tiful and gifted child. His death was a terrible blow to both parents. 
And almost before the mother had regained composure after this over- 
whelming sorrow, the death of Major Hunt— who was killed in 1863, by 
the discharge of suffocating vapors from a submarine battery of his own 
invention— left Mrs. Hunt heart-broken and desolate, bereft of nearly 
all human ties. 

Early in her period of widowhood Mrs. Hunt removed her residence 
to Newport, R. I., where shortly after she began to develop a talent for 
literary composition which up to this time had lain quite dormant. She 
had always been a favorite in society, because of her vivacity, amia- 
bility, and remarkable conversational gifts, and was known to her fam- 
ily and friends as a chaiming letter-writer, but had not hitherto written 
anything for publication. In 1867 or 1868— we are not sure of the exact 
date— her first poems appeared in print, and soon after she began con- 
tributing articles on home topics to the "Independant" and other news- 
papers. In 1870 she printed a volume of verses at her own expense 
which was so well received that it was again issued with some enlarge- 
ment in 1871, and again, almost double in size, in 1874. In 1872 she 
published "Bits of Travel," which was made up of sketches of a tour 
in Europe. This was followed by "Bits of Talk About Home Matters" 
in 1873; "Bits of Talk for Young Folks," 1876, and " Bits of Travel at 
Home." 1878. These, with a little poem called "The Story of Boon," con- 
stituted for sometime all of her acknowledged works, but it is now no 
secret that she wrote two of the most successful volumes of the "No 
Name" series — " Mercy Philbrick's Choice," (1876), and "Hetty's 
Strange History" (1877). It has been generally believed for some years 
that she was also the author of the " Saxe Holm " stories which ap- 
peared in " Scribner's Monthly," and were subsequently published in 
two volumes. 

Constant devotion to her chosen pursuit of literature began after 
some years to tell upon Mrs. Hunt's health, and a severe throat affection 
showed itself , to relieve .which, she went to Colorado to live. About 
1876 she was married there to William S. Jackson, a merchant of Color- 
ado Springs. In her travels through the West she became greatly inter- 
ested in the wrongs which had been suffered by the Indians, and for the 
resi of her Uf e all literary ambitions were subordinated to a desire to 
aid this helpless and wronged race. During a winter of hard work in 
the Astor Library of New York she prepared "A Century of Dishonor," 
published in 1881, In the following year she was appointed by the 
United States Government as one of two commissioners (Abbott Kiu- 
ney being the other) to examine and report upon " the condition and 
needs of the mission Indians of California," Their report was made in 
July, 1883. As a further effort in behalf of the Indians, she wrote her 
" Ramona," which was printed as a serial in the " Christian Union," 
and was issued in book form in 1884. Besides these volumes she also 
wrote during these later years of her life several volumes for children. 
But her life-work, as she viewed it at the last, was in her two books 
about the Indians, and never was any one more devoted to a cause than 
she was to this, which she had so lately espoused. A short Lime before 
her death she wrote to a friend :— 

"I feel that my work is done, and I am heartily, honestly, cheerfully 
ready to go. In fact, I am glad to go. You have never fully realized 
how, for the last four years, my whole heart has been full of the Indian 
cause — how I have felt, as the Quakers say, a 'concern' to work for it. 
My 'Century of Dishonor ' and 'Ramona' are the only things I have 



done of which I am glad now. The rest is of no moment. They will live 
and they will bear fruit. They already have. The change in publis 
feeling on the Indian question in the last three years is marvellous. An 
Indian rights association is now in every large city in the land.* # * 
Every word of the Indian history in 'Ramona' is true, and is being re- 
enacted here every day." 

In personal character Mrs, Jackson was very attractive. She was 
of a frank and generous nature, and full of vivacity and kindness. She 
won and merited the attachment of a wide circle of very warm friends. 
In literature she was a most conscientious worker, and her writings, 
both in prose and poetry, are fairly ranked among the best works of 
American authors. She died Aug. 12th, 1885, in San Francisco, Cal. 

(Most of the above is taken from " The Inter Ocean.") Ed. 



THE VICTOR OF PATIENCE. 

Armed of the gods ! Divinest conqueror ! 

What soundless hosts are thine ? Nor pomp, nor state, 

Nor token, to betray where thou dost wait. 
All Nature stands, for thee, ambassador ; 
Her forces all thy serfs, for peace or war. 

Greatest and least alike, thou ful'st their fate — 

The avalanche chained until its century's date, 
The mulberry leaf made robe for emperor ! 
Shall man alone thy law deny ? — refuse 

Thy healing for his blunders and his sins ? 
Oh ! make us thine ! Teach us who waits, best sues ; 

Who longest waits, of all most surely wins, 

When Time is spent, Eternity begins. 
To doubt, to chafe, to haste, doth God accuse. 

HELEN HUNT JACKSON. 
In "Atlantic," 1885. 



A BLIND SPINNER. 

1 Like a blind spinner in the sun, 

I tread my days ; 
I know that all the threads will run 

Appointed ways. 
I know each day will bring its task, 
And, being blind, no more I ask. 

2 I do not know the use or name 

Of that I spin ; 
I only know that some one came 

And laid within 
My hand the thread, and said, "Since you 
Are blind, but one thing you can do." 

3 Sometimes the threads so rough and fast 

And tangled fly, 
I know wild storms are sweeping past. 

And fear that I 
Shall fail ; but dare not try to find 
A safer place, since I am blind. 

4 I know not why, but I am sure 

That tint and place, 
In some great fabric to endure, 

Past time and race, 
My threads will have : so from the first, 
Though blind, I never felt accurst. 



310 



But listen, listen, day by day, 

To hear the tread 
Who bear the finished web away, 

And cut the thread, 
And bring God's message in the sun, 
" Thou poor blind spinner, work is done." 

HELEN HUNT JACKSON, 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 

6 In fancy only I oan live and love beside them 



3pss IWbrt 



Is the sister of Mrs. Seward whose poem "Jesus' Night of Prayer." 
appears in this volume, and daughter of a Mr. Mumford who was editor 
of the " Standard " during 1848 and for some years following. Her 
published poems usually appeared over the name " Piccola." Her ar- 
ticles display much soundness of heart, as well as pure poetical feeling. 



CHEERFUL CONTENT. 

1 I know no loneliness of heart, — no shadowy ideal, 
No sighing for the unattained, — the beautiful un- 
real ; 

My happiness is ever near in treasures few and 

small ; 
My lowly hopes are realized in young fruition all. 

2 And mine the spirit still at home in sorrow and 

in j°y> 
That loseth not its sweet content at thought of 

earth's annoy ; 
The violet, that bides the storm, is freshened in 

its blue, 
And sorrow beats upon the heart to strengthen 

and renew. 

3 I know not why I do not love what others love on 

earth, 
Nor why what others seem to prize, to me is 

nothing worth ; 
Nor why I feel so trustful of everyone I see, 
Until my heart belongs to them more than it does 

to me. 

4 The flower upon our mantle- shelf, — my brother's 

flute at night, 
,, The way-worn letter from afar that bringeth pure 

delight, 
The voices of my darling ones that own no parlor 

tone, 
With these to sun my little world, I could not feel 

alone. 

5 I have an earthly mother, and my home is in her 

heart, 
And evermore I nestle there, though we are far 

apart ; 
And earthly sisters, too, I have, and brothers for 

my love, 
That cluster round me like the stars in the bright 

heaven above. 



In fancy only I can feel their kisses on my 

brow : 
I cannot see the hands I pressed, the ringlets I 

have curled ; 
My head that used to lean on them, is rested on 

the world. 

7 I know that heaven is near to earth where'er my 

lot may fall ; 
I know that they will pray for me, the frailest of 

them all ; 
And I, if I were growing gray, should sleep the 

sleep of youth, 
For my soul is rocked to slumber on the bosoms 

of their truth. 

8 There is a worldly wisdom that preacheth to de- 

spise 
The clime of youthful feeling, that impulsively 

replies 
To the whisper of affection, wherever it may 

spring, 
And proffers to the gazing world its fragrant 

blossoming. 

9 The dew refuseth not to bathe the dusty wayside 

flowers, 
Eestoring to the faded grass the green of vernal 

hours ; 
And though the faith were all disproved, another 

hath professed. 
The withered soul may be revived upon a loving 

breast. 

10 I would not blush to give away whatever I 

possess 

Of artless and confiding faith, and woman's tender- 
ness ; 

I would not blush to wrap my thoughts around 
one pulse that thrills 

With the delicious sense of life, that all my being 
fills. 

11 Though love is widowed of its trust, and weeps 

the living death ; 

And Genius, bending to its clay, forgets the ivy 
wreath, 

The only night that I could know would be the 
soul's eclipse, 

The guile that worketh at the heart, — the false- 
hood on the lips. 

12 1 love the smallest living thing to tears ; and quiet 

thought 
Hath sanctified the beautiful, with everything un- 

wrought ; 
I hear a glad philosophy throughout existence 

hymning, 
And often think the cup of life for me is full to 

brimming. 

ANGELINA S. MUMFORD, 1840. 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, &c. 



811 



WHEN MY SHIP COMES IN. 

1 When my ship comes in with joy and song, 

From sailing the far blue sea, 
"With everything that life could wish, 
Will my good ships laden be. 
My ships come back to me ! 

2 I've waited long, and am weary, 

Why tarry my ships so long ? 
I sent them out long years ago, 

They were builded staunch and strong. 
My ships ! come back to me ! 

3 It cannot be ! Oh ! no ; not that ! 

They will come back to me. 
Oh ! tell me not that waters wild 
Have wrecked my good ships all. 
My ships ! come back to me ! 

4 I sent out my good ship Pleasure, 

She bounded swift o'er the foaming sea, 
With a joyous laugh she quickly sped 

To a foreign port and a flower-decked lea. 
Pleasure ! come back to me ! 

5 The next sent out was Joy and Love, 

She quickly sailed to the tropic's fire, 
And there, 'mid fearful seas of grief, 
Was bound and sunk by a golden wire. 
She'll never come back to me, ah me ! 

6 The next that sailed — her name was Hope — 

She sailed the wide world o'er ; 
And soon, I feel, that back she'll come, 
And sail from me no more. 
She must come back to me! 

7 The last that sailed — her name sweet Faith — 

My last, best ship was she ; 
Her track was marked by a brilliant star 
Far out on the unknown sea. 
Sweet Faith, come back to me ! 

8 Ah ! little I thought of what might come 

When my ships went sailing free ; 
Pleasure and Hope, Joy and Love, 
Will never come back to me — 
Never come back to me ! 

9 But Faith, sweet Faith, my guiding star, 

Has conquered the raging sea, 
And laden with treasures never to fade, 
Has come sailing back to me — 
Faith has come back to me ! 



BLACK HAWK'S FIRST AND LAST DEFEAT, 

FOB A RECITATION. 

" Just below the great bend in Rock River, where the city of Janes- 
ville, Wis., stands, is a bold promontory, called Table Rock. From 
its summit, 'Black Hawk' is said to have made his last appeal to his 
warriors." 

As Cateline, by proud compeers arraigned, 
Tried and condemned to banishment from Rome, 
Vowed to return with former power regained, 



Revenge his wrongs, and seal his country's doom, — 

So spoke the chief, by nobler passions stirred : 

" White man, beware ! I all your offers spurn ! 

Shade of my fathers, — here I pledge my word 

To be avenged — 1 go, but I return." 

True hearted Black Hawk. Fine, noble boast ! 

At thy command six hundred braves surround 

Their gallant chief, resolved, at any cost, 

To drive the pale face from their hunting-ground. 

Upon Rock River's gently flowing tide, 

A valiant band, flower of the Fox and Sauk — 

In their canoes are ranging side by side, 

Around the base of classic " Table Rock." 

Lo ! on its broad summit a vision appears ; 

Tall, straight, and majestic, though hoary with years, 

His blanket bangs loosely, his broad chest half bare, 

His eagle plumes wave in the fresh morning air. 

O'er his shoulder a gaily-wrought quiver is flung, 

In his broad wampum belt his weapons are hung. 

Say, who is the warrior that stands on the rock ? 

'T is Black Hawk, the chief of the Fox and the Sauk. 

Mucata muhicatah — hunted, pursued, 

With courage undaunted, and soul unsubdued. 

How glances the fire of revenge 'from thine eyes, 

"As the landscape outstretched in its loveliness lies." 

The deep rolling stream, as it murmurs along, 

Awakens a sense of oppression and wrong ; 

The homes of thy kindred, for ages untold, 

Their graves and their altars all bartered for gold. 

But see ! with his right arm extended on high, 

As calling for vengeance to fall from the sky, 

He speaks, and his voice, echoed back from the shore, 

Strikes full on the ear like the cataract's roar. 

" Their blood cries out for war — Rouse ye J my braves, 

Let Keocuk afar lead his poor slaves ; 

Aye, let them bound away like the startled fawn ; 

We'll stand like wolves at bay ; and dare them on. 

On, toward the setting sun, not this the place, 

We'll give brave Atkinson another chase. 

On, where the tall grass waves like serpents shy, 

There shall my trusty braves in ambush lie. 

Let Dodge, the pale-faced thief, charge on our rear ; 

Black Hawk, the Indian Chief, never felt fear ! 

We'll speed the arrow straight. Our pointed darts, 

Steeped in revenge and hate, shall pierce their hearts. 

Then let them pour like rain their leaden ball ; 

For every red-man slain, ten whites shall fall. 

This night we'll move our camp. And the great Manito 

Shall light us with his lamp ; brothers, let's go ! " 

Fierce was the conflict, but the strife is o'er : 

The Rubicon is passed, thy doom is sealed ; 

That boundry line thou must recross no more, 

'T is fate's decree and thy proud will must yield. 

Ah, martyr chief, methinks, with drooping wings, 

Yet living still, thy conquored soul must bow. 

Thyself, thy son, the prophets of thy tribes, 

Betrayed, and captured by a secret foe, 

And to the whites delivered up, for bribe. 

Insatiate avarice! o'er their broad lands 

Extend thine arms, and grasp in all the shore. 



812 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Thy passive chief assents to thy demands ; 
His heart is broken, he'll contend no more, 
Unbar the cage, and let the prisoner fly. 
Black Hawk, thy brothers bid thee go in peace ! 
Thy great white father gives thee leave to die. 



MBS. E. S. KELLOGQ. 



ilia ilrtojz 



(See page 259.) 



Was born in 1839, at Palmyra, Mo. She graduated from the Female 
College, Jacksonville, 111., and has resided most of the time since her 
marriage to Dr. B. M. Grimth, in Springfield, 111. Of a decided liter- 
ary turn of mind, her elegant home has long been a popular resort of 
the Author's Club and various literary gatherings. Though excelling in 
prose sketches, essays on scientific topics, and the like, she has written 
some gems of poetry that are ranked among those of a high order of 
merit. Two of her productions appear in this volume. Mrs. Dr. Griff- 
ith has ever been active in good works, For ten years she was the 
faithful recording secretary of the " Woman's Board of Missions," con- 
nected with the First Presbyterian Church; and for several years the 
"Presbyterial and Synodical Secretary of Central Illinois," besides being 
one of the directors of the " Woman's Board of the Northwest," 48 
McCormick Block, Chicago. (1885). The following poem is dedicated to 
her, by her old friend and class-mate. 

LIFE'S DREAM. 

TO MY CLASS-MATE, ALICE MCELBOY. 

1 Life ! thou strange mysterious dream 

That flits across the sleeping soul, 
Which lights it with a passing gleam, 
Then fadeth like a dream untold, 
So rapid, yet so wondrous strange, 
Is every varied changing shade, 
Although the spirit feels the change 

It knows not where the change was made. 

2 Like flying shadows o'er the sea 

Come sorrows wild and murky cloud, 
And o'er our vision, darkly flee 
Muttering thunders deep and loud. 
Yet gleams of sunshine intervene 
To linger o'er the scene awhile, 
And make the sea-girt islands green, 

"With friendship's warm, tho' fleeting smile. 

3 In this wild and feverish dream, 

Life's phantoms swiftly glide around 
Friendship's fleeting, shadowy gleam, 

With hatred's fearful, threat'ning frown. 
Love frail, tho' Heaven's brightest smile, 

And pride, with cold and haughty brow, 
And envy and deceit and guile 

Their shadows o'er the night-scene throw. 

4 And yet, the dreamer fears to wake 

Tho' night-mare terrors fill his brain, 
Lest e'en the dream its flight should take 
And he should never dream again. 

Sure there's a land of fadeless dreams, 

And kindred souls shall there be viewed ; 
And in those fair, eternal scenes 

Life's dream will surelv be renewed. 



Jacksonville, 111.. Female Colleg 



"IF THY RIGHT HAND OFFEND THEE." 

"Nay, not my right hand ! 
It is scarred with its toil, it hath never known rest ; 
In the struggle of life it hath wrought with the best; 
It hath smitten the foes that assaulted my breast ; 
It hath fought in my battles, fulfilled my command — 
Thou wilt spare my right hand ? " 

" Nay, nay ; not so fast ! 
It is strong, — it hath strewn ; but aye for the right ? 
Can it hold its scars proudly to-day in my sight ? 
Hath it guarded thy bosom from darkness or light? 
At my feet even now have its weapons been cast 
Can I trust it at last? " 

" Oh ! it quails at thy word ; 
It hath scattered such seed as were better unsown ; 
It hath garnered in fields that were never its own ; 
It hath left its own garden with weeds overgrown ; 
Yet it trembles and fears at the gleam of the sword. 
Thou wilt pity it, Lord ? " 

"And did I not heed 
Thy pleading, and strengthen and cleanse and prepare 
For work in my vineyard, my harvests to share ? 
Behold what rebellion hath answered my care ! 
Thy garners are empty, thou'rt crippled indeed ; 
And yet dost thou plead ? " 

" Nay, Lord, I am still ! 
.See ! the hand is in Thine ! If Thou lovest me so, 
There is mercy in smiting that lays me so low, 
There are pardon and healing to follow the blow ; 
Whole or maimed, weak or strong, if only Thy will 
Be wrought, I am still ! " 

MABY L. DICKINSON. 
New York. 1883. 



1 I found a place where violets grow ; 
They were peeping through a drift of snow, 
With blue eyes raised to the sky above, 
They told me of God's watchful love, — 

He had kept them safe and made them grow 
Under that bank of chilling snow, 
Through winter's darkest, dreariest hours 
He had kept them safe, those tiny flowers. 

2 And well I know that faith may grow, 
Under a grief more cold than snow ; 
With bright eyes raised to the sky above, 
She telleth of our Father's love, — 

That my soul may brighter and brighter grow 
Under a grief more coid than snow. 
For He who made for us sweet flowers 
Will order well these lives of ours. 

8AEAH BUCHANAN. 1882. 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, &c. 



813 



furs farrom 



Was bom in the charming old town of Beverly, on the northeastern 
coast of Mass. Much of her best work has been done in that corner of 
the Bay State. Dwelling between the grand old hills, the river and the 
sea, with the picturesque rocky height in front of her childhood home, 
she was constantly learning the secrets of the birds and wild flowers, 
catching glimpses of the glory land in the enchanting sunset, breathing 
in the pure invigorating air of that healthful locality, she had much to 
develop the latent poetical talent and literary bent that slumbered with- 
in her. She is fond of referring to the systematic training she received 
in the Bible and Catechism; to the reading of such books as " Pilgrim's 
Progress," "Milton's Paradise Lost," "Heavenly Heirarchies," "Scottish 
Chiefs" and the like, that found their way into her delightful Christian 
home, doing so much to direct her life into the proper channel. At the 
early age of seven she secretly wrote, illustrating with crude water col- 
ors, and published— in her way— a little manuscript volume of poems and 
little stories. After her father's death, her mother moved to Lowell, 
where for awhile Lucy was employed in the mills, all the time continu- 
ing her verses, however. She was happy in her week-day employment, 
the sweet Sabbath repose, the church attendance and the helpful heart 
and clear conscience. Still she never ceased to love the old home by the 
sea. But for the experiences in that romantic spot, it is not likely the 
"Idyl of Work" or the "Roses of Cape Ann," full of the legend, and 
picture and fragrance of the ocean, would have been given the world. 
She has written much to delight the children, as most good writers do. 
The war called forth much from her generous and intensely vigorous na- 
ture, and inspired her to write the "Sinking of the Merrimack," "Loyal 
Woman's No," and the like. "Hannah Binding Shoes" is one of her 
most celebrated productions, and her poem "The Rose Enthroned," has 
called out much admiration. 

It is said that she herself never thought much of " Hannah Binding 
Shoes;" but various eminent elocutionists have thought differently, and 
the quaint story of Hannah has been echoed and re-echoed from the 
rostrum of hall and opera house until every one is familiar with it. It 
has proved to be one of the simple " realities that sing themselves, and 
so sing immortally." The "Rose Enthroned" is pronounced her greatest 
inspiration by Mrs. A. D. F. Whitney who has writtena beautiful sketch 
of her life and work up to the year 1884, and who says "To have written 
such a poem as this alone is to have been a poet. No wonder,— the 
Atlantic Monthly then being published with a 'no-name' table of con- 
tents,— that it should have been attributed to Emerson." 

Some fifteen years ago, Miss Larcom edited " Our Young Folks" most 
successfully. Though now motherless, unmarried and of course child- 
less, she has the true womanhood and blessed mother instinct as the 
following verses show ;— 

Too many for one house, you see, 
And so I have to let them be 
In care of other mothers. 
* * * . * * * * * 

My darlings ! by my mother heart 

I have found, I shall find them. 
Though some from me are worlds apart, 
And thinking of them, tears will start 

Into my eyes, and blind them. 

" Even her Christmas is Woman's Christmas,— her song the rejoicing 
of the mother-heart." 

By the close bond of womanhood, 
By the prophetic mother-heart, 
Forever visioning unshaped good, 
Mary, in Him, we claim our part. 
******** 
What were our poor lives worth, if thence 
Flowed forth no world-performed good, 
No love-growth of Omnipotence ? 
The childless share thy motherhood. 



Breathe, weary woman everywhere, 
The freshness of this heavenly morn ; 

The blessing that He is. we share, 
For unto us this Child is born ! 

Better to the workers of to-day than all that has been said of Lucy 
Larcom, may be the fact that " she is in love with toil, and sings it as a 
lover sings his adored one "—in very busy industry that serves to aid 
her fellow travellers, and especially perhaps the temperance and mission- 
ary causes. One of her very latest poems is a joy song of "fellowship in 
toil, and one of her sweetest refrains is,"— 

Thank God for the work He lets us do ! 
I am glad that I live iu the world with you ! 



FROM THE MOUNTAIN TOP. 

1 Dear world, looking down from the highest of heights 

that my feet can attain, 
I see not the smoke of your cities, the dust of your 

highway and plain ; 
Over all your dull moors and morasses a veil the blue 

atmosphere folds, 
And you might be made wholly of mountains for 

aught that my vision beholds. 

2 Dear world, I look down and am grateful that so we 

all sometimes may stand 
Above our own every-day level, and know that our 

nature is grand 
In its possible glory of climbing, in the hill-tops that 

beckon and bend 
So close every mortal he scarcely can choose but 

ascend. 

3 Though here, my world, we miss something — the 

sweet multitudinous sound 
Of leaves in the forest aflutter, of rivulets lisping 

around, 
The smell of wild pastures in blossom, of fresh earth 

upturned by the plow — 
The uplands and all the green hillsides lead the way 

to the mountain's brow. 

4 One world ; there is no separation ; the same earth 

above and below ; 
Up here in the river's cloud-cradle ; down there is its 

fullness and flow. 
My voice joins the voice of your millions who upward 

in weariness grope, 
And the hills bear the burden to heaven — humanity's 

anguish and hope ! 

5 Dear world, lying quiet and lovely in a shimmer of 

gossamer haze, 
Beneath the soft films of your mantle I can feel your 

heart beat as I gaze : 
I know you by what you aspire to, by the look that 

on no face can be 
Save in moments of high consecration ; you are show- 

ino- vour true self to me. 



814 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



6 Dear world, I behold but your largeness ; I forget 

that aught petty or mean 
Ever marred the vast sphere of your beauty, over 

which as a lover I lean ; 
And not by our flaws will God judge us ; His love 

keeps our noblest in sight ; 
Dear world, our low life sinks behind us ; we look 

up to His infinite height ! 

T.TJCY LAitCOM, 

In "Harper's Magazine," 1884. 



4 My whole life rested in the mighty hand ; 
It held me like the nestling in the parent nest; 
It fed, warmed, taught me of Divine command : 
It sent my weary thought all heavenward in its 

quest — 
And late I found the state and attitude of prayer 
Is that, and that alone, which hath the rare, 
The gracious gift of sweet'ning ev'ry loss and 

care; 
I cannot now forget, if I should dare. 



WHAT HAVE WE DONE? 

1 If we sit down at set of sun, 

And count the things that we have done, 

And counting, find 
One self-denying act, one word 
That eased the heart of him who heard, 

One glance most kind 
That fell like sunshine where it went, 
Then we may count the day well spent. 

2 But if, through all the livelong day, 
We've eased no heart by yea or nay; 

If through it all 
We've done no thing that we can trace, 
That brought the sunshine to a face, 

No act most small 
That helped some soul, and nothing cost, 
Then count that day as worse than lost. 



JA WHEELEK. 



BEHOLD, HE PRAYETH. 

One gloomy day I paused with listless hand, 
And feeling painfully a burden which I bore, 
1 said, My half day's work is done — no land 
Of use or beauty stretches here ; it is the shore 
Of earthly end now lying at my feet — 
Vain, fruitless all, I cried, and fleet, so fleet. 

Unworthy of the patient, hard endeavor, 
The shadow'd way had led but to no thorough- 
fare ; 
I felt the weight, not power of any lever 
Which might to happier lots than mine have 

yielded fair 
Return for honorable toil — defeat 
Summed up the whole, o'er-mast'ring and com- 
plete. 

I kneeled upon the barren, barren sand — 
And sent my quest'ning soul forth o'er the un- 
known sea, 
When lo ! the shelt'ring of a mighty hand — 
A power unfelt, iuvisible to all but me, 
Reached downward from a pitying, tender sky : 
A voice called to my inmost life, Soul ! why 
Art thou thus lonely, with thy God so nigh ? 
My child ! my child ! " Be not afraid ; 't is I." 



LET YOUR LIGHT SO SHINE. 

1 Night on the angry billows ; 

And bright from the light-house tower 
Shines forth a friendly beacon, 
To save from the tempest's power. 

2 Said the keeper — the brave Max Erdmann, 

As he worked in the tower that night, 
" I wonder, if down on the lower coast, 
Their lamp is burning bright ? 

3 " Young Franz and Ivan — the keepers — 

May be careless ; — I think I'll go 
And look from the cliff ; — I must hasten back 
For the oil in my lamp is low." 

4 So away he sped through the darkness, 

To the mountain peak afar ; 
And saw, through the gloom of the driving storm, 
Like the smile of a beautiful star, 

5 The headland light-house, gleaming 

O'er the dangerous lower coast ; 
"Aha !" cried Max, — " 't is as good as mine, 
I must hurry back to my post. 

6 " But where is the bridge ? have I missed it ? 

Good heavens ! it is washe*d away, 
And hark ! the deep roar of a signal gun 
Comes booming up from the bay." 

7 Climbing the crest of the mountain, 

He looks for the cheering spark 
From his light-house gleaming ; alas ! alas ! 
It is out ; the tower is dark. 

8 Faster, and even faster, 

Down the mountain crags he leaps ; 
For he knows, by the sound of the minute-guns, 
That down on the rocky steeps, 

9 By his light-house dark, is a vessel ; 

For, with nothing to guide her way, 
She has struck, and will go to pieces, 
Before the break of the day. 

10 To his tower Max wildly hurries ; • 

But even while the oil he poured 
In his empty lamp, that ship went down, 
With every soul on board. 

11 For many a soul may be shipwrecked 

In the tempest and the night; 
While those who should cheer and guide them, 
Are watching their neighbor's light. 

EMMA S. BABCOCK. 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, &c 



815 



CHEERY BE. 



MARGARETTE SNODGRASS, in "Good Will." 
By per. Prof. T. M. TOWNE. 




1. Cheer - y 

2. If you 

3. Look a 



be. 

will, 



Hap - py be, 
You may fill 
There is love, 



Glad and joy -ous all the day; Shed thy light, 

Oth -ers with the joy you bring: As you go, 

Je - sus is the fountain head; At its brink, 

h p* _r* r* -f«- 




Beam - ing bright, 
You may show 
Deep - ly drink, 

H«. JL -0t- 



Like a sun - ny ray. 
Where the wa - ters spring, 
Thirst no more, He said. 



Tell the glad - ness you have found, 




ftrs. itarpitfte JMpss fra^ier 

Is a resident of Lake Forest. 111. She is the author of numerous of the 
best hymns of the present day, and is one of the sweetest and most 
conscientious composers of sacred music. She was recently married to a, 
Presbyterian clergyman, Rev. Mr. Frazier. A manuscript-hook of 
poems of her own composing is nearly ready for press, and is looked for 
with much interest by her many friends who esteem the author as one 
of the choicest gems o^ this world, Not. 1884. 

UNDER THE SHADOW OF THY WINGS- 

" In the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice."— Ps. lxiii. 7. 

1 I will rejoice with gladness deep, 
While in Thy care I wake or sleep ; 
Close to Thy side will ever cling, 
Under the shadow of Thy wing. 

2 I will rejoice that Thou art near, 
Thou wilt the faintest whisper hear ; 
Darkness may come, but I will sing, 
Under the shadow of Thy wing. 

3 I will rejoice, my heart doth leap ; 
To Thee in danger I will creep, 
Counting it joy all pain to bring, 
Under the shadow of Thy wing. 

4 Safe in its shelter I would hide, 
There let me evermore abide ; 

I can rejoice in everything, 
Under the shadow of Thy wing. 

MARGARETTE SNODGRASS. 

Set to Music by Frederick H, Pease, in "Good Will," and used by per. Dr. T. 
Martin Towne. 



CALLING THE ANGELS IN. 

1 We mean to do it. Some clay, some day, 

We mean to slacken this fevered rush 
That is wearing our very souls away, 

And grant to our goaded hearts a hush 
That is holy enough to let them hear 
The footsteps of angels drawing near. 

2 We mean to do it. Oh ! never doubt, 

When the burden of daytime troil is o'er, 
We'll sit and muse, while the stars come out, 

As the patriarch sat at the open door 
Of his tent, with a heavenward gazing eye, 
To watch for the angels passing by. 

3 We see them afar at high noontide, 

When fiercely tbe world's hot flashings beat ; 
Yet never have bidden them turn aside, 

And tarry a while in converse sweet ; 
Nor prayed them to hallow the cheer we spread, 
To drink of our wine and break of our bread. 

3 We promised our hearts that when the stress 
Of the life-work reaches the longed-for close, 

When the weight that we groan with hinders less, 
We'll loosen our thoughts to such repose 

As banish care's disturbing din, 

And then — we'll call the angels in. 



816 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



5 The day that we dreamed of, comes at length, 
When tired of every mocking quest, 

And broken in spirit and shorn of strength 
We drop, indeed, at the door of rest, 

And wait and watch as the day wanes on ; 

But the angels we meant to call, are gone ! 

MARGARET J. PRESTON. 



Sarprd I. ftcstan. 



"Give her of the fruit of her hands, and let her own works praise her 
in the gates." 

"What use for the rope if it be not flung 

Till the swimmer's grasp to the rock has clung ? 

What help is a comrade's bugle blast 

When the peril of Alpine heights is past ? 

What need the spurring paean roll 

When the runner is safe beyond the goal ? 

What worth is eulogy's blandest breath, 

When whispered in ears that are hushed in death ?' 

These words were our introduction to Margaret J. Preston, years ago. 
They told us so much of her ; told of a strong, helpful soul that some- 
where was blessing humanity with strong, helpful deeds. They have been 
a constant inspiration to the doing well of life's smallest duties, tbe bear- 
ing of "one another's burdens" ; to the flinging of a rope if a friend was 
sinking ; to a bugle cheer if a friend was faint ; to a joyous song if a friend 
had triumphed ; to a word of love to the friend who lived. Such inspi- 
rations never die. Translated from the heart of life they become new 
wherever they are spoken. "Sometime," we said, " we will know who 
Margaret Preston is." Now and then we read other poems from her pen, 
and they seemed like arbutus blooms lifting their pinky white cups of 
fragrance from under brown leaves, revealing sweetness and purity of 
thought. 

But we found her at last, not where the arbutus grows, hut 



And he lias laid aside his travel gear ; 

And forth to meet him come the mystic band, 
Whom he has dreamed of, worshipped, loved so long- 
The veiled Immortals, who with lofty cheer 

Of exultation, take him by the hand, 
And lead him to the inner shrine of Song! " 

Mrs. Preston is of Scottish descent, being the great grand-daughter of 
the " Laird of Newton." Her graud-parents were married in Edinburg, 
coming soon after to Philadelphia. Her father, the late Eev. George 
Junkin, D. D., a Presbyterian minister, was a man so well known as an 
eminent educator, as to be indentirled with the cause of education 
throughout the country. He held the presidency of Lafayette, Easton, 
Pennsylvania, and " Ever since the close of the war, Mrs. Preston has, 
with the aid of other Southern writers, labored for the up-building of 
•Southern literature," so one who loves her has said; and she has beeD, 
"a most extensive reviewer, and for years together has helped to edit 
gratuitously and anonymously the literary columns of more than half- 
a-dozen newspapers and magazines," besides being a friend to many 
young writers of the South who seek her kindly criticism. Her incessant 
literary labors have caused a serious affection of the eyes, and for sev- 
eral years she has had to resign herself to a darkened room. Many 
poems wait her restoration to be gathered into new volumes. From 
this "darkened room" there came to us one day a letter, written on the 
soft paper the blind use, whose message touched our heart with a mean- 
ing too deep for words. And a picture "for yourself only" reflected 
not only the beautiful strength of soul that first won her to ourthougbt, 
but the sweet faith that whispers : 

"To do God's will— that's all 
That need concern us ; not to carp or ask 
The meaning of it ; but to ply our task 

Whatever may befall ; 
Accepting good or ill as He shall send, 

And wait until the end." 

ESTHER T. HOUSH, 
In "The Woman's Magazine." 



"where magnolias give 
Out sweets in which their faintness could not live.' 

A Southern writer tells us of an evening spent at the home of Mn. 
Preston in Lexington, Virginia, of the " parlor, a large, square room, 
hung with curtains of lace, falling in graceful folds to the floor, which is 
carpeted with warm colors of mingled red and oak. A charming room, 
with its lofty ceilings, broad fire-places, and generous bay-windows look- 
ing out over a beautiful landscape, commanding a view of the Blue 
Ridge." Of the curiosities this art-loving woman has collected : " an 
Alpine staff from Switzerland, a china cup and saucer from which Louis 
Napoleon has often sipped his tea, an herbarium containing herbs from 
all portions of the world, and a picture woven from spider webs." And 
of the library with its " several thousand volumes," and portraits of 
General " Stonewall " Jackson— a brother-in-law of Mrs. Preston,— and 
Bryant, Longfellow, Holmes and Lowell, One does not wonder that 
amid such surroundings, she wrote 



ULTIMA THULE. 



" Wrap the broad canvas close ; furl the last sail ; 
Let go the anchor ; for the utmost shore 
Is reached at length, from which, ah ! nevermore 

Shall the brave barque ride forth to meet the gale, 

Or skim the calm with phosphorescent trail, 
Or guide lone mariners amid the roar 
Of hurricanes, or send, far echoing o'er 

Some shipwrecked craft, the music of his ' Hail.' 



SAVE THE OTHER MAN. 

1 The storm had spent its rage : the sea 

Still moaned with sullen roar, 
And flung its surges wrathfully 
Against the shelving shore ; 

And wide and far, 

With plank and spar 
The beach was splintered o'er. 

2 A league from land a wreck was seen, 

Above whose wave-washed hull, 
Fast-wedged the jutting rocks between, 
Circled a snow-white gull, 
Whose shrieking cry 
Rose clear and high 
Above the tempest's lull. 

3 " Hoy ! — To the rescue ! — Launch the boat ! 

I see a drifting speck : 
Some straggler may be still afloat, — 
Some sailor on the deck : 

Quick ! ply the oar, — 

Put from the shore, 
And board the foundered wreck ! " 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, <Scc. 



817 



4 Right through the churning plunge of spray, 

Whirled like an ocean shell, 
The hardy life-boat warped its way, 
As billows rose and fell ; 

And boldly cast 

Its grapnel fast 
Above the reefy swell. 

5 Around the bows the breakers sobbed 

With low, defiant moan ; 
When instant, every bosom throbbed, 
Held by one sound alone ; 

Somewhere— somewhere — 

Upon the air 
There thrilled a human groan. 

6 One moment— and they clomb the wreck, 

And there, a ghastly form 
Lay huddled on the heaving deck, 
With living breath still warm, — 

Too dead to hear 

The shout of cheer 
That mocked the dying storm. 

7 But as they lowered him from the ship 

With kindly care as can 
Befit rough hands, across his lip 
A whispered ripple ran : 

They stooped and heard 

The slow-drawn word 



2'Ifwea worthy enemy do find, 

To yield to worth, it must be nobly done ; 
But if of baser metal be his mind, 

In base revenge there is no honor won. 
Who would a worthy courage overthrow. 
And who would wrestle with a worthless foe ? 

3 We say our hearts are great and cannot yield ; 

Because they cannot yield it proves them poor. 
Great hearts are task'd beyond their power, but seld 

The weakest lion will the loudest roar. 
Truth's school for certain doth this same allow, 
High-heartedness doth sometimes teach to bow. 

4 A noble heart doth teach a virtuous scorn. 

To scorn to owe a duty over-long, 
To scorn to be for benefits forborne, 

To scorn to lie, to scorn to do a wrong ; 
To scorn to bear an injury in mind, 
To scorn a free-born heart slave-like to bind. 

5 But if for wrongs we needs revenge must have, 

Then be our vengence of the noblest kind ; 
Do we his body from our fury save, 

And let our hate prevail against our mind : 
What can 'gainst him a greater vengeance be 
Than make his foe more worthy far than he ? 



Breathed, 



Save — the — other — man ! " 



Oh ! ye who once on gulfing waves 

Of sin were tempest-toss'd, — 
Ye who are safe through Him who saves 
At such transcendent cost, — 
Will ye who yet 
Can rescue, let 
The other man be lost ? 



MARGARET J. PRESTON. 



labs <&lxiM\ tato. 



This lady is supposed to have been the wife of Sir Henry Carew, and 
she is the writer of an almost forgotten tragedy, "Marian, the Queen of 
Jewry," 1612. Though the tragedy is forgotten, the chorus, " Revenge 
of Injuries," in Act the Fourth, it has been remarked by a writer, con- 
tains sentiments of Christian duty which ought never to be forgotten. 
She has also written considerable music of a high order. The setting of 
music to- ' ' The Bridge " is pronounced the best melody yet arranged to 
those touching words. 



PRAYER OF MARY STUART, 
QUEEN OF SCOTS. 



The author of the following beautiful prayer, wrote it in the original 
latin, as given below, just a short time before her executiou. It was 
found in her book of devotions among the very last lines penned. As 
all know, she was beheaded Feb. 8, 1587, at the command of her cousin, 
Queen Eh'zabeth, at Fothingary. This Queen feared her power, and 
was induced to believe that she was guilty of complicity in a plot against 
her life. Mary was very beautiful, accomplished, and devoted to her 
religion, and few, if any, believe that she merited death. 



" O Domine Deus ! speravi in te ; 
O care mi Jesu ! nunc libera me 
In dura catena, in misera poena, 

Desidero te ; 
Languendo, gemendo, et genuflectendo, 
Adoro, imploro, ut libireo me." 



FORGIVENESS. 

The fairest action in our human life 
Is scorning to revenge an injury ; 

For who forgives without a further strife 
His adversary's heart to him doth tie 

And 'tis a firmer conquest, truly said, 

To win the heart, than overthrow the head. 



TRANSLATION. 

Master and Maker ! my hope is in Thee ; 
My Jesus, dear Saviour ! now get my soul free 
From this my hard prison, my spirit uprisen 

Soars upward, to Thee. 
Thus moaning, and groaning, and bending the knee, 

1 adore and implore that Thou liberate me. 

MARY STUART, 1587. 



818 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



to Cutis, 



Sister of Hon. Hampden Cutts, and great grand-daughter of Rev. 
Edward Holyoke, one of the early Presidents of Harvard College, Cam- 
bridge, was born in Portsmouth, N. H., April i. 1801. The last two years 
of her life were spent with her beloved niecj Anna, Holyoke Howard of 
Brooklyn, N. Y., where she died May 20, 1832. It has been truly said of 
her " a sunnier or blighter nature never existed." She was a woman of 
rare talent and culture, yet so retiring and gentle that she was best 
known and beloved by her own social circle, and most reverenced by those 
who knew her best. She was author of two volumes of poems, the first 
published by Crosby & Nichols of Boston in 1852, and as she retained 
her mind and intellectual vigor to the last of her long, useful life and 
also retained her fondness for writing, she left many beautiful poems and 
other MSS., never offered for publication. 

Wm. Cullen Bryant, Park Benjamin, and the press generally, spoke 
highly of her poems. Her last volume ' ' Goondalla, a Romance in Verse," 
was published by Sheldon & Co., New York, Gould & Lincoln, Boston, in 
1866. 

It would take up too much space to quote all the favorable notices 
that these volumes elicited from the leading newspapers of the day. 
Among otherthiugsitwassaidofherpoems: " They show how a Christian 
spirit may come like sunlight into all the relations and experiences of our 
daily lot," and this also may truly be said of her life. 

Among her sacred poems are "Joseph and his Brethren," "Jephthah's 
vow," " Solomon's Prayer," " Blind Bartimeus " and " The Raising of 
Lazarus." Several of her best poems are written in blank verse. 



5 Jehovah ! may Thy spirit fill 

This house we dedicate to Thee ; 
Subdue us ever to Thy will, 

And in Thine holy temple be. 
Surely should we Thy chosen race, 

To Thee our adoration give : 
Hear us in heaven Thy dwelling-place; 

And when Thou hearest, Oh ! forgive. 



\m lalia f. %\w* 



Is the daughte- '-f Prof. G. Thayer, DD„ principal of Chicago Female 
College, Morgan Park. Miss Thayer is associated with her father in 
teaching, and has been, the greater part of her life, a resident of Illinois. 
She does much literary work, being a regular contributor to many of 
the best papers and magazines, mainly in the line of poetry, which is 
always of a purely Christian type, but occasionally penning sketches and 
stories. Poetry, however, is her natural bent, and her productions ever 
find a ready response in the hearts of her many readers. 



SOLOMON'S PRAYER. 

FOR DEDICATION OF TEMPERANCE TABERNACLES, ETC. 

I kings— viii. 

1 Lord God of Israel ! hear our prayer : 

There is no God in heaven above, 
Or earth, that can with Thee compare, 

Thou God of mercy, God of love ! 
Our father's God ! Oh ! hear us now ; 

Look down from heaven, and bid us live, 
Hear the petition, hear the vow ; 

And, when thou hearest, Oh ! forgive. 

2 Our Father ! from Thy throne on high 

Behold in love Thy people here ; 
Regard the contrite, humble cry ; 

The joy, the gratitude, the tear. 
This temple, holy may it be ; 

Our offerings ever here receive ; 
And, when our prayers ascend to Thee, 

Our sins, our sins, great God ! forgive. 

3 Oh ! keep us Lord ! from every ill, 

From pestilence, and famine drear : 
Should aught appal], we would be still, 

And feel and know that Thou art here. 
And when we sin, Thou God of grace ! 

And pray, implore Thee, mercy have ; 
Hear Thou in heaven, Thy dwelling-place, 

And, when Thou hearest, Oh ! forgive. 

4 Have pity, Lord ! on all oppressed 

With pain, anxiety, or grief ; 
Oh ! ever comfort the distressed, 

And to the captive grant relief. 
Beneath Thy kind, protecting wing 

May we forever, ever live ; 
Hear Thou the offerings now we bring, 

And, when Thou hearest, Lord ! forgive. 



THE MOUNTAIN APART. 

"Jesus taketh Peter, James asd John his brother and bringeth them 
up into an high mountain apart, and was transfigured before them." 
Matt, xxxiv : 1, 2. 

1 Strangely blest were those disciples, 

Peter, James and John, — the three 
Chosen for the brightest vision 
Of the Lord's divinity. 

2 Oh ! the eyes that saw such glory 

On that sacred mount apart ! 
Oh ! the high distinction granted ! 
Oh ! the ecstasy of heart. 

3 Yet, I sometimes think, more favored 

Are His chosen ones to-day 
That they see His glory clearer, 
In a better, higher way. 

4 On the height of exaltation, 

Where no mortal foot hath trod ; 
Oft the soul's transfigured being 
Keeps a holy tryst with God. 

5 There, reflecting borrowed splendor, 

White as light our faces gleam, 
While below earth's jangled voices 
Blend like music in a dream. 

6 Veiled in cloud, our feeble vision 

Bears the shining of the sun : 
Lulled in calm there falls a quiet, 
Like the pause when life is done. 

7 On and on, the wide horizon 

Stretches with a sweep sublime, 
With a range of hope unbroken 
By the narrowing hills of time. 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, Ac. 



819 



8 Oh ! what light streams through the portal 

Of the upper city fair ! 
How distinctly heavenly tidings 
Float adown the golden air ! 

9 Blessed mount of God's providing, 

Where the soul may rest apart, 
Far, so far away, earth's voices 
Wake no echo iu the heart. 

JULIA H. THAYER. 

Morgan Park College, near Chicago, 111., 1884. 



THE RIFT. 

1 Nature has wept to-day, her pent-up grief 

In tears still trembles on the lily bell ; 
Remorseless raindrops fleck its bending leaf, 
And crystalize its yellow coronal. 

2 And from the pansy 'neath the almond tree 

The purple velvet bloom is dashed away; 
The skies are low'ring down so heavily, 
Nature is sadder than a sigh to-day. 

3 Something has hurt your heart and made you 

grieve, 
The day has been too dark without the sun ; 
Something has proved too hard ; but Oh ! believe 
Others have suffered just as you have done. 

4 Some one has sobbed to-day, as you do now ; 

Those dry, unending sobs of tearless pain, 
And felt the fever-heated pulsing brow, 

That was not cooled by heaven's falling rain. 

5 Some one has asked to-day, and been denied, 

And in response sent up the shiv'ring cry 
That marks some human wish ungratified ; 

The reeds on which they leaned all broken lie. 

6 And some have carved to-day a higher sphere, 

And know the tortures of a pinioned will ; 
Have felt their efforts baffled, and the clear, 
Hard voice of Fate, ring out against them still. 

7 Some one has lost to-day the gilded prize 

That years endeared unto Ambition's soul ; 
To-night he bears the hardest agonies 
Of failure in the race to win the goal. 

8 Some one has harder tasks to bear and do, 

Has wilder trials than yours, which he contends ; 
Some one is farther off from Heaven than you, 
Knows less of kindness and has fewer friends. 

9 Some one has wept to-day disconsolate, 

In unison with earth has nursed his pain, 
And felt the world as harsh and desolate 

As the dark, mournful skies, and dripping rain. 

10 Some one is sad to-night, — uncomforted, 
The heart with all its little woes 
A word, perhaps, she fain had left unsaid, 
Is burning still within that patient breast. 



11 Some one is tired to-night, too tired to speak 

Of all the hardships of the dark hours past , 
Poor heart and hand have grown so slow and 

weak 
In struggling for the well-won rest at last. 

12 And you are tired to-night, too tired to know 

The clouds have clustered in a crimson drift ; 
Too tired to see aloft God's signet bow, 
And o'er its prison arch — an azure rift. 

MAROARET BOX. 
In "Gems of Poetrj-," 1884. 

DEAD FLOWERS. 

1 We ask, and we are answered not, 
And so we say God has forgot, 
Or else there is no God. 

2 The years 

Roll back, and through a mist of tears 
I see a child turn from her play, 
And seek with eager feet the way 
That led her to her father's knee. 

3 "If God is good and kind," said she, 
"Why did He let my roses die ? " 
A moment's pause, a smile, a sigh, 
And then, "I do not know, my dear; 
Some questions are not answered here." 

4 "But is it wrong to ask ?" "Not so, 

My child. That we should seek to know 
Proves right to know, beyond a doubt ; 
And some day we shall find out 
Why roses die." 

5 And then I wait, 
Sure of my answer soon or late ; 
Secure that love doth hold for me 
The key to life's great mystery ; 
And, Oh ! so glad to leave it there ! 
Though my dead roses were so fair. 

ELEANOR KIRK, 1885. 

OUR WAYS. 

1 We wearily toil up the hillsides, 

Forgetting the sweet vales of rest ; 
We plunge into dense, tangled forests, 
When the plain, narrow way is the best. 

2 We pass half the dew-laden roses 

That bloom by our path every day ; 
We see not the beauty beside us 
With eyes on the fields far away. 

3 We venture through deep, foaming waters, 

When lo ! there's a bridge plain in sight ;, 
We stumble and grope in the darkness, 
When God bids us walk in the light. 

4 We foolishly turn from the sunlight 

To watch the long shadows we cast; 

We fly from them, still gazing backward^ 

Then weep that they follow so fast. 



820 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG 



Our ways are not Thine, O our Father ! 

They lead to wild depths of unrest ; 
They lead us far out of our journey 

They lead us to raptures unblest. 
Have mercy, compassionate Saviour, 

And open our sin-blinded eyes, 
And show us how full of Thy glory 

Are even the grayest of skies. 

JULIA H. THAYER. 
In "The Chicago Tribune," 1884. 



Ins. gellt Mm ®Jfora. 



Down among the prairie flowers in Racine Co., Wisconsin, we find a 
little girl racing through the long grass under the burr-oaks, her hair as 
white as the moth-millers that she chases, and her eyes as blue as the 
indigo-flowers she presses to dye her primer with. Then we find a 
covered wagon making its way over a snowy waste of wide prairie, 
disappearing at last over a low hill, while back through the gloam- 
ing, two figures are just discernible, who strive with strained inten- 
sity to keep the vehicle in view, but lose it as it dips down into the 
hollow. The pretty home that has been reared so lovingly and under 
such difficulties, for the delicate Mrs. E. S. Kellogg, mother of the sub- 
ject of this sketch, and whose poems appear elsewhere, has been swept 
by the hot breath of flame, and only thS ashes of dead hope mark the 
place. The family are on their way to the new home being prepared for 
them by the sturdy father, at Janesville, Wis. The two plodding in the 
snow,-our little white-haired girl andan elder sister- having been dropped 
by the others to get "warmed up by running," have unwittingly been 
left too far by the easier-propelled wagon, and night settles down over 
the white landscape. But the elder girl knows well she must turn a 
deaf ear to theories of the little one she is dragging almost by force, who 
begs " to lie down for just a little sleep." At last, the driver, realizing 
he is going too fast, looks back, in fright, at the snowy-waste reaching 
unbrokenly behind him, and turns. The imperilled ones are rescued. 
Next we have an ardent, impulsive, warm- hearted, strong-willed girl, 
strapping up her books with quivering lip, and an eye that tries to tell 
no tale, while her heart smarts under the ruling of a destiny that seems 
hard, as a call bids her leave the field she was so revelling in, and seek a 
sick-room where a mother lies in need. She is but a young Christian, 
and has not yet learned the hidings of all the fountains of strength 
along the wayside. Looking into the home on the banks of the clear- 
running Rock River, we find it for the next few years bearing the 
impress of young fingers, that are threading here and there where other 
hands, just as young and faithful, have threaded in advance, till four of 
the sister-band have served their turn, and that of the present one been 
reached. The years find her calmer now, and stronger. Only occa- 
sionally does the rebellious fire of smothered longing flash forth. Frying 
the golden perch the young brother captures from the stream; tying the 
roses her father grows upon the hill-side; conning the songs the mother 
weaves in the sick-room; now helping within the church; now in the Sun- 
day-school; now in the supper-room at home; and now and then dipping 
a pen, — thus the early years of the one whose name appears at the head 
of this sketch glide away, and upon theback-groundapatieutlovertakes 
his stand, biding his time. Later, in the home of Prof. T. Martin Towne, 
of Chicago, the musical composer, whose songs have been sung by so 
many of us, and to whose kind courtesy the compiler of "Woman in 
Sacred Song" is deeply indebted, we find a young bride. And now the 
old Are is held less in check, and given freer rein. Speaking of this 
union and of the life-work assumed shortly after, Mrs. Towne has said : 
" Whatever words of hope I have uttered, that have given help; what- 
ever songs of mine have been deemed worthy of being sung; whatever 
hearts through me have been lightened — and there are some who so 
claim— it is due alone to the impetus given by the indulgent acclamation 
of my first audience— my husband. He it was who brought the strong 
sun-glass of appreciation to bear upon a spark transmitted from the 
mother whose worth he learned to know so well, and held it there unde- 
viatingly, until there was awakened a will to dare. Then, with tender 
and steady assurance he encouraged the first flights, until the strength 
for longer ones was developed." Though Mrs. Towne, in response to 
her husband's urgent appeal, began first the weaving of songs, she doe» 



not now look upon this as her main field of action. She likes better the 
working among plain, rugged prose, where she can hew her characters at 
will, and place them more easily against a solid back-ground of truth. 
But when she makes use of verse as a means of expression, she uses it 
for a purpose, tells a tale, and gives a plain burthen to the song she sings. 
Never does she string words simply to hear the tinkling music. 

Her sweet and touching hymns are familiar to numerous Christian 
home-circles and Sahbath schools. She is especially happy in sketches 
and stories for Gospel temperance meetings and entertainments, while 
some of the best songs in use in W. C. T. XT. meetings and Bands of 
Hope, were written by her. Her "Grand Old Daniel" is universally 
admired; "The Pendulum of Time," unique and striking. The latter 
will be found in the Temperance Department of this volume. The 
"Autumn Festival Entertainment" prepared by her, is pronounced the 
best programme yet gotten out for these festivals which are becoming so 
universal. Following this sketch are two of her hymns which are so 
popular in Sabbath Schools. Speaking of a book of her's, published by 
D. Lothrop & Co., Prof A. A. Hopkins, than whom perhaps there is no 
more elegant and true critic of the present day, says : — You must look 
far outside of Dickens' pages to find any two children so strongly drawn 
as are Mrs. Towne's Dan and Deb. They constitute, indeed, two of the 
finest studies in their way which we recall. How little Dan heroically 
makes endeavor to help Dorm out of difficulties, to enter into his sturdy 
brother's being, and be brave because the other must, is one of the most 
pathetic stories in all the fiction of youth. It seems as real as any bit of 
struggling in the whole wide realistic West ; and we can well imagine 
that when Mrs. Towne took final leave of Dan she went away, as did 
Dickens after the death of little Paul, and wept. 

Six years ago, at the request of one of the leading publishers of Chi- 
cago, Mrs Towne assumed editorial relations, and from that time on, 
at her own home-desk, two-thirds of each day have been spent upon 
the detail incident to the work intrusted to her keeping. Yet, for all 
this, she has, during that time, thrown from her pen an amount of diver- 
sified writings such as would doubtless appall a weaker soul. But never 
does she put pen to paper lightly. That which she takes in hand to ac- 
complish, she does to the utter exclusion of things waiting, giving it the 
benefit of concentrated attention. The moment it is done, she gives it 
no further thought, seldom retaining what she has written long after 
its transmission to paper. Often does she find herself "clipping" for the 
papers in her hands, the waifs that are her own, recognizing them only 
when another calls attention to them, Though using a day to its full 
length, she handles time conscientiously, and seldom trespasses upon her 
hours for sleep, whichshe calls the "future's wealth." Dr. Simeon Gilbert, 
of the " Congregationalism" speaking of Mrs. Towne as a writer, says: 
She does exactly what she undertakes to do, and she has in her to do yet 
more excellent work. 



THOU ART MY HELPER. 

"The Lord is my Helper."— Heb. xiii: 6. 

1 Mingling all day with the busy throng 
Borne by the crowd in its haste along, 
Trampled and bruis'd by the heedless feet. 
Weary and faint with the dust and heat, 
Where, midst the strife and this worldly care, 
Where was the time for a silent prayer ? 

Chorus — Still, my Father, 

Thou knowest I'm Thine, 
Thou art my helper, 
Thy promises mine. 

2 Stumbling so oft, and with weary pain. 
Struggling to rise, but to fall again ; 
Making resolves with the morning light, 
Finding them naught with the shades of night ; 
Cumber'd with care for the days to come, 
Where have I built for the heav'nly home ? 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, &c. 



821 



3 Feeling so strong for the coming need, 
Proving at last but a broken reed ; 
Longing at times for a wider sphere, 
Closing mine eye on some mission near ; 
Where is the life I had hoped to lead, 
Sowing for Thee of the heav'nly seed ? 

4 Thou art my rock as the waves run high, 
Refuge and strength as the storms draw nigh ; 
What tho' the flood with its angry beat, 
Rolls its dark waves at my very feet; 

What tho' the clouds hide Thy face from sight, 
Turning the day into darkest night ? 

MRS. BUM KELLOGG TOWNE. 

Chicago, 111., 1884. 

Set to music by J. M. Stillnian, in " Good Will." 

By per. T. M. Towne. 

GIVE THEM NOW. 

If you have gentle words and looks, my friends, 

To spare for me — if you have tears to shed 
That I have suffered — keep them not, I pray, 

Until I hear not, see not, being dead. 
If you have flowers to give — fair lily buds, 

White roses, daisies, (meadow-stars that be 
Mine own dear namesakes) let them smile and mak< 

The air, while yet I breathe it, sweet for me. 



For loving looks, though fraught with tenderness, 

And kindly tears, though they fall thick and fast, 
And words of praise, alas ! can naught avail 

To lift the shadows from a life that's past. 
And rarest blossoms, what can they suffice, 

Offered to one who can no longer gaze 
Upon their beauty ? Flowers in coffins laid 

Impart no sweetness to departed days. 

MRS. HOGARTH, 

HE CARETH FOR YOU. 

L. M. . 

Tune— "Retreat," 

1 Sweet gleam of sunshine, blessed truth, 

Sweet balm to hearts that throb with pain, 
In light or darkness, age or youth, 
" He careth ! " — life cannot be vain. 

2 " He careth" — He, the King of all, — 

For me, the least of earth, He cares ; 
He proffers sweet who drank the gall, 
He gives the crown, the cross He bears. 

3 " He careth." Not an hour flies on 

But o'er our steps His care we see ; 
And when the race of life is done, 
He careth still for you and me. 



LIFE'S CHANGES. 



(COMPENSATION.) 



JENNIE HARRISON. 



MRS. C. H. SCOTT. 
From "Song Herald" by per. DR. H. R. PALMER. 




1. Oh!chan-ges will fol-low the years as they go, And shadows must mingle with sunlight, we know; The 




2. The riv - er that flow-eth for-ev - er the same, May fol-low one channel and hear but one name, But 




flow - ers we gath-er will with - er at last, The i 



;s we are sing - ing be lost in the past ; 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



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Some links must be broken in life's gold - en chain, And bells that rang sweetly may ne'erring again; But 
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why need we mourn, looking back o'er the way, When forth in the fu - ture such brightness may stay? 
that which hath blossomed once fair by its side, May sink a-way slow - ly with Time's ebb - ing tide. 




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Oh! why need we sorrow for joys that are gone, While the life-giv-ing riv - er for - ev - er flows on? Oh! 



all of our loss - es comes something to gain, And pleas - ure close fol - lows the footsteps of pain. 




why need we sor-rowfor joys that are gone, While the life-giv - ing riv - er for - ev - er flows on? 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, &c. 

PHILOSOPHY. THE ALPINE FLOWER. 



I would be human — toiling like the rest 
With tender, human heart-beats in my breast. 

I do not know ; 
I think he conquers all who wins content. 

Take what you may 
Of proffered good ; accept life as it stands 
And make the most of its swift-fleeting days. 
The sweet, glad smile in a loved one's eyes, 
The tender cadence of household tones, 
Are better than the' crowns of the great and high : 
For to live on pride is to feed on stones. 

In counting off our life 
By harvest moons, the checkered, toilsome years 
Show in their record more of peace than strife, 
More joy than sorrow, more of smiles than tears. 



MRS. ELLEN P. ALLERION. 



THE ENGINE. 

1 Into the gloom of the deep, dark night, 

With panting breath and a startled scream ; 
Swift as a bird in sudden flight, 

Darts this creature of steel and steam. 

2 Awful dangers are lurking nigh, 

Rocks and chasms are near the track, 
But straight by the light of its great white eye 
It speeds thro' the shadows dense and black. 

3 Terrible thoughts and fierce desires 

Trouble its mad heart many an hour, 

Where burn and smoulder the hidden fires, 

Coupled ever with might and power. 

4 It hates as a wild horse hates the rein, 

The narrow track by vale and hill ; 
And shrieks with a cry of startled pain, 
And longs to follow its own wild will. 

5 Oh ! what am I but an engine, shod 

With muscle and flesh by the hand of God, 
Speeding on thro' the dense, dark night, 
Guided alone by the soul's white light. 

6 Often and often my mad heart tires, 

And hates its way with a bitter hate, 
And longs to follow its own desire, 

And leave the end in the hands of fate. 

7 ponderous engine of steel and steam ; 

O human engine of flesh and bone, — 
Follow the white light's certain beam, — 
There lies safety, and there alone. 

8 The narrow track of fearless truth, 

Lit by the soul's great eye of light, 
O passionate heart of restless youth, 
Alone will carry you thro' the night. 



1 Down, down o'er the rocky ledge the chamois hunter 

fell, 
Till shelving of a fissure chanced his feet to 

stay. 
Far, far above him rose the white-capped mountain 

heights ; 
A precipice below. Above, the mountain goat 
With flying feet mocked his despair. The ' eternal 

snow 
Gleaming in sunshine, winged no prayer to 

Heaven, 
On airy flight, or icy spire, but shimmered down 
Its glory to the depths below — lighting his tomb. 

2 The weary day was folded in its stern repose, 

By dreary curtains of the night. The burning 

eyes 
Of myriad stars looked down, the while o'er cloud- 
flecked blue 
The moon trailed silver robes, O solitude, so 

grand ! 
Thy speech too deep for human words ! Silence, 

whose hush 
Startles to fear at distant roar of glacier's sweep, 
There vast, profound, as o'er creation's morn held 

sway ! 
With laggard steps the hours speed by until the 

dawn, 
And looking up to greet the light, he saw a 

flower, 
A little blue-fringed gentian, growing in the 

rock. 
Borne by the careless wind the seed had fallen 

there 
In crevice bare-; now for him smiled its lovely 

bloom. 



" Promise of good ! shall God " — thought he, 
" Care for the flower and not for me ? " 
And lifting up his voice, there rang 

O'er cliff and mountain glade : 
"God is our refuge and our strength, 

In straits a present aid." 



4 Higher than Alpine crags the echoes of that song 
Moved on and on until they reached a human ear, — 
Or did an angel, listening, swiftly bear the need 
To Him who hears our lowliest cry of faith and 

trust ? 
Ah ! who may know ? — but answering shouts rolled 

down and down 
Until the hymn, so like a wailing prayer begun, 
Rose like a mighty chorus to the sky again. 



824 



WOMAIf IN SACRED SONG, 



How cruel seemed thy fate, O flower of Alpine 
vale, 
To find a barren rock whereon to rest ! 
And yet thy blue-fringed petals wept glad tears 
of joy, 
When, folded to a loving mother's breast, 
The mission of thy life was told, that saved her 
boy! 
And like a precious treasure, to this day, 
In sacred Bible lid, thou'rt hid away ! 

MRS. ESTHER T. HOtTSH, 1883. 

Irs. f ran $ctom Soring, 

Who writes under the nom de plume Howard Glyndon, has been to- 
tally deaf since her eleventh year, a resultof brain fever. She attended 
a sign school for a couple of years, and, about nine years since attended 
the Articulation School at Mystic, Conn., where she regained the speech 
she had gradually lost. She was born in 1840, and much is yet expected 
from this talented poet who, notwithstanding her sad infirmity, has al- 
ready attained a high position. Her " Sweet Bells Jangled out of 
Tune," is extensively known and largely quoted. 

THE TWO CROSSES. 

1 It is more beautiful than you can know, 

Because I cannot lend you my own eyes 
To note it through ; but I have seen it grow 
Into a marvellously glad surprise, 

2 So that I smile in looking at it. See 

The matted vines that compass it about ! 
Their clustering flower, in groups of two and three, 
Dot the green warp with color, in and out. 

3 You hardly get a glimpse of that gray wood 

Which is the motive and the frame of all ; 
So long the dead cross in its place has stood 
From base to top the tendrils climb and fall, 

4 And hide its blight and baseness from our eyes. 

This cross is like the one I carry here, 
Upon my breast. Mine, too, has fair disguise, 
And I have learned to hold it very near. 

5 You would not think I had a cross, indeed ? 

That is because I hide it on my heart — 
That heart which at the first it made to bleed — 
And train my life to overgrow its smart. 

6 Oh ! I will tell you. When at first it came, 

I would not take it from the Giver's hand, 
I fell upon my face and called His name ; 
His still, small voice I did not understand. 

7 And for a space my life was agony ; 

My cross was heavy, hard and rough and bare 
It was a thing of terror unto me ; 

To take it up was more than I could dare. 

8 But Oh, how tender God is, through and through ! 

For He has made my cross so fair to see — 
My heart knows how the flowers about it grew — 
That I accept and bear it reverently. 

9 And so I keep this mimic cross of mine, 

Vine-grown, upon this sunny window-seat. 
To me its beauty is a living sign 

How God can make a hard thing light and sweet ! 

HOWARD GLYNDON. (MRS. SEARING.) 



THE GIFT OF SONG. 

KESPECTFULLY INSCEIBBD TO MKS. J. F. KNAPP. 

1 How blessed is the precious gift of song, 
When it is consecrated to our God, 
And in His service used ; blessed among 
His ministers are they who in life's road 

Can cheer and bless, can feed and comfort those 
Whose lives are shadowed, joyless, desolate, 
Bearing them up on wings of prayerful song 
To Him " who can be touched." Then sing, Oh ! sing! 
Nor weary grow. By Him thou art inspired, 
Who gives thee just the portion of each soul. 
More precious does the gospel of God's love 
Fall on the ear and heart, when tuneful lips, 
Touched from on high with holy fire, tell o'er 
The sweet, sweet story. Sing, sweet singer, sing. 

2 Sing to the Christian, sing thy " Marseillaise." 
When he would falter, and would fain have rest, 
He'll rally at thy call — fresh courage take, 
And seize again the colors of his king, 

And with new zeal the watchword ring aloud, 

" Onward and upward! " till the prize is won. 

Sing to the trembling sinner who looks up 

With new-born faith — teach him thine own sweet 

prayer, 
" Plead, Jesus, plead, dear Jesus, plead for me." 
Sing thy sweet songs of comfort in the ears 
Of those who mourn their loved ones passed away, 
Sing of the crown, and palm, and victory won. 
And of their day of glory just begun. 
God gives thee song of comfort — sing ! Oh ! sing ! 

3 Sing to the aged pilgrim, weary, worn, 

Whose feet have reached the vestibule of " home." 
Let thy song cheer him as he enters through 
The shining portal to his long-sought rest. 
Yes, keep thy voice attuned in counsel sweet, 
In holy pleading and in joyful praise, 
Doing thy Father's will, till He shall call 
Thee from the choir of earth to that of heaven, 
When, may a band of angel singers wait 
Thy safe arrival on that blessed shore, 
And bear thee home in triumph to thy place 
Among the white-robed throng, who sound the 
Of Him, the King, in anthem peals of joy, 
There to take up the song, " Worthy the Lamb. 



A LOST CHORD. 



1 Seated one Jay at the organ, 

I was weary and ill at ease, 
And my fingers wandered idly 
Over the noisy keys. 

2 I do not know what I was playing, 

Or what I was dreaming then ; 
But I struck one chord of music, 
Like the sound of a great Amen. 






MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S,EASTER, dec. 



825 



3 It flooded the crimson twilight 

Like the close of an angel's psalm, 
And it lay on my fevered spirit 
With a touch of infinite calm. 

4 It quieted pain and sorrow, 

Like love overcoming strife ; 
It seemed the harmonious echo 
From our discordant life. 

5 It linked all perplexed meanings 

Into one perfect peace, 
And trembled away into silence, 
As if it were loth to cease. 

6 I have sought, but I seek it vainly, 

That one lost chord divine, 
Which came from the soul of the organ, 
And entered into mine. 

7 It may be that Death's bright angel 

Will speak in' that chord again, — 
It may be that only in Heaven 
I shall hear that grand Amen. 

ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTEB. 

Set to music by Sullivan, 
nied February 2, 1864. 



to. SI I . $ape, 



Of Detroit, Mich., is the author and editor Qf the well and favorably 
known volume "What can a Woman do?" She has for years ranked 
among the best prose writers, and her poems, although not so extensively 
known, are worthy a high place in the record of our multitude of poets. 
Kate Shelley, the subject of the following poem, will be remembered as 
the young girl of but fifteen years, who, on that terrible night of July 
6, 1881. walked five miles, crossing amid the darkness and storm a dan- 
gerous bridge that she might give warning to the night express on the 
Chicago and North-western E. R., of a wrecked train. Large collections 
of money were offered to her by grateful men and women, but money 
can never repay such devotion. At the following session of the Iowa 
Legislature, it was ordered that a medal be presented to her. 

BRAVE KATE SHELLEY. 
"How far that little candle throws its beams ! 
So shines a good deed in a naughty world." 

Through the whirl of wind and water parted by the 

rushing steel, 
Flashed the white glare of the headlight, flew the 

swift revolving wheel, 
As the midnight train swept onward, bearing on its 

iron wings 
Through the gloom of night and tempest, freightage 

of most precious things. 

Little children by their mothers nestle in unbroken 

rest, 
Stalwart men are dreaming softly of their journey's 

finished quest, 
While the men who watch and guard them, sleepless 

stand at post and brake ; 
Close the throttle ! draw the lever ! safe for wife and 

sweetheart's sake. 



Sleep and dream, unheeding danger; in the valley 

yonder, lies 
Death's debris in wierd confusion, altar fit for 

sacrifice ! 
Dark aud grim the shadows settle where the hidden 

perils wait , 
Swift the train, with dear lives laden, rushes, to its 

deadly fate. 

4 Still they sleep and dream unheeding. O Thou 

watchful One above, 

Save Thy people in this hour ! Save the 'ransomed 
of Thy love ! 

Send an angel from Thy heaven who shall calm the 
troubled air, 

And reveal the powers of evil hiddden in the dark- 
ness there. 

5 Saved ! ere yet they know their peril, comes a warn- 

ing to alarm ; 
Saved ! the precious train is resting on the brink of 

deadly harm. 
God has sent His angel to them, brave Kate Shelley, 

hero-child ! 
Struggling on, alone, unaided, through that night of 

tempest wild. 

6 Brave Kate Shelley ! tender maiden, baby hands with 

splinters torn, 
Saved the lives of sleeping travellers swiftly to death's 

journey borne. 
Mothers wept aud clasped their darlings, breathing 

words of grateful prayer ; 
Men with faces blanched and tearful, thanked God 

for Kate Shelley there. 

7 Greater love than this, hath no man. When the 

heavens shall unfold, 
And the judgment books are opened, there in 

characters of gold, 
Brave Kate Shelley's name shall centre, 'mid the 

pure, the brave and good, 
That of one who crowned with glory her heroic 

womanhood. 



AT THE PIANO. 

1 Before these keys, responsive to my moods, 

I sit, my fingers wandering at their will ; 
Singing in low voice sweet beatitudes, 

And of the peace and joy my heart that fill. 

2 Five years agone this night, here sat I singing 

Of an awaiting joy that filled my dreams ; 

The bright sun of my morning then was flinging 

Across my untrod faith, his golden beams. 

3 But Oh ! what tumult, O my soul, between ! 

What cries of agony, O God, to Thee ! 
Thou, Christ, the depths of human woe hast seei 
My heart has had its own Gethsemane. 



826 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



4 Yet self I conquered ; for thy grace drew near 

And taught me sorrow was a gift divine ; 
I trod the wine-press of that vintage drear, 
But drank, at last its eucharistic wine. 

5 And so I sit, to-night, in a great peace, 

Touching the keys, and singing soft and low 
Of a calm joy that cannot know surcease, 
Richer than all I dreamed five years ago. 

"C." 

In "Laws of Life," Jan, 1882. 



pss 3m |Mg 



Is the daughter of the well and favorably known Mrs. S. M. I. Henry. 
She was born June 9, 1863, at East Homer, N. Y.. and graduated 
in 1885 from the Northwestern University, one of the celebrated edu- 
cational institutions located at Evanston, 111. She gives promise of 
becoming as fine a writer, in both prose and verse, as her talented and 
accomplished mother. Miss Henry's father received injuries while in 
the service of his country, which resulted in his death soon after the 
close of the late war. 

MIRIAM. 

1 Lingering on the horizon, caressing the face of the 

waters, 
Bathing the sky with warm blushes, tarried the sun 

ior a moment. 
Shadows of oncoming darkness were mingled among 

the bright wavelets, 
Blending the splendor with mystery, hushing the earth 

into silence. 
Down in the flags by the river, asleep in the curious 

cradle 
Woven of reeds, and made strong, more than all the 

love of the builder, 
Love to which fear gave an energy, love of which 

prayer was the fountain, 
Ignorant all of his destiny, rocked on the waters an 

infant. 
Wandering carelessly through the fast-gathering 

gloom of the twilight, 
Yet as though some secret anchor had fastened her 

heart to the waters. 
Patiently waited fair Miriam, daughter of suffering 

Israel. 
Firm was her step and elastic ; graceful, yet strong, 

every movement ; 
Proud was the curve of her dark throat, lustrous and 

heavy her tresses. 
Rested upon her smooth forehead no care-lines or 

furrows of error, 
Over her innocent features nor failure nor conquest 

was written ; 
Yet as she glanced ever anxiously through the tall 

palms towards the river, 
Faintly discernible down in the shadowy depths of her 

dark eyes, 
Flashed there the knowledge of slavery, germ of a 

strong inward purpose, 



That as the years passed over, swift changing the girl 

to a woman, 
Might be the promise of bitterness, might be the germ 

of true conquest. 
Dreamed she of home and of dear ones to cherish and 

rear with her people ? 
Darkly confronted her vision the face of her own 

anxious mother ; 
Pondered she over the task fields, the brick without 

straw, the hard bondage ? 
Then the young spirit within her was stirred by a 

breath of rebellion ; 
Came there a bright, fleeting vision of joy in the far 

distant Canaan ? 
Glowed then her face with the light of a strong hope, 

a swift inspiration. 
Long in the wood on the river bank, silently mused 

the young Hebrew, 
Heedless that every emotion invisible traced its 

impression 
Over the fresh rounded features, awaiting the years 

to confirm it. 

Sing with the timbrel and harp ! Oh ! sing to the 

triumph of Israel ! 
Sing to the faith of the patriarch, sing to Omnipotent 

power ! 
Lo ! the swift waters dividing, upheaving in glistening 

columns ; 
Lo ! the tramp, tramp of the chosen between the dark 

motionless barriers. 
Ah ! and behold the wild tumult, the sudden, the 

terrible tempest 
Crushing with swift retribution the pride and the 

glory of Egypt. 
Sing then, Miriam, joyfully praising the Author of 

power, 
Yet in thy triumph beware lest th'e glow on thy cheek 

be forgetful, 
Now in the glad thrill of freedom, to whom should 

the honor be given ! 

Silently waited the multitude gazing in fear and in 

wonder, 
Awed by the frown of Jehovah revealed in the cloud 

resting o'er them, 
Trembling beneath His displeasure, expressed in that 

strange vivid lightning. 
Years had flown by, since the maiden kept watch of 

the reed-woven cradle, 
Years had flown by and her people were free from the 

thralldom of Egypt. 
Moses, the babe so defenseless, had long been the 

patriarch leader, 
Holding communion with God and revealing His 

precepts to Israel. 
Miriam, budding with promise, had blossomed to 

womanly power, 
Gaining the hearts of her people by wisdom and 

beauty's bright magic. 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, &c. 



827 



Loved for her dower of prophecy, loved as the sister 

of Moses. 
Tell me, thou spirit of Mystery, when will the God- 
given seedlets, 
Holding the germs of nobility, purity, wisdom and 

power, 
Planted deep down in our nature, be cherished by us 

as they should be, 
Crushed not in embryo, neither developed to poison- 
ous surplus, 
But as a trust from Jehovah held sacred to Him in 

remembrance, 
Cared for and watched with humility, gratefully 

trained to perfection ? 
Then, will divine retribution, divine unmistakable 

vengeance, 
Cease to bring anguish and shame to the hearts of 

His wandering children, 
Such as now came to the people who waited, afraid 

in His presence. 
Slowly the cloud had arisen and vanished in vapor 

' above them. 
What is the sight the still horror of which is revealed 

in the faces 
Turned with a strange fascination, towards Miriam's 

cowering figure. 
Changed in a moment, degraded, disgraced, and so 

sadly polluted, 
Branded with sin, their own Miriam stood there, an 

outcast, a leper. 
Oh! how the proud haughty spirit must suffer as 

slowly she shrinks past, 
Desolate, humbled, forsaken, sent out of camp into 

exile ! 
There with the deep heart sickness which only 

remorse can engender, 
Pondered the penitent woman, upon her life's one 

bitter failure. 
Gifted with rare possibilities, queen of the women of 

Israel, 
Strong in herself, yet so swiftly forgetting the Author 

of Power, 
Slowly through all the bright years withdrawing her 

hand from the Father 
Out of the woof of the past she had woven her present 

disaster. 
When from her sorrowful penance, returned she again 

to the camp-fold, 
Purified, chastened, yet stronger than ever before the 

sad lesson, 
Glad was the shout that rose upward, unshaken the 

faith of her people. 
Hever again might the innocent freshness of youth 

mark her forehead, 
Never again could the haughty, self-confident spirit 

betray her, 
But the sweet light of humility shone through the 

darkness of conquest, 
Bathing her face with God's radiance, making her 

blessed forever. 



THE VANISHED STARS. 

The following beautiful lines were suggested to the author by the 
reading of some of the glowing words of Mrs. Phoebe Palmer, who 
died in 1874, ten years since; showing that her influence for good is going 
on and on: proving that "she being dead, yet speaketh." [Ed. SA- 
CRED Song. 

("Stars may have been smitten out of existence centuries ago, but their poured 
out light is yet flooding the heavens.") 

Like to those stars that vanish from our sight, 

But leave us still their waves of golden light, 

Are God's dear saints ; though called to, native 

skies, 
Their light stills shines — their influence never dies. 
Oft has the mem'ry of a holy life 
Inspired to nobler deed — to sterner strife — 
Gainst sin, the world, and all that would oppose ; 
Has made us conquerors over secret foes. 
Though we be called to pillow a dear head, 
To take its last long sleep beside the dead — 
We do not shroud their light beneath the clod ; 
It still illumes some pilgrim's path to God. 
Yea, though the just sleep on for many a year, 
Still will the radiance of their light appear. 
That praying mother, now to glory gone, 
Who, while on earth, yearned o'er her wayward son, 
Though great her faith, God's answer was delayed, 
Yet did she press her suit, and pray'd — still pray'd ; 
But now, with "clouds of witnesses" she stands, 
And sees him cry to heaven with outstretched hands. 
The mem'ry of her counsel, and her prayers, 
Have been his safeguard — turned him from the 

snares 
Of sin and Satan — till he calls on God 
To lead him in the way his mother trod. 
It was the light from his loved star ! though set, 
Its saving influence is around him yet. 
So, like these stars that vanish from our sight, 
But leave us still their floods of golden light, 
Are God's dear saints ; though called to native skies, 
Their light still shines — their influence never dies. 

', May 1884. 



THE BRIDAL GIFTS. 

1 To the stately village bridal. 

With its f eastings, dance and mirth, 
There came a gray-haired singer — 
One of the poor of earth. 

2 Silver and gold and jewels, 

The rich guests brought along ; 
The bard had naught to offer, 
But just one little song. 

3 Dust are the bride and bridegroom, 

The proud guests lowly lie ; 
The costly gifts have crumbled — 
The song can never die. 

FRANCES A. SHAW, 

In "Boston Transcript." 



828 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



FOR A BIBLE OR ALBUM. 



THE JOY OF WORK. 



Let nothing disturb thee, nothing affright thee ; 
All things are passing ; God never changeth ; 
Patient endurance attaineth to all things ; 
Who God possesseth in nothing is wanting ; 
Alone God sufficeth. 



SANTA TEROESA'S BOOK-MARK, 

Tr. •from the Spanish, 



trg Clemmer Junes prison. 



Mary Clemmer began literary eff orts as have thousands < 
with no intention of pursuing it to any considerable extent, but merely 
for the sake of diversion. After a time her aspirations assumed a defi- 
nate purpose, until she finally became one of the most successful of 
journalists, first as a correspondent, and then as a regular editorial con- 
tributor. From early years her thoughts and fancies flowed out in 
measured verse of true poetic imagery, as readily as in prose, and " Wo- 
man in Sacred Song " is indebted to her for some of its choicest poetic 
gems. 

In early life she married Rev. Mr. Ames, a young Presbyterian cler- 
gyman, It is said they never truly loved, but were merely friends; 
hence the union proved an unfortunate one. Miss Clemmer is anative of 
TJtica, ST. Y., born in 1839. When but eleven years of age she wrote 
verse, and displayed unusual mental gifts. Professor Goldthwaite of 
Westfield Academy, where she was principally educated, recognized in 
her a specially poetic nature, and extended much sympathy and aid. 
Alphonso A. Hopkins says of her — "No other woman of our acquaint- 
ance— we had almost said no other person -has performed such an amount 
of literary labor in a given time, as Miss Clemmer's record shows. For 
three years her average work in Washington was seven newspaper let- 
ters each week: and in addition to this she produced four books in four 
years. She entered into a contract with the publishers of one journal 
to write a column a day for three years, and at the end of that time, she 
had not missed a day. The wonder is that producing so much, she has 
uniformly produced so well." Beside all her prose writing, her poems 
have been many and always choice, and on varied topics. "The Christ" 
is one of the best amongher sacred poemsand hymns. Among her patri- 
otic or war productions, "Fall in" takes the lead, perhaps. Her " Good- 
bye, Sweetheart," is familiar to every reader. Miss Clemmer is now Mrs. 
Hudson, having been married some months ago to an estimable gentle- 
man of that name. Later, Nov. 1884. Last August Mrs. Mary Clem- 
mer Hudson died with hemorrhage of the brain. 



REST- 

1 Weep not when I am dead, dear friend, 

Sweetheart, grieve not when I lie low ! 
While o'er my clay your soft eyes bend, 

Remember it was good to go. 
When low you press the violet sod, 

Whose purple tears enstar my breast, 
Beloved, think I sleep in God. 

Remember such alone are blest. 

2 The perfect silence will be dear, 

How dear the chance of painless rest; 
And on, beyond all pain or fear, 

The perfect waking will be best. 
How dim this distant day will seem, 

How far the grief we suffer here ! 
This life the mirage of a dream, 

Merged to a morning calm and clear. 

MARY CLEMMER. 



1 The promise of delicious youth may fail ; 
The fair fulfillment of our Summer-time 
May wane and wither at its hour of prime; 
The gorgeous glow of Hope may swiftly pale ; 
E'en Love may leave us spite our piteous wail ; 
The heart, defeated, desolate, may climb 

To lonely Reason on her hight sublime ; 
But one sure foot no foe can e'er assail. 

2 'T is thine, Work — the joy supreme of thought, 
Where feeling, purpose, and long patience meet ; 
Where in deep silence the ideal wrought 
Bourgeons from blossoming to fruit complete. 

O crowning bliss ! O treasure never bought ! 
All else may perish — thou remainest sweet. 

MARY CLEMMER. 



€\}nxMtt grmrt?. 



The popular book "Jane Eyre " made the author of the following 
poem known to the world as one of the best prose writers in 1847. She 
was born in 1816, and died in 1855, She was one of the three remarka- 
ble and gifted sisters, daughters of Rev. Patrick Bonte, who resided at 
Haworth, Yorkshire, England. 

Rev. Robert Collyer was a neighbor, and remembers Charlotte as a 
slender, pale young lady, when he was a young man working at a forge. 
She was about thirty-eight years of age when she married Mr. Nicholls, 
her father's curate, after much delay, when her father's consent was at 
last given. After one year of almost perfect happiness, she died. It is 
thought that the following lines were among the last she ever wrote, 
little dreaming that she was so near the end of her earthly career. 

LIFE. 

1 Life, believe, is not a dream 
So dark as sages say ; 

Oft a little morning's rain 

Foretells a pleasant day ; 

Sometimes there are clouds of gloom, 

But these are transient all ; 

If the shower will make the roses bloom, 

Oh ! why lament its fall ? 

Rapidly, merrily, 

Life's many hours flit by ; 

Gratefully, cheerfully, 
Enjoy them as they fly. 

2 What though death at times steps in 

And calls our last away ? 
What though sorrow seems to win 

O'er hope, a heavy sway ? 
Yet hope again elastic springs 

Unconquered though she fell ; 
Still buoyant are her golden wings, 
Still strong to bear up well. 
Manfully, fearlessly, 

The day of trial bear, 
For gloriously, victoriously, 
Can courage quail despair. 






CHARLOTTE BRONTE. 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, &c. 



829 



WOMAN'S WORK, 

OE 

forget-me-nots. 
(a school-day reminiscence.) 

1 A winning, waving meadow, with scarf of blue and 

green — 

'T was the sedgy grass and water, with forget-me-nots 
between — 

We were wading over ankles, and the sun was shin- 
ing hot, 

But we school-girls at West Newton loved the wild 
forget-me-not. 

2 For meadows stretched alluring, where placid streams 

flowed through, 

And the gentian with its fringes, and the river flag 
gleamed blue, 

But the flashy, mocking mosses, with their clumps of 
starry eyes, 

The slender-stemmed forget-me-nots were more be- 
witching prize. 

3 And when the July sun looks down on each successive 

year, 
And the happy green and blossoms, and the birds 

are settled here, 
I find within my memory a sunny summer spot, — 
'T is the old school at West Newton wreathed with 

wild forget-me-not. 

4 Retracing that bright picture, it is easy to begin 
With the fog-cloud in the morning that shut the 

village in. 
We were up in time to see it, ere it, lifting, thinned 

away, 
For we rose to read our lessons in the violet bloom 

of day. 
Anon the school was opening, and the instant found 

us there — 
Still how fresh the inspiration from the choral hymn 

and prayer. . 

5 Sowing seed by other waters, it has strengthened us 

and blest, 

When our hands were almost failing, and our hearts 
were sorely prest. 

Soon blackboards teem with mystic curve and cabal- 
istic sign, 

And a gentle lady stands there, with a mind so 



And forever she enriched us with her dark and fer- 
vent eye. 
Enthusiasm — holy power ! best alchemist art thou, 
Kindled from soul to soul, and sped from radiant 

brow to brow, 
Changing to joy all duty, and on transfiguring 

heights 
Showing us all the shades of earth fair with celestial 

lights. 
Not least in this clear vision I remember, if I 

may, # 

Running cross the fields at twilight by a' narrow, 

trodden way, — 
And she, at whose magnetic call we every breadth 

could span, 
Shone like a rare crown-jewel in the home of Horace 

Mann." 

7 Education has its heroes ; they lay not their armor 

down 
Till they meet death in the combat, and receive the 

victor's crown. 
And the pioneer who, east and west, held firm th' 

advancing van, 
Was one of lordly heart and mien, — our own great 

Horace Mann. 
At last the happy seasons of the rich school year 

were fled ; 
They had lavished all their largess, and we gathered 

round our head. 
As a crescent of white lilies waits for some reviving 

dew, 
We, pale with parting, waited for his benediction 

true. 

8 And when, with our commissions in his hand, lie 

stood and prayed, 
We felt like the Apostles, strong in God, in self 

afraid ; 
And an earnest, full assurance was given then and 

there, 
That God Himself would answer that deep, availing 

prayer. 
So young and full of courage, we looked the future 

through 
And thought — There's naught upon the earth we 

will not dare to do. 
A holy work is woman's work, unworthy she who 

scans 
Each feebly set partition that divides her work from 

man's. 



crystalline 
She guides the swift brain-coursers, and from her 

magic hand 

Runs thrilling to each eager steed the unseen electric 9 Ah, wreaths of blue forget-me-nots ! bloom new and 

fresh alway, 



6 And oft I have remembered, when my soul was dull 

and spent, 
How a queenly one looked up on us, — her color 

came and went, 
While her glowing words swept over us as healthful 

wind swept by, 



Immortalize in us the faith and spirit of that day ; 
And when, all met in Paradise, the long roll-call is 

made, 
Each with her work before the Lord, — we will not 

be afraid. 



LOUISA P. BOPKIN 



830 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG, 



FKOM A POEM ENTITLED 

ART AND HEART. 

" Though smooth be the heartless prayer, 

No ear in Heaven will mind it ; 
And the finest phrase falls dead, 

If there is no feeling behind it. 
And it is not the poet's song, though 

Sweeter than sweet bells chiming, 
Which thrills us through and through, 

But the heart which beats under the rhyming. 1 

ELLA. WHEELER. 



THE LITTLE OLD CHURCH. 

Read at the farewell services in the old Western Avenue M. E. Church, 
Sunday evening, May 3. 

1 We must leave thee, little old church. Farewell ! 

We have builded a grander one, 
With spires that gleam like a heaven-kissed dream, 

With massive arches of stone, 
With stained-hued windows of prismed pane 

To soften the sunshine's glare ; 
But, little old church, when we close our eyes 

And liumble our hearts in prayer, 
Me thinks there will come, like a sweet perfume, 

Thy memory's message there. 

2 We will sit in the grand new church some day, 

While the rich-toned organ rolls, 
And, listening, more of the days of yore 

Shall hover within our souls 
Than the ringing anthem or organ peal. 

And lo ! as the minister prays, 
In our hearts will bloom, with its rare perfume, 

The prayer of the by-gone days. 
We will seem to be in our place with thee, 

And under thy noon-broad rays. 

3 We will think of the babes, with their heaven-bright 

eyes, 

At the pure baptismal fount ; 
We will think of the sage, with glorified age, 

Like mosses from God's white mount ; 
We will dream of the bride and the wedding glee, 

And the rustle of leaves in the street ; 
We will bow our head as we think of the dead 

That we never on earth shall greet, 
And the little old room shall bring back the bloom 

Of a thousand memories sweet. 

4 Dear little old church, with thy humble walls, 

All unadorned and plain, 
Is it strange to oay that I weep to-day, 

And my heart has a thrill of pain, 
As I scan thy pulpit and floor and wall, 

As I bid thee a soft good-by ? 
Ah ! little church, I have pictures rare 

That I dwell on tenderly — 
The faces of worshippers lifted and pale, with the 
glory that fell from the rifted veil ; 

There's a voice of the past in me. 



5 And here to thy shelter, dear little old church, 

Came many a weary one, 
To lay the burden of life away, beneath the calm of 
the Sabbath day, 

When the work of the week was done ; 
And here came the young and the fair and the good, 

To take of the heavenly leaven ; 
And many here knelt, with their load of guilt, 

Who arose up free and shriven. 
Mourner and weary and worn have I, on the magic 
walls of my gallery, 

Pure pictures that help toward heaven. 

6 Ah ! it's no wonder then, little old church, 

That my tears fall fast to-day. 
You are dear to me for the memory 

Of the loved who have passed away ; 
You are to me for the bridal glee, 

For the babe with its un pained gaze, 
For the pure old age of the godly sage, 

Who has glorified earth's dim ways ; 
And often will spring, as we pray or sing, 

The thought of the by-gone days. 

FANNIE BOLTON. 

For The "Inter-Ocean." 
Chicago, 111., 1885, 



ANSWERED. 

1 You come and go again uncomforted, 
And say I have not sympathized ; but such 
A weak and selfish misery as thine 

Needs neither word nor hand-clasp overmuch. 

2 .Thy sorrow is a little thing ; it wears 

And frets upon the shore of one short day — 

An idle tide, that presently 

Shall ebb and ebb again — and so away. 

3 Now for one even has thy West been dark ; 
Now for one dawning has thy East been gray ; 
Now in thy pleasant lengths of days there has 
At last come one less fair and favored day. 

4 And thou dost shiver in the cooler wind, 
And wrap the folds of happier memory 

Around thee, and dost stretch thy strong, soft hands, 
And crave thee of my store of sympathy. 

5 Thou selfish, thou ! Strong hands should not be soft, 
Reach thine to help thy weaker fellows. Be 

All that thou canst be. Bruises and scars well won, 
On hands so strong were fairer far to see. 

6 So mayest thou, aiding others, help thyself ; 
Their comfort be thy peace, their smile the balm 
For thy own heart ; so thou mayst best forget 
The vexing thorn that lieth in thy palm. 

LULU M, W. 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASIER, &c. 



831 



THE MESSENGER. 

1 " I'll be a singer," so she said one day ; 

" My words shall soothe and strengthen earth's rough 

way 
For many a weary heart." 

Her lines, though rhymed with all a poet's art, 
And measured as the drum-beat's steady roll, 
Touched not a single soul. 

2 God sent His angel down, and gently smote 
Her little plan ; and disappointment's note 
Quivered through all her life. 

Once more she wrote ; but, under all, the strife 
Of grief and bitter loss echoed so plain, 
Who read shed tears of pain. 

2 Again the silent, white-winged angel came, 
And snatched love with life's best hopes away 
Left but a breaking heart. 

No longer from humanity apart 

She wrote, but learned a lesson born of trust, 

And wrote, because she must, 

3 Brave, helpful words of truth. So as we hide 
Our selfish griefs, and at Ood's will be tried 
In crucible of sorrow, 

Strength comes to point a brighter, glad to-morrow 
To fainting, struggling souls ; and keenest loss 
A crown may be, not cross. 



LIKE THE STRONG MOUNTAINS. 

Strong are the mountains, Lord, but stronger 
Thou ! 

They rise, a bulwark to the guarded land, 
"Which foes pass not, nor traitors undermine, 

For children's children's safety they shall stand, 
And so, O Lord, Thou standest unto Thine, 
A mighty guardian, a defense divine. 
Strong are the mountains, Lord, but stronger 
Thou! 

Where beats the tempest on the hither side, 
Beneath their shelter blooms the vine and rose, 

So do Thy chosen ones in Thee abide, 
Nor fear the storm-wind though it wildly blows, 
All undisturbed in their secure repose. 
Strong are the mountains, Lord, but stronger 
Thou ! 

Their far, fair snowy summits fountains are, 
Whence fertilizing streams begin their race s 

So from Thy might of mercy stream afar 
The over-brimming rivers of Thy grace, 
Gladdening the wilderness and desert place. 
Strong are the mountains. Lord, but stronger 
Thou ! 

Immutable they stand from age to age 
Though the world rock and empires shift and pale. 

So, though the people war and heathen rage, 
The safety of Thy promise shall prevail, 
Nor ever once Thy love and goodness fail. 



JUDGMENT. 

Judge not ; the workings of his brain 
And of his heart thou canst not see ; 

What looks to thy dim eyes a stain 
In God's pure light may only be 

A scar brought from some well-won field 

Where thou wouldst only faint and yield. 



ADELAIDE . 



PROCTER. 



Whose maiden name was Eewers, was born in North Ireland about 
1800. but came in early childhood to this country. Her husband was 
pastor of the first Presbyterian Church, Eastou, Pa., for more than twenty- 
six years. Her poem "Sabbath Reminiscences," has been highly com- 
mended for its beautiful simplicity, expressive of her appreciation of 
that day and its privileges. "Two Hundred Years Ago," from which 
the following is extracted, kindles enthusiasm as one reads it. Her 
poem *' Morn, " was published anonymously here and in England, 
and attributed to James Montgomery of Sheffield, England. In a 
letter to Dr. Gray he says— "The critics who have mistaken the beautiful 
stanzas for mine, have done me honor; but I willingly forego the claim, 
and am happy to recognize a sister-poet in the writer." As a writer of 
strictly religious poetry, Mrs. Gray was in her day considered unrivalled. 

FROM "TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO." 

Written for the bi-centennial celebration of the theological standards by the 
illustrious Westminster Assembly of divines. 

1 Two hundred years, two hundred years, our bark o'er 

billowy seas 

Has onward kept her steady course, through hurri- 
cane and breeze ; 

Her Captain was the mighty One, she braved the 
stormy foe, 

And still He guides who guided her, two hundred 
years ago. 

2 Her chart was God's unerring word, by which her 

course to steer ; 

Her helmsman was the risen Lord, a helper ever 
near ; 

Though many a beauteous boat has sunk the treach- 
erous wave below, 

Yet ours is sound as she was built, two hundred years 
ago. 

3 True to that guiding star which led to Israel's cradled 

hope, 
Her steady needle pointeth yet to Calvary's bloody 

top! 
Yes, there she floats, that good old ship, from mast to 

keel below . 
Sea-worthy still, as erst she was two hundred years 

ago! 

4 Not unto us, not unto us, be praise or glory given, 
But unto Him who watch and ward hath kept for us 

in Heaven. 

Who quell'd the whirlwind in its wrath, bade tem- 
pests cease to blow, 

That God who launched our vessel forth two hundred 
years ago ! 

MRS. GRAY. 



832 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



THOUGHTS THE NIGHT BEFORE GOING 
HOME AFTER LONG ABSENCE. 

1 Another stage of life is drawing to its close — 
Strange have its wanderings been, nor few its 

woes, — 
Sickness and sorrow heavy on us lay 
While each one wandered in a solitary way, — 
Yet, sunshine sometimes pierced the clouds, and 

showed 
A wayside flower, or where a streamlet flowed. 

2 Why were we scattered from our much-loved 

home ? 
Why did we journey each as pilgrims lone ? 
E'en as an eagle stirreth up her nest 
The Lord did warn us — " This is not your rest." 
Did He not often lead His own aside 
By burning bush, or pillar'd cloud, and guide 
His followers to some lone mountain side, 
That they might learn " In Me ye must abide ?" 

3 So did He lead us, and when storms rose nigh 
Drew nearer, whispering " It is I." 

Oh ! let me listen still to that sweet voice, 
And in Thy love and guiding grace rejoice. 
The morning dawns — the shadows flee away ; 
My longings wake — I'm going home to-day ! 
No sweeter joy my heart shall know 
Till ends my pilgrimage below, 
And yearning for my Saviour's breast 
He beckons, — " Come to Me and rest, 
To-day in Paradise with Me be blest ! " 

ellen P. SHAW, (nee Havergal), Dec. 1853. 

iterg Jum Jjairatflr |oto, 

The daughter of Elisha Dodd, was born at Hartford, Conn., on the 5th 
of March, 1813, and always resided in that city. 

Her first published articles appeared in 1834, in the " Hermethenean" 
a magazine conducted by the students of Washington College, in Hart- 
ford. She wrote but little, however, until 1835, after which time she 
was a frequent contributor to "The Ladies' Repository," a magazine 
published in Boston, in which, and in the "Rose of Sharon" an AnDual, 
the greater part of her writings have appeared. 

THE DREAMER. 

1 Heart of mine, why art thou dreaming, 

Dreaming through the weary day ; 
While life's precious hours are wasting, 
Fast, and unimproved, away ? 

2 With a world of beauty round me, 

Lone and sad, I dwell apart ; 
Changing scenes can bring no pleasure 
To this wrecked and worn-out heart. 

3 Now I tempt the quiet ocean, 

While the sky is bright above, 
And the sunlight rests around me, 
Like the beaming smile of Love. 

4 Or by waters softly flowing 

Through the vale, I wander now ; 
And the balmy breath of summer 
Fans my cheek, and cools my brow. 



5 But as well, to me, mighf darken 

Over all, the gloom of night ; 

For no quick and sweet sensations 

Fill my soul with new delight. 

6 In the grave-grown, silent church-yard, 

With a listless step, I rove ; 
And I shed no tear of sorrow 
By the graves of those I love. 

7 Could I weep, the spell might vanish, 

Tears would bring my heart relief ; 
Heart so sealed to all emotion, 
Dead alike to joy and grief. 

8 When the storm that shook my spirit, 

Left its mission finished there, 

Then a calm more fearful followed, 

Than the wildness of despair. 

9 Whence the spell that chills my being, 

Bidding every passion cease ; 
Closing every fount of feeling ? 
Say, my spirit, is it peace ? 

10 Wake ! O spell-bound soul, awaken ! 

Bid this sad delusion flee ! 
Such a lengthened dream is fearful ; 
Such a peace is not for thee. 

11 Life is thine, and " life is earnest," 

Toil and grief, thou canst not shun ; 
But be hopeful and believing, 
Till the prize of faith is won. 

12 Then the j>eace thou shalt inherit, 

By the Saviour promised free : 

Peace, the world destroyeth never ; 

Father, give that peace to me ! 

MARY A. HANMEK DODD. 

AN ANSWERED PRAYER. 

1 " Show us our sins, O Lord ! " we pray ; 
Yet leave us not to go astray, 
Dishonor Thee, and bring disgrace 
Upon Thy cause, by our un worthiness. 

2 Do we ask this from fear of sin, 

And of dishonor to His holy name ? 

Or is it but the fear of open shame, 
Lurking, disguised, our hearts within ? 
For who can know the heart's deceit ? 

Has it a single, simple thought 
Or unmixed motive, at its best? 

If we may hope that the good is wrought 
By our weak hands, or that our feet 

Walk in His ways, His grace alone, 

Upholding, guiding every one, 
Makes any effort, any action blest. 

3 God lets us suffer, by and by, 

Some little wound ; so slight a thing 
We should not feel a moment's pain 
But for the hand that dealt the blow, 

But for the tongue that gave the sting, 
A friend's, a brother's ! Why, ah ! why 

Should they reward us so? 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, &c 



833 



4 It rankles and returns again 

The thought, " Have we deserved this slight 
From you, the friends we held so dear ? 

In storm and sunshine, day and night, 
Our hearts were loyal. Never fear 

Of your mistrust or jealousy 

Disturbed us. Surely you should be 
More kind, considerate, tender, true, 
To us who loved and served you well ! 
Such conduct is unworthy you ; 

You owed us love and gratitude, 

You give us evil for our good ! " 
We surfer more than we can tell, 
And all for such a little thing ! 

5 "He too was wounded by His friends," 

Perhaps we say, but there we cease ; 

'T is not a thought to bring us peace, 
Or for our hurt to make amends ; 

For who are we that we should dare 

Our love with His love to compare ? 
But feeling still, "It is not right ; " 
Suddenly flashes brilliant light 

In some dark corner of our lives, 

Revealing, to our own surprise, 
The form of some forgotten sin, 
Hidden its depths within ; 

Some old ingratitude or disrespect, 

Some hardness, coldness, or neglect, 
Still unrepented, never seen 

Before, beneath its dark disguise, 
God knew it, saw it, all the time, 

And thus reveals it to our eyes. 
What of our undiscovered crime 
If He, as we forgive, forgives ? 

Our hearts, beneath such lightning flashes, 

Abhor themselves, and bow in dust and ashes, 
In silent shame, repentance keen. 
6 We asked the Lord our sins to show, 

And thus our prayer is answered. True, 

We did deserve it, friends, though not from you 
Because of what we did so long ago. 

ESTHER THORNE. 

ALONE. 

I stand alone. The fierce rocks rise above me 

Cruel and cold ; 
The forests weave their verdant chain around me 

Fold upon fold. 
Across the chasm's demon-haunted blackness 

Rings evermore, 
From shadowy depths of dim and lonesome gorges, 

The torrents roar. 
I catch the gleam of flow'ry, sun-kissed valleys, 

Far, far below ; 
I hear the laugh of brooks, the chant of fountains, 

Solemn and slow. 
There mirth and music speed the joyous moments ; 

Glad voices ring ; 



And rise Love's holy altar-fires to Heaven, 

For He is King. 
But far above, the grand peaks bathed in silver 

Rise cold and clear, 
And Heaven's own splendor gilds their snow-capped 
summits, 

Drawing me near. 
heart, be brave ! Our path lies on and upward 

Through woes unknown. 
Who gains the heights where glory rests unclouded 

Must walk alone. 



CHEERFULNESS. 

I think we are too ready with complaint, 

In this fair world of God's. Had we no hope, 
Indeed, beyond the zenith and the slope 

Of yon gray bank of sky, we might grow faint 

To muse upon Eternity's constraint 

Round our aspirant souls; but since the scope 
Must widen early, is it well to droop, 

For a few days consumed in loss and taint ? 

O pusillanimous heart, be comforted ; 

And like a cheerful traveller take the road, 

Singing beside the hedge. What if the bread 
Be bitter in thine inn and thou unshod 

To meet the flints ? At least it may be said, 
" Because the way is short, I thank Thee, God.' 

MRS. BROWNING. 



THE PAINTER'S PRAYER. 

i incident in the painting of Holman Hunt's " Light of the World." 

1 " Nay," he said, " it is not done. 
At to-morrow's set of sun 
Come again, if you would see 
What the finished thought would be." 
Straight they went. The heavy door 
On its hinges swung once more, 

As within the studio dim 

Eye and heart took heed of Him ! 

2 How the Presence fills the room, 
Brightening all its dusky gloom ! 
Saints and martyrs turned their eyes 
From the hills of Paradise ; 

Rapt in holy ecstasy, 
Mary smiled her son to see, 
Letting all her lilies fall 
At His feet — the Lord of all ! 

3 But the painter bowed his head, 
Lost in wonder and in dread, 
And as at the holy shrine, 
Knelt before the form divine. 

All had passed — the pride, the power, 
Of the soul's creative hour — 
Exaltation's soaring flight 
Is the spirit's loftiest hight. 



834 



WOMAW IN SACRED SONG, 



Had he dared to paint the Lord ? 
Dared to paint the Christ, the Word ? 
Ah, the folly ! Ah, the sin ! 
Ah, the shame his soul within ! 
Saints might turn on him their eyes 
From the hills of Paradise, 
But the painter could not hrook 
On that pictured face to look. 

Yet the form was grand and fair, 
Fit to move a world to prayer, 
Godlike in its strength and stress, 
Human in its tenderness. 
From it streamed the light divine, 
O'er it drooped the heavenly vine, 
And beneath the bending spray 
Stood the Life, the Truth, the Way ! 

Suddenly, with eager hold, 
Back he swept the curtain's fold, 
Letting all the sunset glow 
O'er the living canvas flow. 
Surely then the wondrous eyes 
Met his own in tenderest wise, 
And the Lord Christ, half revealed, 
Smiled upon him as he kneeled. 

Trembling, throbbing, quick as thought, 
Up he brush and palette caught, 
And where deepest shade was thrown • 
Set one sign for God alone ! 
Years have passed — but, even yet, 
Where the massive frame is set 
You may find these words, '■ Nee me 
Praetermittas Domine ! " 

" Neither pass me by, O Lord ! " 
Christ, the Life, the Light, the Word, 
Low we bow before Thy feet, 
Thy remembrance to entreat ! 
In our soul's most secret place, 
For no eye but Thine to trace, 
Lo, this prayer we write : " Nee me 
Praetermittas Domine ! " 

JULIA. C. R. DORR. 



SET APART. 

1 Last night in vivid dreams I saw a lovely isle 

Far out from peopled shores, alone in all the sea, 
Crowned with luxuriant gifts, with nature's sweetest 
smile, 
Yet brooding o'er it all weird, sad solemnity. 

2 The waves were knit with crossing paths, from 

shore to shore. 
Adventure, pleasure, thirst for knowledge, power 



3 Yet never boat lay anchored by my lonely isle, 

No flag was raised — or signalled from its voiceless 
shore ; 
Years drifted to decades — it seemed a weary while ; 
No earnest seeker came its mysteries to explore. 

4 I watched with anxious eyes thro' hours of troubled 

sleep. 
No passing ship took note, or even rested near, 
All paths seemed curved away as if to ever keep 
Its life apart from living voice, or household 

cheer. 

5 And yet a radiance strange dwelt in its atmosphere, 

Sweet peace, more palpable than the cold sea's 
embrace 
Encircled it, — as if some lofty temple there 

Was built to the great Heart that surely holds our 
race. 

6 At last, from saddened sleep, to sadder waking 

thought 
I rose with sudden shock ; my dream was not a 

dream- 
Each mortal life hath its appointed lot, and naught 
Avails to change its duties, or its ills, redeem. 

7 My sad dream-island had a full significance 

And parallel in many isolated lives, 
The vivid symbolism throughout my dreamful trance 
Shadowed realities that every age survives. 

8 Life's sea is dotted everywhere with roving barks, 

Life's land on either side trembles with hurrying 

feet, 
All seek some common goal to win ; all aim at marks 
Within the ken and sphere of half the souls they 

meet. 

9 Companionship — and all its wondrous bliss or care — 

The warp of social law, shot with bright woof of 

heart, 
Bind each to all ; thank God few can, or need, or 

dare 
Unloose all that, and seek to have their lot — apart! 

10 God setteth starry worlds in constellated groups, 

All human souls in families, and these in homes, 
The birds in mated nests, insects in summer troops, 
And arching every kind, their own sure heav'rdy 
domes. 

11 And yet in earth's Gethsemanes, some watch alone ! 

Some deep interior call — above the outward law — 
Sets them apart as burial gardens where are sown 
The costly seeds of broader thought, more rev'rent 



Made busier ocean-streets, as strong ships faster bore 
More life and wealth between the cities of the 
plain. 



ISADOR1S G. JEFFERY, 

In "Weekly Magazine." 
Chicago, 111., Feb. 14, 1884. 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, &c. 



835 



UNHINDERED. 

1 With joyous haste along the busy street, 

Close iu the Master's steps Auselmo went ; 
But seeing one in need, he stayed his feet, 
And words of cheer with kindly service blent. 

2 " Thanks, brother, for thy help ! " the stranger cried 

" May He who loveth love thy soul reward ! " 
But searching near and far, Anselmo sighed, 
"Alas ! in tarrying I have lost my Lord ! " 

3 Yet while he spoke his heart within him burned, 

For, lo ! apart, beneath the palm-tree's shade, 
The Master, waiting, toward His follower turned 
And gracious answer to his grieving made : 

4 " For know," He said, ''not thus shall hindrance be ; 

For loving deeds but draw thee nearer Me." 

MARY B. SLEIGHT. 
Sag Harbor, N. Y., Aug. 1881 



TRUST. 

I do not and I will not 

Believe that God forgets ! 
I know that life is weary, 

And full of vain regrets : — 
Is hard, and sad and tearful 

And holding endless paiu ; 
But the tender Christ was pitiful 

And for our griefs was slain. 

I do not and I will not 

Believe He fails to hear, — 
That the sighing and the crying 

Will find unwilling ear. 
I know we cannot comprehend 

His great, His wondrous plan ; 
But Oh ! the Christ was pitiful 

And brought His love to man. 

GTJSSIE SCOTT CAMPBELL. 
Chicago, LU. 

THE VALUE OF A SOUL. 



Pss »obbric.p 



Was born in Penobscot County, Maine, and spent her youth among 
the hills of Berkshire— " The Switzerland of America." Her ancestors 
were so eminently pious that three of them were chosen by Mrs. Sig- 
ourney, in her "Biography of Pious Women," to set forth the brightest 
examples of religious excellence. Her first poetical effusions were pub- 
lished in the village paper and in Mrs. Child's " Miscellany." Afterward 
she wrote for the NewYorkandotherpapers. In 1836 she became a teach- 
er in the Albany Female Seminary, and in ten years removed to a similar 
institution in Brooklyn, where she long presided with mingled gentleuess 
and energy, in her useful but wearisome vocation. There is a simplicity 
and Christian hopefulness about all her productions. 



FROM "LIFE'S LIGHT AND SHADE." 



Thus, ever, in the steps of grief, 

Are sown the precious seeds of joy ; 
Each fount of Marah hath a leaf, 

Whose healing balm we may employ. 
Then, 'mid life's fitful, fleeting day, 

Look up ! the sky is bright above ! 
Kind voices cheer thee on thy way ! 

Faint spirit ! trust the God of Love ! 



WOODBRIDGE, 1847. 



INCONSISTENCY. 



1 We wander up and down Life's pleasant path ; 
We scale the hills, and reach out for the stars ; 
Through eyes all blinded by the dust of sin, 
We strive to peer betwixt the Heavenly bars — 

2 Tn search of what ? Of peace, or joy. or rest ? 
Nay ; each is springing thickly round our way ; 
But still we reach out longing hands, and cry 
Like children who are tired of play. 

MARY STRATTON HEWETT. 
In " The Chicago Tribune." 



Friend, wouldst thou know the value of a soul ? 

Go, count the stars, and give their number true ; 

Weigh the whole world, then write its perfect weight ; 

Value earth's every treasure at its worth, 

Then add together number, weight and sum 

And multiply their product by itself, 

Time and again, until their figures reach 

High as a man's highest power can compute, 

Then lay the whole within some balance true, 

And in another I will lay a soul, 

One single, heaven-born soul, and you shall see 

That as a mountain towers above a vale, 

As grains of dust appear by tons of gold, 

So doth a single soul excel in worth 

All things this side of Heaven. 



ANGIE FCLLIR, 



TRACES. 



1 Pray, where are all the joys you've known ? 

They show not in your face ; 
While this one grief is written there 
In lines that all may trace. 

2 Ah ! Joy's dear touch so lightly falls ; 

While Grief's relentless hand 
Sweeps o'er the face with fingers harsh, 
And stamps with iron brand. 

CLARA J. DENTON. 

In "The Chicago Tribune." 

Grand Rapids, Mich. 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Sarajr §}. Coo^r. 



At Cazenovia, New York, in 1836, Sarah B. Ingersoll opened her blue 
eyes on a "world of sweet surprises," which, from that day to this, she 
has made a "world of joy" and an ever increasing series of "sweet 
surprises" to those who know and love her. She has the rare faculty of 
creating worlds for people, making the circumference in ratio with the 
diameter of need. 

Her literary character has always been pronounced. When twelve 
years of age she wrote for the village paper, and since that time she has 
been a regular contributor to various leading newspapers and period- 
icals, and for four years was engaged on the " Overland Monthly." Her 
reviews and editorial work, together with stories and other prose articles, 
have given her an established reputation in the literary world. She has 
prepared the "Educational Report of the State of California for the 
National Bureau of Education" at Washington, for the past ten years. 

In 1875 the alumni of Cazenovia Seminary gathered from near and far 
to celebrate her semi-centennial jubilee, and Mrs. Cooper brought from 
.her California home a wonderful wreath of golden words to crown her 
Alma Mater,— & poem. "Retrospect and Prospect," from which we 
glean some precious gems. (Mrs. E. T. Housh, in "Woman at Work.") 

'TWAS A VISION BEATIFIC. 

1 'T was a vision beatific, in its lambent lustre 

bright : 

'T was a heaven-born inspiration, that secured the 
vested right 

To woman in this charter — and the ■ world, witb 
much ado, 

Heard the drum-beat of progression in this mur- 
muring tattoo. 

2 Bright with scintillating splendors shone the star 

just newly born ; 
All divinely aromatic was the fragrance of that 

morn, 
When endowed with duplex glory, in its dual 

unity, 
History throbbed with expectation in the franchise 

full and free. 

3 Free to woman in her yearning for the lofty and 

the true, 
From her native inspiration to project and to 

pursue. 
Life-work shaped by intuition, which if faithfully 

obeyed, 
Always finds the mental fibre out of which success 

is made, 

4 Through the avenues of culture, free of scope and 

wide of range, 

Let the sexes roam unfettered in the loftiest inter- 
change ! 

In the flash of mind attrition wondrous glints of 
truth are caught ; 

Mind itself becomes forensic, grandly signeted 
with thought. 

5 Be omnipotent in self-hood ! What you are that 

grandly be, 
For to make of life a fiction is an irksome 

travesty. 
Nature knows no affectation, bluster ill becomes 

the brave; 
Life unreal shall evanish in th' alembic of the 

grave. 



6 Manhood wins by stern commanding, potent 

through the power of will ; 
Womanhood commands by winning, with a sway 

more regal still. 
Man upon his stalwart shoulder binds his load 

with matchless art, 
Woman hides her life-experience in her secret, 
secret heart. 

7 So that culture must be noblest which in harmony 

divine, 
With Creation's primal method, in the glad Edenic 

time, 
Linked the sexes in communion — dual life in 

unity — 
Just as branches, though diverging, still converge 

to form a tree. 

8 "What if in the realm of culture rosy signals inter- 

change ! 
In life's holiday of romance this is nothing new or 

strange. 
What if harmonies ecstatic drop distilling from 

above ! 
What if tender plant of friendship blossom out 

with flowers of love ! 

9 Eyes may dart exultant havoc into palpitating 

hearts, — 

Just like aroma of flowers speed love's non-com- 
missioned darts ; 

And the stars do blink and twinkle, and in rain- 
bowed splendors drest, 

Bends the sky above in blessing — Ah ! methinks 
you know the rest. 

10 Think ye that affection falters with love's roseate 

morning gone ? 
Nay ! the blossom sings no dirges as the fruitage 

hastens on. 
And that soul by growth expanded, be it lover, 

husband, wife, 
Findeth in the law of sacrifice the grandest law of 

life." 

There are exquisite touches in the tribute to "the alumni of the sky." 

11 "We do call them dead who've left us — what a 

strange misnomer this ! 
When the crystal lenses of this life disclose that 

life of bliss ! 
Whispering breezes from Hereafter pulsate through 

the earth's wide strand, 
As the breezes from the ocean find their way far 

into land. 

12 Strangely sweet the inspiration ! all our inner being- 

thrills ; 
God's white-winged host our aicls-de-camp, while 

encamping on earth's hills 
With munitions for the conflict — and we send 

warm greetings back 
As we watch the flitting whiteness of their unseen 

starless track. 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, ice 



837 



13 Tender, motherly devotion, grown to guardian 

angelhood, 

Still dispensing heavenly counsel, yet so dimly 
understood ; 

Fathers bending o'er the battlements in ministry 
of love, 

Sisters reaching out for brothers from the glory- 
heights above. 

14 Absent children penning letters from the school- 

room of the sky, 
And we sometimes catch their message as the 

night-shades wander by ; 
Just as birds from out the woodland sing their song, 

then upward soar — 
Sing their song, then dip their wings, and leave it 

silent as before." 



tfUa m\n\tx Wiltax. 



The following quotations found in "The Weekly Magazine" are from 
speeches made at a reception tendered Ella Wheeler, in Milwaukee, 
Wisconsin, her old home, on the evening after that of Decoration Day, 
1883. Although Mrs. Wilcox, some years since, expressed sentiment 
that received severe criticism, she has written much to which the most 
fastidious in taste and Christian in character, can take no exception. 
Especially is this true of her later works, which breathe forth a deep 
religious feeling and purity of thought. 

"Ella Wheeler has not reached her present merited position in the 
hearts of the people without a struggle, She has had no easy road to 
travel. Thorns and briars have beset her path, and to-day with that 
motto before her she is struggling on to reach the "summit of the high- 
est mound," and we have met here to-night to clear away a few of the 
obnoxious brambles that beset her way. Ella Wheeler has worked. 
Although young and bright as a sunbeam, her hours, days, weeks, 
months, years have been long and laborious — and as a result the literary 
world and many people of our common country have been made happier 
and better by reading her lines. So it is meet and proper that we should 
give her this reception, extend to her the right hand of fellowship, joy 
with her, and bid her God-speed with the young America Wisconsin 
motto, "Forward," ever before her." 

Mr. T, W- Handford, editor for the publishing house of Belford, 
Clarke & Co., then rose to present the first copy of one of her volumes 
of poems. After some introductory observations, Mr. Handford said : 

I am impressed with the thought that the purpose of this meeting is 
something unique in our experience. Yesterday was Decoration Day, 
and ten thousand graves were decked with emblems of the love we 
cherish in memory of the heroic dead. But to-night we are gathered to 
bind bay leaves about a living brow. We do well to honor the dead, and 
we do equally well to cheer the living. A little kindly thought will help 
the living more than all our praises on tombs will help them when they 
are gone. For the most part, poets have been left to struggle on without 
a word of cheer. When I heard to-night that Miss Wheeler's first fee 
amounted to the magnificent sum of four dollars, I thought she ought 
to be congratulated, and I would comfort her by the thought that John 
Milton only received one hundred dollars for his " Paradise Lost." 

We are living in very remarkable times. It is not so long since it 
was thought that a woman had no place in literature; her duty was with 
the distaff and spindle, and to make cake for the hungry lords of crea- 
tion; but such women as Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Mrs. Harriet 
Beecher Stowe, the Cary Sisters and a host of others, have changed all 
this. They have made good their claim to a high place in the temple of 
literature. Mr. Handford concluded by reading one sonnet from the 
new book.called "A Creed," which he said was worthy of Tennyson or 
Emerson in their happiest moods. 

United States Attorney G, C. Hazleton, in accepting the volume, 
made an exhaustive and expressive speech, in which he set forth the 
dignity and value of the true poet, and spoke in fervent language of the 



struggles and conquests'of Miss Wheeler's brief career. It must have 
been most encouraging to the young poetess to receive such words of 
commendation and praise from such lips. Mr. Hazleton's speech was 
worthy of any audience, and especially worthy of that unique occasion. 

The Hon, Joshua Stark accepted the volume in behalf of the Trus- 
tees of the Public Library, and reminded Miss Wheeler that she was 
now to find a very honored place, but one to which she had a just and 
honorable claim. Side by side with Milton and Cowper and the later 
poets of the West, Ella Wheeler's "Poems" would find a place. 

Gen. H. C. Hobart then made a brief speech, in which he said there 
were other conflicts than those fought on actual battle-fields, and praised 
the heroism and courage with which Miss Wheeler had met and con- 
quered difficulties that would have baffled many a ma.u. Turning from 
the audience to Miss Wheeler, the venerable General said half a dozen 
words that were tremulous with emotion, and as he handed her the cas- 
ket of gold said, "Be brave, always be brave." 

Miss Wheeler stood for a few moments bowing to the audience who 
cheered and then risingto theirfeet cheered again loud and long. When 
silence was obtained, Mr. Alma Aldrich read Miss Wheeler's reply which 
took the following poetic form : 

1 Speak for me, friend, whose lips are ever ready 

With chosen words to voice another's thought, 
My shaken heart would make my tones unsteady — 
Speak thou the words I ought. 

2 Say that the love I give in lavish fashion, 

To all God's living creatures everywhere 
Pervades me with a deep and holy passion — 
A wordless, grateful prayer. 

3 Say that the gifts I may have used too lightly — 

As children toss rare gems in careless mirth — 
From this glad hour — henceforth — shall shine more 

brightly 
- And prove their real worth. 

4 Say that my life shall be one grand endeavor 

To reach a nobler womanhood's fair height ; 
Say how my earnest aim is to — forever — 
Be worthy of this night. 

During the evening Mrs. H. E. Chapman read most effectively from 
the new volume "The Lost Garden," "The Beautiful Land of Nod," 
and other poems. Ella Wheeler has already accomplished much. She 
has written over twelve hundred poems, to say nothing of a number of 
stories. Her stories in no way compare with her poetry. Her most en- 
thusiastic admirers admit this. Poetry is her natural language. 

Miss Wheeler was married in'May, 1884, to Robert M. Wilcox, a young 
manufacturer of Meriden, Ct. She writes as much as ever, showing no 
idea of abandoning her muse. 



THE HYACINTH. 

1 Without, the snow lies drifted on the hills, 

Dark, lowering storm-clouds fill the air with gloom ; 
Within, the hyacinth with fragrance fills, 
And heavenly beauty, all the lonely room. 

2 Dear flower, of all the flowers I love thee best, 

Forever yet while winter's icy breath 
Prisons the streams and holds the grass and flowers, 
Wrapped in the cerements and the gloom of death, 



838 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



3 Bursting thy grave clothes and the imprisoning mould, 

In all thy fresh new beauty thou art here, 
The same dear fragrant flower we knew of old, 
Telling the miracle of spring is near. 

4 Sweet flower, thou comfortest my sorrowing soul ! 

Thee the Great Source of Life remembereth, 
And at the appointed time, as seasons roll, 

Giveth thee power to burst the bonds of death ; 

5 Can I not to His unforgetting care 

Entrust those lonely graves, where cold and low, 
And far apart beneath the wintry skies, 

My darlings sleep under the drifting snow ? 

HELEN E. STARRETT. 



NOBLESSE OBLIGE. 

1 I hold it the duty of one who is gifted, 

And royally dowered in all men's sight, 
To know no rest till his life is lifted 
Fully up to his great gifts' height. 

2 He must mold the man into rare completeness, 

For gems are set only in gold refined ; 
He must fashion his thoughts into perfect sweetness 
And cast out folly and pride from his mind. 

3 For he who drinks from a god's gold chalice 

Of art, or music, or rhythmic song, 
Must sift from his soul the chaff of malice, 
And weed from his heart the roots of wrong. 

4 For I think the wrath of an outraged Heaven 

Should fall on the chosen and dowered soul 
That allows a lump of selfish leaven, 
By slow fermenting, to spoil the whole. 

5 Great gifts should be worn like a crown befitting, 

And not like gems on a beggar's hands ; 
And the toil must be constant and unremitting 
That lifts up the king to the crown's demands. 

ELLA WHEELER. 



%mt %m% 



Was born in 1827, on a farm near Hartford, Conn. When six years of 
age her family moved into the city and dwelt in a grand old brick man- 
sion built by one of her ancestors, Colonel Wadsworth, for his daughter, 
in 1799. Twenty-five years ago, when the first number of tbe " Atlantic 
Monthly" made its appearance, the leading story was written by the sub- 
ject of this sketch. Previous to or about this time, she published a serial 
story— "The Mormon's wife," in "Putman's Magazine." It is stated that 
it was not the experience of years, for she was then young, but the intui- 
tions of genius, the kind heart ever in sympathy with the woes of others, 
that brought forth from her brain and being the strong yet delicate 
argument against the iniquity threatening to undermine the founda- 
tions of our civilization, the sacred ties of family, bruising the hearts of 
our sisters and sadly debasing man. 

At the age of sixteen she both graduated and united with the church. 
The celebrated Mrs. Sigourney was her teacher at one time. Her first 
poem was published in the New York " Tribune," under the pseudonym 
of her mother's initials, thus showing her modest, sensitive, shrinking 
nature, traits usually inherent in a genuine poetic temperament. Itwas 
through the persistent demand of friends that her poems were gathered 



into a volume. Her patriotism, her politicsand interest in general topics 
of the day, shine forth in "Fremont's Ride," "After the Comanches;" and 
her deep religious feeling is portrayed in the ' ' Bell Songs," in " Prayer," 
and other poems. 

Harriet Prescott Spofford, her biographer in "Famous Women," says 
that "The Two Villages," a poem by Mrs. Cooke, has been printed and 
reprinted, carried in work-baskets, pockets and pocket-books, and every- 
body's heart. Her poem "Doubt" is pronounced "without a peer, in its 
order, unless it be Emerson's 'Brahma.'" Of herproseworks, "Metempsy- 
chosis," published twenty years ago, is said by able critics to be exceeded 
in absolute beauty of imagery and expression, by nothing ever written. 
Several persons have claimed to be the writers of Rose Terry Cook's articles, 
declaring that name to be their nom de plume ; but they could not long 
practice such an imposition. Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe. who has known 
Mrs. Cooke from childhood, had the pleasure once, of reputing one of 
these false claims. 

It was in April, 1873, that Rose Terry married Rollin H. Cooke, Esq,, 
an iron manufacturer in Litchfield County, Conn., which is now her 
home. It is said her life is an ideal one, her husband being in perfect 
sympathy with her tastes and opinions, Much more isyetexpectedfrom 
the beautiful life ;— from the heart and brain of this gifted woman of 
■ong. 



PANE PICTURES. 

1 A wonder-worker all night long 

Has wrought his task for me ; 
Now, by the cold and distant dawn, 

His miracles I see ; 
His gravings on the window-pane, 

Of magic tracery. 

2 Here lifts an Alpine summit, steep 

As is the heavenly stair, 
A way-side cross below the path, 

But not a pilgrim there ; 
No sad face of humanity, 

No agony of prayer. 

3 And here, before a lonely lake, 

A fringe of reeds and' fern ; 
Across the water's crystal chill 

No dying sunsets burn. 
You hear not on that rushy shore 

The call of drake or tern. 

4 Here lies a crowd of broken boughs, 

A windfall in the woods : 
Some wild and wandering hurricane 

Hath wrecked these solitudes : 
But on that tangled dreariness 

No living step intrudes. 

5 And here is Arctic waste and woe ; 

A glacier's mighty face, 
Majestic in its awful march, 

Slow seaward from its place. 
Beneath that frown of solemn death 

There lives no human trace. 



6 But slowly from the joyful East 
Ascends the dawning sun ; 

Before his look of light and life 
The magic is undone ; 

The graceful pictures on the pan 
All vanish, one by one. 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, &C, 



839 



7 



Alas ! must all the songs I sing, 

The traceries of my brain — 
The little stories sad and glad — 

Be uttered all in vain ? 
And vanish when the Master comes, 

Like pictures on the pane ? 
Or will they, in some kindly heart 

Remembered, sing and shine ? 
For wrought from man's humanity 

Not fleeting frost, are mine'; 
I love not to be quite forgot ; 

To die and leave no sign. 



THE UNBIDDEN GUEST. 

1 Within my home that empty seemed, I sat 

And prayed for greater blessings. All 
That was mine own seemed poor and mean and 
small ; 
And I cried out rebelliously for that 

2 I had not, saying if great gifts of gold 

Were only mine, journeys in far-off lands, 
Were also mine, with rest for burdened hands ; 
If love, the love I craved, would come and fold 

3 Its arms around me ; then would joy abide 

With me forever ; peace would come and bless, 
And life would round out from this narrowness 
Into a fullness new and sweet and wide. 

4 And so I fretted 'gainst my simple lot, 

And so I prayed for fairer, broader ways, 
Making a burden of the very days, 
In mad regret for that which I had not. 

5 And then one came unto my humble door 

And asked to enter. " Art thou love ?" I 

cried, 
"Or wealth or fame? Else shalt thou be 
denied." 
She answered : "Nay, my child, but I am more. 

6 " Open to me, I pray ; make me thy guest, 

And thou shalt find, although no gift of gold 
Or frame of love within my hand I hold, 

That with my coming cometh all the best 

" That thou hast longed for." Fair, tho' grave, 
her face, 
Soft was her voice, and in her steadfast eyes 
I saw the look of one both true and wise. 

My heart was sore, and so, with tardy grace, 

I bade her enter. How transfigured 

Seemed now the faithful love that at my feet 
So long had lain unprized! How wide and 
sweet 

Shone the small paths wherein I had been led ! 

Duty grew beautiful ; with calm consent 
I saw the distant wealth of land and sea. 
But all fair things seemed given unto me 

The hour I clasped the hand of dear Content. 

CARLOTIA PERKY. 



PLEA TO SCIENCE, 

1 O Science, reaching backward through the distance, 

Most earnest child of God, 
Exposing all the secrets of existence, 

With thy divining rod ; 
I bid thee speed up to the heights supernal, 

Clear thinker, ne'er sufficed ; 
Go, seek and bind the laws and truths eternal, 

But leave me Christ. 

2 Upon the vanity of pious sages, 

Let in the light of day. 
Break down the superstition of all ages. 

Thrust bigotry away. 
Stride on, and bid all stubborn foes defiance, 

Let truth and reason reign'. 
But I beseech thee, O immortal Science, 

Let Christ remain. 

3 What canst thou give to help me bear my crosses, 

In place of Him, my Lord ? 
And what to recompense for all my losses, 

And bring me sweet reward ? 
Thou couldst not with thy clear, cold eyes of reason, 

Thou couldst not comfort me 
Like one who passed through that tear-blotted season, 

In sad Gethsemane. 

4 Through all the weary, wearing hours of sorrow, 

What word that thou hast said, 
Would make me strong to wait for some to-morrow, 

When I should find my dead ? 
When I am weak, and desolate, and lonely, 

And prone to follow wrong, 
Not thou, O Science — Christ, my Saviour, only 

Can make me strong. 

5 Thou art so cold, so lofty, and so distant, 

Though great my need may be, 
No prayer, however constant and persistent, 

Could bring thee down to me. 
Christ stands so near, to help me through each hour, 

To guide me day by day. 
Science, sweeping all before thy power, 

Leave Christ, I pray. 



YESTERDAY. 

To-morrow is a " shining isle in a stormy sea " ; but as for yesterday.— 

1 I take your gifts, glad yesterday ; 
And when I turn from work to play, 
From care to rest, they'll make my joy, 
And give my heart its holiday. 

2 I take your gifts, sad yesterday — , 
The better deeds I might have done, 

The tears I might have wiped away, 
The higher hights I might have won. 

MAftY CLEMMIf!, 



840 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Irs. Info irate JJtalf. 



The music of this song was written by Mrs. Julia Beatrice Metcalf of Nebraska City, Neb., and dedicated to Miss Eva T. Munson (Mrs. G. C. 
Smith), on her wedding day, July 13, 1869, and is now for the first time published. Mrs. Metcalf is the daughter of Judge J. F. Kinney of Ne- 
braska City, who for nine years was Judge of the Supreme Court of Iowa. The town of Beatrice, Neb., was founded by the Judge, and named for his 
daughter. She is one of the most prominent women of the State, socially and religiously, possessing rare literary and musical abilities, enriched by a 
high degree of culture. Some years ago she wrote much for "The Churchman," an organ of her chosen Church— the Episcopalian, to which she isvery 
devoted. Although the following words and music are not strictly on the religious order, they are surely sacred and therefore appropriately find a 
place in this volume. 

LOVE. 



(RECITATIVE.) 




At noon, at eve, at morn; And he's captured hearts and broken some, I 1 




MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, dec. 



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842 



WOMAN- IN SACRED SONG, 



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MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, &c. 



843 



elf, If the life be earn - est and true And a right good wish 




RENUNCIATION. 

CHOPIN'S NOCTURNES. OPUS 9, I, OPUS 48, I. 

1 Will you play me the songs that you played long 

ago, 
When beside us were others who listened and 

dreamed, 
While the summer night sank as a soul sinks with 

woe, 
And as tears, the pale stars in her drapery 

gleamed ? 

2 No less fair the hour present than hours past and 
sacred, the wind-gushes, 



gone, 
For the silence 

balm ; 
And the moon, like a golden rose, blooming 

floats on 
Through the gardens of God and their infinite 

calm ! 

S And the windows to welcome the glory are wide, 
And the room is a temple of perfume and 
peace, 



And my once-aching heart, thro' its loss purified, 
Seems a hush of content, which shall never- 
more cease. 

4 Very strong, — having put away all that is 

vain, — 
I may listen and marvel the tune is so pure ; 
Very quiet at last, — having measured great 

pain, — 
I may follow each delicate, fanciful lure. 

5 All the feverish dreams of a desperate soul 

Are renounced, — all the passionate pride of my 

youth, 
All the aims and desires that long baffled control — 
Deep deceits and slow snares bearing semblance 

of truth ! 

6 And the tender old songs, with a quaint burthen 

filled, 
Will awaken no flush of disquiet in me ; 
For my soul is enlightened and strengthened and 

stilled 
By the love that has been and the peace that 

shall be ! 

LILY M. CUKRr. 



844 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



11 



12 



13 



14 



THE TOUCH OF LIFE. 
Our little life is small indeed, 

If but for self we live ; 
If other lives take naught from us, 

And naught to us can give. 
But in and out our lives are wrought, 

Love — hate — and joy and pain, 
Time's fateful shuttle moves along, 

Tho' we protest in vain. 
If we but knew, who tread this earth — 

Our fearful artist-power 
To mould each other into form 

Through every day and hour; — 
The wife, the husband, dearest names, 

Since Eden heard them first, 
When the Lord walk'd and talk'd with them, 

Ere sin their home had curst, — 
The children, whose unwritten brows, 

And spotless souls, declare 
How delicate should be the hand 

That dares to venture there. 
The little touch may hurt the most, — 

A harsh or kind word spoken 
May light another's darken'd way 

Or pierce a spirit broken. 
Through time and space our influence runs, 

Tho' small it seem to be, 
And Time's strange waves shall roll at last 

To God's eternity. 
When Moses stood on Sinai's height, 

When David struck his lyre, 
When Mars Hill sent the echoes back 

Of Paul's God-kindled fire — 
They touch'd all lives in differing keys ; 

And, circling on and on, 
We hear Isaiah's prophet-tones, 

The burning words of John. 
But more that blest Life touches ours, 

The human, the Divine — 
Who liv'd to teach us how to live — 

The Prince of Judah's line. 
The mighty sympathy of Christ 

Reach'd every human life, 
Thrill'd from the Cross of Calvary 

With wondrous meaning rife. 
It touch'd us from the manger-bed, 

Where wise men knelt in awe 
Before the fairest baby-form 

That mortals ever saw. 
It touch'd us from the stormy wave 

Where Peter's faith grew dim ; 
He show'd that we could walk unharm'd, 

If we would walk with Him. 
It touch'd us from Mount Olive's brow, 

And from that Garden's shade, 
Where flow'rs shrank back to see their God 

By a lip's touch betrayed. 



15 And many a lip has kissed to death 

The best of earth since then — 
The brightest pearls of womanhood, 
The truest, noblest men. 

16 The earth is waiting pliant now 

For some remoulding touch ; 
What master voice shall teach us right, 
Who teaching need so much ? 

17 Young men, the cry appeals to you, 

Because your hands are strong, 
Because your hearts in God are firm ; 
Why wait ye then so long ? 

18 Parents, the voice appeals to you, 

To whom so much is given ; 
Ye hold within your hearts and hands 
The power to mould for Heaven. 

19 It lies with you to give to God 

This fair earth bright and strong 
And pure as when the morning stars 
Woke their exultant song ; 

20 And woman, your quick sense must heed 

The sounds that thrill you so ; 
No other hearts like yours can bleed, 
No lives such anguish know. 

21 And when earth's King, in clouds and fire, 

Shall come to claim His throne, 
The life whose touch was truest here, 
Shall quickest touch His own. 



MRS. J. C. FIELD. 

In ''Gems of Poetry."' 
Igo, Shasta Co., Cal. 1884. 



WHAT THE MUSIC SAID. 
chopin's noctubne in b flat minor, op. xv. 3. 

1 I mourn my vanished years ! 

Oft in the twilight, when the summer air 

Is full of fragrance rare, 
And dew drops fall, like tears, 
I sit and dream of the twilights long ago, 

When not alone I sate, 

When, not unblessed of fate, 
The softly drooping dew, the unseen flowers, 
Breathing sweet odors after summer showers, 

Only of gladness spoke, and not of woe. 

2 The love I lost, the love I might have had, 

The love 1 might have given, 
Like angels stand around me, silent, sad, 

Grieving for one shut out from heaven. 
Lifting their drooping wings, these float apart j 
But others round me throng ; 

The sorrowing ones I might have comforted 

With pitying tears I never shed ; 
The weak and faint of heart 
My loving sympathy had rendered strong ; 

The fears I might have stilled ; 

The hopes that perished unfulfilled ; 
High aspirations cherished and betrayed ; 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, <kc 



845 



Kindnesses planned and then delayed 
In carelessness, or else postponed too long; 
These hover round me, sad and silent too, 
All good I might have done, all good I did not do. 

3 O shadows of the Past, that might have been 

The Present, will ye never me forsake ? 

Can vain regret but make 
Your haunting wings more clearly seen, 
Your mute reproach more potent? Can I be, 

Never again, the gladsome child of yore, 

The youth so full of hope and glee, 
The strong man glorying in conscious power ? 
Is life so nearly past, with all its dower, 

That Love and Joy return to me no more ? 
Your pitying eyes and dumb lips answer me : 

" No more, alas ! no more." 

4 What can I hold, of all that I have now ? 
What still is mine of good beneath the sun ? 

Even while I grasped at Pleasure, she was fled ; 
My hands were empty as the child's that hold, 

Crushed in their clasp, a moth with shining wings- 
The fingers open, dusty with the gold, 

Where is the treasure? Lo! a shapeless thing, 

Its little life exhaled, its beauty dead. 
Chasing our moths, the summer day we spend; 

Worn with pursuit, we win the race at last, 
To find our goal is nothing but the end, — 

The end, and nothing more, — and life is past. 

5 Soon kindly hands these hands of mine shall fold, 
As still as stone, upon a breast as cold ; 

haunting hopes and shadows of unrest, 
Will ye beset me still, 

Or in that silence shall I find relief ? 
Endless existence as a living Will, 

With deathless memory, unavailing grief, — 
Or, closing up the path we tread no more, 
And breaking in the fog upon the shore, 

Oblivion's dark waters, — which were best ? 

1 hear the reapers singing on the heights, 
Joyous, though weary, for their toil is o'er ; 

Do sheaves remain for gleaners, even yet ? 
Too late ! Life's day is over. Lo ! the night's 
Dark shadows close around me, and regret 
Shall deepen to remorse, forevermore. 

6 And yet it was not in my heart to sow 

111 seeds, nor yet to live a selfish life ; 
Only I lacked the stern resolve, to throw 

Man's fullest energy into the strife. 
Nor lacked alone the earnest will, 
Perhaps as well the kindly thought, 
Which leads some gentle souls unconsciously to fill 

Life with sweet charities and noble deeds. 

Now, like a garden full of barren weeds, 
My heart lies desolate ; I know 

That ill is wrought 
By not intending good, through weakness of the will. 



7 Still do ye haunt me, Spirits of the Past ; 
But now your gentle sighings seem to say : 

" We come as friends, and not as enemies ; 

Accept our warnings, and, though late, arise \ 
Do one right act, even if it be thy last. 

No longer tarry, when thy Lord says, Come 
Into the vineyard ? Leave to Him thy pay ; 

Assured that in the world'sgreat Harvest Home, 
The Master's dealings shall be seen aright ; 
And, though thy life has been a cloudy day, 
Perchance at evening time there shall be light." 



MAXIMUS. 

1 I hold him great, who, for love's sake, 

Can give with generous, earnest will ; 
Yet he who takes for love's sweet sake 
I think I hold more generous still. 

2 I bow before the noble mind 

That freely some great wrong forgives ; 
Yet nobler is the one forgiven 

Who bears that burden well and lives. 

3 It may be hard to gain, and still 

To keep a lowly, steadfast heart ; 
Yet he who loses has to fill 
A harder and a truer part. 

4 Glorious it is to wear the crown 

- Of a deserved and pure success ; 
He who knows how to fail has won 
A crowa whose luster is not less. 

5 Great may be he who can command 

And rule with just and tender sway ; 
Yet is diviner wisdom taught 
Better by him who can obey. 

6 Blessed are they who die for God 

And earn the martyr's crown of light ; 
Yet he who lives for God may be 
A greater conqueror in his sight. 

ADELAIDE PROCTER. 



THE OLD STORY. 

1 Alas for the head with the crown of gold ! 
The tempter came as he came of old. 
Alas for the heart that was glad and light ! 
Alas for the soul that was pure and white ! 

2 Censure who may — condemn who must; 
It was perfect faith — it was utter trust 
That asked her promise ; nor pledge nor sign, 
He was hers — she was his by law divine. 

3 He was lifted up ; he was set apart ; 

He filled her thoughts : he filled her heart ; 
She called him great ; she believed him true, 
As women will, as women do. 



;:g 



WOMAN JN SACRED SONG. 



4 Oh ! to betray such tender trust ! 
(God will repay, and He is just) — 
Through wrong and ill she loves him still, 
As women do, as women will. 

5 Giving little and taking much, 

Fickle and false — there are many such — 
Selfish and cruel ! — you know the rest — 
He broke the heart that loved him best. 



MARY F. TUCKER. 

In "Chicago Herald." 



So. gmtelra ©p. 



Amelia Alderson was born at Norwich December, 12, 1769. Her 
father was a physician. In May, 1798, she married Mr. Opie, a celebra- 
ted artist, who died in 1807. Mrs. Opie returned to Norwich to reside 
with her father, until hisdeath, after which she became a Quakeress. She 
had hitherto published several successful works of fiction and poems, 
but after this change her writings were more serious. She spent much of 
her time in visiting the sick and poor. She died December, 2, 1853. 

LINES WRITTEN ON THE SEA-SHORE. 

1 Above, lo ! cloud to cloud succeeds ; 

Below, the waves in surges roll, 
Bounding and white, as Grecian steeds 
That bore their monarch to the goal. 

2 Now his swift wings the sea-bird lowers, 

For well he reads the angry skies ; 
And ere the storm its fury pours, 
For shelter to the rock he flies. 

3 Bird of the wave, when dangers threat, 

When life looks dark, and all is drear, 
Should deep remorse and vain regret 
Rouse in my heart desponding fear, 

4 May I for shelter seek, like thee — 

Shelter which can all fears remove, 
And to my Rock of refuge flee — 
A dying Saviour's pardoning love. 

5 Such wanderers, Lord, from things impure 

Let Thy awakening Spirit call ; 
By hope of smiling mercy lure 
By fear of frowning wrath appall. 

6 For though the missioned wanderer go 

O'er desert wilds and trackless tides, 
To regions of eternal snow, 
Or wheresoever man abides — 

7 More dangerous, wretched, rugged, wide, 

The best, the brightest path must be 
Of him, allur'd from virtue's side, 

Who wanders, gracious God, from Thee. 

AMELIA OPIE. 



AT EVENING. 

1 When last night's sun went down, 
O'er wood and field and town, 

A mantle full of quivering, rosy light ; 

The darting birds made glad the airy height 
Alonsr the crvstal sky, ■• 



Cloud-banners floated high, 
Crimson and gold against the tender blue ; 

And where, 'mid jewels piled, 

Day, passing, paused and smiled, 
With keen, bright, trembling ray, one star shone 

through. 

Watching on every side, 

"Oh! stay !" the children cried; 
" Sweet glory, leave us not to shadowy night ! " 

2 But even while they spoke, 
A purer radiance broke ; 

Across the rose-bloom fell a snow-white ray. 
The moon passed up the shining heavenly way. 

Serene and fair and still, 

She looked on vale and hill ; 
The earth grew calm before her angel face, 

Veiled with a silver mist, 

In tender amethyst ; 
The sky seemed hushed to watch her silent grace. 

So, all the solemn night, 

She blessed the world with light, 
Till, with fresh roses, dawned another day. 

3 Ah ! many an earthly sun 
Goes down when joy is done, 

Leaving its trail along the flushing skies, 
In dying bloom, before our longing eyes. 

" Fairer than e'er before," 

We cry, when day is o'er ; 
"Oh ! linger with us yet, dear passing glory !" 

Yet, let the brightness fade, 

If through the deepening shade, 
God's blessing gleam athwart our graver story ; 

His moonlight calm and still, 

His strong and tender will, 
Shall make our shadows sweet till morning rise. 

ALICE M. EDDY. 

Detroit. Mich. 1883. 



'LO, I AM WITH YOU ALWAY, EVEN UNTO 
THE END OF THE WORLD." 

1 Lo ! I am with you, when the world 

Hath grieved thy trusting heart, 
And thy pure efforts are condemned 

And thou rejected art. 
When foes are near, and hope expires, 

And friends are cold and few, 
Remember the despised of men ; 

Lo ! I am there with you. 

2 And in the hour of chastened mirth 

And innocent delight, 
When every care is lulled to rest 

'Mid cheering visions bright ; 
When ye exult with hearts of joy, 

In gentle friendship true, 
And loving smiles and words abound, 

Lo ! I am then with you. 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, &c 



847 



3 And in the dreary hour of woe, 

When happiness has fled, 
When some beloved and gentle form 

Lies pale and cold and dead ; 
When thy once glad and smiling home 

Resounds with grief and care, 
And every joy seems crushed in tears, 

Lo ! I am with you there. 

4 And in the sad and erring hour 

When passion wild may reign, 
And thou from some forbidden sin 

Alas ! may not refrain ; 
Ah ! when 'mid dark, unhallowed paths, 

Thy Saviour is forgot, 
And thou griev'st Him who died to save, 

E'en then I leave you not. 

5 And when the years, the sober years, 

Of feeble age draw nigh, 
And a faint mist is gathering fast 

O'er earth and sea and sky ; 
When soon the silver cord may loose, 

The golden bowl may break ; 
When fears arise and cares dismay, 

Lo ! I do not forsake. 

6 And in that last and solemn hour 

When icy death is near, 
When the immortal soul must quit 

Its earthly temple here ; 
When darker, darker is the light, 

More faint the voice of friend, 
Lo ! I am there to soothe and bless, 

I'm with you to the end. 



MARY CUTIS. 



Caroline §m $0to*. 



From a series of sketches of "Portland Poets," published in the 
" Transcript" of that city, we gather that Caroline Dana Howe was born 
in Fryeburg, Me., but having since infancy lived in Portland, the birth- 
place of Longfellow and Willis, of Neal and Mellen, this home of the 
poets may well claim her as its own. A large number of her songs have 
been set to music, for which they are admirably adapted, and are to be 
found in sheet music and in church collections. 

The not uncommon fate of lyrical writers has been her's, for her cele- 
brated song, "Leaf by Leaf the Roses fall," has been claimedand used by 
several different authors, until now, the publishers have appended her 
name to all latest editions. 

She is also well known as a writer of short serial stories, juvenile 
sketches, essays, &c, and the Mass., SondaySchool Society has published 
a book of about 200 pages of her's, carried successfully through several 
editions. 

Mrs. Howe's poems have a dignity and purity, united with a depth of 
thought and feeling, that commend them at once to all readers of culti- 
vated literary taste ; and it may be said with truth, that no living writer 
in her native State is more favorably known in the department of song, 
than Mrs. Caroline Dana Howe. 

Her songs have been gathered into at least twenty-six collections. 

THE ONE LIFE. 



1 Thine are the rivers : Thine, O God, the power 
That bids them bear their waters to the sea ; 
No cloud is mirrored there at morning hour, 
No wave uplifts its surging anthem free, 
Until the great command is heard from Thee. 



Thine are the mountains. To the thunders nigh, 
Sounding their echo through the length of days, 
Unawed they stand, like giants towering high, 
In monumental state to speak Thy praise, 
Unshaken still, though lightnings are ablaze. 

Thine are the forests, circling mile on mile, 
Where labyrinthine paths untrodden wind, 
Until our souls, all doubts to reconcile, 
Turn from these widening realms to Thee, to nnd 
The mighty purpose of Thy mightier mind. 

Thine are all worlds, and Thine all realms of space, 
Whereon the stars mark out their shining course ; 
Whate'er the sunlight clasps in its embrace, 
Bears impress of the Love, whose tender force 
Kindles the soul and traces out its source. 

Thine are the heavens ; the wondrous arch of blue 
Up which the monarch sun shall proudly climb, 
And Thine the clouds of gold and purple hue, 
With planets laughing at the march of Time, 
And shadowing forth Thy mysteries sublime. 

Thine are our souls ! Our beings blend with Thine, 
Upreaching toward Thee through these longings high, 
Stamped with Thy seal, and bearing countersign 
Of that One Life in us, that grows divine, 
By Love illumed, as we to Thee draw nigh. 

CAROLINE DANA HOWE. 

Portland, Me., 1885. 



NATIVE WORTH. 



FOB AN ALBUM. 

As sunlight warms the darkened room, 
As petalled cups drink crystal dew ; 

So hearts will turn to native worth, 
On which to build a friendship true. 



SI. OEORGB. 



I WOULD NEVER KNEEL. 



1 I would never kneel at a gilded shrine, 

To worship the idol gold ; 
I would never fetter this heart of mine, 
As a thing for fortune sold. 

2 There are haughty steps that would walk the globe 

O'er necks of humbler ones ; 
I would scorn to bow to their jewelled robe, 
Or the beam of their coin-lit suns. 

3 But I'd bow to the light that God has given, 

The nobler light of mind, 
The onlv light, save that of Heaven, 
That should free-will homage find. 

SARAH LOUISE P. SMITH. 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



So. f^m lane person, 



Whose maiden name was Wheeler, and who was termed " The Forest 
Minstrel," was born at Middletown, Conn. Her parents were educated > 
refined and pious, and allowed their daughter every facility for culture 
that those days afforded. 

Her poetical tastes were fondly encouraged by her father who was him- 
self passionately fond of poetry, flowers, music, and all that makes life 
beautiful. Some of her earliest recollections are of singing her own 
rhymes to wild little airs of her own extemporaneous composition. 
When she was sixteen years old herfamilymovedtoCanandaigua, N. Y., 
where she married a year or two later, and soon made her home at what is 
now Liberty, Tioga Co., Pa., where she endured the hardships of pio- 
neer life. For a long time her dwelling was a log cabin, five miles from 
any human habitation, and twenty miles from a store or church. But 
like a caged bird she poured out her soul in song, and to use her own 
words, — "converse with poetry, wild- flowers and birds, was nearly all 
that made life bearable." About this time there was, in a portion of the 
State where it was more thickly peopled, much agitation about promot- 
ing the cause of education. A powerful production in verse, on this 
topic, appeared in one of the most widely circulated papers of the day, 
Judge Lewis, a distinguished and able jurist, made inquiries as to the 
writer. Learning of her pecuniary condition, he soon enlisted Thaddeus 
Stevens, then a wealthy bachelor and already quite an eminent states- 
man in the House of Representatives, who ordered the finest farm in 
that section to be purchased for her. she herself selecting it upon his 
earnest solicitation by letter through the Judge, neither of whom had 
seen her, and she was soon settled in the comfortable home she so richly 
deserved. (Would there were more of the benevolent Thaddeus Stevens' 
in the present day. In 1845 she published a volume of poems called 
"Forest Leaves," and soon another— "The Forest Minstrel." She used to 
be a constant contributor to " Graham's Magazine." She wrote from 
the heart, with an intensity of feeling and strength of expression which 
show that she had suffered much. Those who are informed say that she 
was disciplined in the school of sorrow, many of her pieces having been 
written at midnight with a weary hand and yet more weary heart. 



SING ON. 

"Sing on!— You will win the wreath of Fame : if not in life, it will bloom 
gloriously over your tomb." — Friendly Correspondence. 

'T is not for Fame : I know I may not win 
A wreath from high Parnassus, for my name 
Is written on the page of humble life, 
From which the awarders of the laurel wreath 
Avert their eyes with scorning. 

I have felt 
The mildew of affliction, the last wind 
Of withering contempt, the pelting storms 
Of care, and toil, and bitterness and woe, 
In almost every form. I too have known 
The darkness of bereavement, and keen pangs 
Which woman may not utter, though her heart 
Consume amid their fierceness, and her brain 
Burn to a living cinder ; though the wound 
Which is so hard to bear, lie festering deep 
Within her outraged spirit ; though her sighs 
Disturb the quiet of the blessed night, 
While the sweet dews cool and soothe the fever'd 

breast 
Of overy other mourner ; though she pour 
The flood of life's sweet fountain out in tears 
Along her desert pathway ; while the blooms 
Of health, and hope, and joy, that should have fed 
Upon its gushing waters and rich dew, 
Lie withered in her bosom, breathing forth 



The odors of a crush'd and wasted heart, 
That cannot hope for soothing or redress, 
Save in the quiet bosom of the grave, 
And in the heaven beyond. 

'T is not for Fame 
That I awaken with my simple lay 
The echoes of the forest. I but sing 
As sings the bird, that pours her native strain, 
Because her soul is made of melody ; 
And lingering in the bowers, her warblings seem 
To gather round her all the tuneful forms, 
Whose bright wings shook rich incense from the 

flowers, 
And balmy verdure of the sweet young spring, 
O'er which the glad day shed his brightest smile, 
And night her purest tears. I do not sing 
Like that sad bird, who in her loneliness 
Pours out in song the treasures of her soul, 
Which else would burst her bosom, which has naught 
On which to lavish the warm streams that gush 
Up from her trembling heart, and pours them forth 
Upon the sighing winds in fitful strains. 
Perchance one pensive spirit loves the song, 
And lingers in the twilight near the wood 
To list her plaintive sonnet, which unlocks 
The sealed fountain of a hidden grief. 
That pensive listener, or some playful child, 
May miss the lone bird's song, what time her wings 
Are folded in the calm and silent sleep, 
Above her broken heart. Then, though they weep 
In her deserted bower, and hang rich wreaths 
Of ever-living flowers upon her grave, 
What will it profit her who would have slept 
As deep and sweet without them ? 

Oh ! how vain 
With promised garlands for the sepulchre, 
To think to cheer the soul, whose daily prayer 
Is but for bread and peace ! Whose trembling hopes 
For immortality ask one green leaf 
From off the healing trees that grow beside 
The pure bright river of Eternal Life. 



LYDIA JANE PIERSON. 



OPINIONS. 

1 Inside a window, by a public way, 

A little diamond lay exposed to view ; 
Its rays were small, but its light was true, 
Few saw it as they hurried by that day. 

2 One, looking, cried : "Oh ! what a brilliant gem ! 

No fairer one is there in all the land ! 
See how it flashes out on every hand ! 
'T is fit to deck a royal diadem ! " 

3 "A gem no doubt," another said, "but small, 

And roughly cut. Its setting, too, is poor. 
Then see where it is kept — a third-class store ! 
Don't look at it ; it cannot please at all." 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, &c. 



849 



4 " Mere paste ! " a third remarked, with careless 

glance, 
"The world is full of such. Their mocking 

glare 
Meets us on every hand. Diamonds are rare. 
To think all true displays great ignorance." 

5 "How lovely !" said a fourth. "What may this be ? 

I am not wise in gem and treasure lore, 
This may be true or false. I know no more 
Than that it is a pleasant thing to see." 

6 The little diamond, with a steady light, 

Beamed from its cushion all that sunny day ; 
No bitter comment dimmed a single ray ; 
No flattering words brought out a gleam more 
bright. 

7 O heart of mine — I said — can you not read 

A needed lesson, though in senseless stone ? 
Leap not at praise. Sink not at censure's tone. 
Words cannot change your worth. Why give 
them heed ? 

LAURA GARLAND CARR, 1882. 



Pss SWr, 



Who was the daughter of a well-known teacher of penmanship in 
Philadelphia years ago, was born in that city in 1824. When only eight 
years old she began to prove her love for poetry, and her ernhryo talent 
for writing it. At the age of fourteen, some of her verses were published 
in "The Young People's Book" edited by John Frost. In after years she 
contributed able articles to the popular periodicals of that day, which 
were pronounced tender and poetical in feeling and expression. She 
died atGrahamville, South Carolina, in 1849. 



SYMPATHY. 



Hast thou no human friend 
To whom in hours like these to turn 
When thine o'erburdened soul will 

Its bitterness to end ? 
Oh ! still despair not — there is One 
To whom sad hearts have often gone — 
Though rich the gifts for which they pray, 
None ever came unblest away : 
Then though all earthly ties be riven, 
Smile, for thou hast a friend in heaven. 



MARION H. RAND. 



VICTOR HUGO, 

OE 
MONARCH 'MONGST THE LIVING. 

1 They tell us Victor Hugo's dead. How can it be ? 
His toiling, loving, suffering, sympathizing self he gave 

away 
To France, the world, to you and me. 

2 Victor Hugo dead ! How can it be, the world is full 

of him ; 
'T was but his bones a million sorrowing, loving hearts, 
In solid phalanx, followed to the grave and dropped 

their tears upon. 

3 There is no home so high or low or tightly closed 
He may not open wide the door and give the thought 
That fires the brain by quickened sense. 

By subtle force of mighty men, 
Who learn the power to wield the pen, 
Proclaiming, toil from morn till night 
Brings with it genius and its might. 

His works proclaim him monarch 'mongst the living 
dead, 

And here within our very midst his spirit is. 

SARAH WILDER PRATT. 
Chicago, July, 1885. 



Hide not thy secret grief 
In the dark chambers of the soul, 
Where sombre thoughts and fancies roll, 

Bringing thee no relief. 
Gloomy and cold the spirit grows, 
While brooding over fancied woes ! 
The lightest care while yet concealed, 
Lies like a mountain on the breast ; 
The heaviest grief, when once revealed, 
Is lulled by sympathy to rest. 

Relieve a bursting heart, 
And pour into some loving ear 
Each bitter thought, each chilling fear ; 

How soon will all depart ! 
And words of love like healing balm, 
Will gently soothe and sweetly calm, 
Till reason's almost fading ray 
Resumes its firm and wonted sway, 
And though thy burden be not less, 
Thou wilt not still be comfortless. 



HANDS, 

OE 

HUMAN AGENCIES. - 

1 Hands I've clasped along life's- journey,, 

Loving hands and true ; 
Of life's fullest, richest treasures 
Much I owe to you. 

2 Loving hands whose touches thrill me < 

When my own they grasp, 
Bearing pledge of truth and friendship* 
In their warm, firm clasp. 

3 Gentle hands that from my forehead. 

Drove the mad'ning pain, 
Brushed away the tears of sorrow,. 
Bringing peace again. 

4 Little hands, brown, dimpled fingers, 

That in Summer hours 
From the hills, the fields, the woodlands-' 
Brought me sweet wild flowers. 



850 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



5 Years have passed, and some lie folded 

In that last long rest ; 
Turned to clay, once warm and thrilling, 
As mine own they pressed. 

6 Some to other palms are clinging-; 

Some I clasped of old, 
Tho' life's warm tide through them course 
To me have grown cold. 

7 In the fondest and the truest 

Of all hands I pressed, 
Mine own palm through all the future 
Trustfully shall rest. 

8 Hands I've clasped along life's journey, 

Through the roar and din 
Of the world's broad field of battle, 
Lead me, on to win ! 

MINA B. SPEAR, 

In "Gems of Poetry." 

Dell Rapids, Dakota, 1884. 



THE UNFINISHED CATHEDRAL. 

1 Trace the foundations, see how vast the plan 
For this cathedral ! Here the transept ran, 

And yonder stretched the nave. It might have been 

As grand a structure as the world has seen, 

If the sublime ideal in the thought 

Of its first architects had been outvvrought 

By patient after-ages. See, the choir 

Was built, scarce dwarfed from that first high desire. 

Lo ! where it stands the city's heritage ! 

From earnest spirits of that earlier age ! 

2 But when zeal cooled, and faith and hope decayed ; 
Within the hallowed ground intruded trade ; 
Grew noisy streets, where sacred aisles were traced, 
And markets sprang among the towers ungraced. 
Yet here and there, amid the bustling streets, 

A hint of what was meant to be, one meets : 
A column's base, a flight of steps, a stone, 
A bit of wall, a buttress ivy-grown ; 
Like surpliced choir boys, lost amid the crowd 
Of motley revelers, profane and loud. 

3 Ah ! soul that mourn'st this wreck of aspiration, 
Hast thou lived up to thy self-dedication ? 
Hath greedy Mammon built no noisy mart 
Within the sacred places of thy heart ? 

Hath selfishness nor folly come to dwell 

Where God's house beautiful was planned so well ? 

Recall thy aims ; see what foundations lay 

Where mean and sordid buildings stand to-day ; 

What fair ideals of a noble life 

Have shrunk and vanished in the world's low strife. 

& This fair Italian town will never chase 
The money-changers from her holy place, 
Nor re-assert her first resolve to raise 
A glorious house for endless prayer and praise. 
The busy shops and squalid hovels still 



Will crowd upon her consecrated hill. 

Enchained by them, no will is left, or power 

To build cathedral walls and lofty tower, 

Or on pure altars light the sacred fires, 

Or lift to Heaven the beauty of her spires. 

And can the soul arise and build anew 

By those great plans her holier longings drew ? 

Can she drive forth beyond her sacred gate 

The vain, intruding world, unconsecrate ? 

Will wakening zeal avail, alas ! so late, 

The soil profaned, anew to dedicate, 

All the once hoped-for structure to complete 

In faultless beauty ? Ah ! the years. are fleet 

And youth is spent. O Saviour Christ, reclaim 

Thy temple for the honor of Thy name ! 



"THY WILL BE DONE." 

If God sees best, I ask it not 

By word of mouth. My heart breathes out 

Its wish to Him who knows it well. 

The longing is so full of bliss, 

That if he granted it, I fear 

'T would make a heaven on earth for me ; 

And so I leave it all unsaid, 

Just asking Him to give me still 

What He thinks best of joy or grief ; 

Then, if He grants me this, I know 

He' will take care that it brings not 

The sin of caring less for Him, 

Of loving earth so much that I 

Yearn not to live with Him on hio-h. 



GOD KEEP US ALL FROM ENVY. 

1 " God keep us all from envy !" thus he prayed, 

A gray-haired saint, long since to glory gone, 

Whose earthly life knew more of sun than shade, 

Since in his heart the love of heaven shone. 

2 He knew not riches, for he burdens bore 

That bade him plod along in barren ways ; 
He was not poor, since full and running o'er 
Did peace fill up the measure of his days. 

3 He had no gold, nor gear, nor acres broad, 

Nor sweet-breathed cattle, nor spice-laden fleets ; 
Nor sat he crowned and dowered like a god, 
With brimming beaker cooling savory meats. 

4 But when he spake the greatest paused to hear, 

And as he walked the loftiest head was bowed ; 
The little children ran as he drew near, 

And clapped their little hands, and laughed aloud. 

5 And when he died, around his lowly bier 

The proudest did him reverence ; who died 
To show how great a thing is godly fear, 
To show how mean a thing is human pride. 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, &c. 



851 



6 For there, calm-browed and lips wreathed with 

smiles, 
He lay, who had borne sorrows with such grace 
That beauty came, that had withdrawn erst-while, 
And shed an awesome glory o'er his face. 

7 So that men said, above the beauteous clay, 

"It is the ransomed spirit hovering o'er, 
To cast a passing radiance ere away 

On joyous pinions it shall upward soar." 

8 God keep us all from envy ! so they say 

Who love all beauteous things below, above ! 
God keep us all from envy ! thus we pray ; 

We know that " Love is heaven, and heaven is 



love ! : 



KATE BROWNLEE SHERWOOD. 



GOD'S ANGELS. 



When a slave's child lay dying, parched with thirst, 

Till o'er the arid waste a fountain burst : 

When Abraham's mournful hand upheld the knife 

To smite the silver cord of Isaac's life ; 

When faithful Peter in his prison slept ; 

When lions to the feet of Daniel crept ; 

When the tried three walked through the furnace 

glare, 
Believing God was with them even there ; 
When to Bethesda's sunrise-smitten wave 
Poor trembling cripples crawled, their limbs to lave ; 
In all the various forms of human trial, 
Brimming that cup, filled from a bitter vial, 
Which e'en the suffering Christ, with fainting cry, 
Under God's will, had shudderingly past by — 
To hunger, pain, and thirst, and human dread, 
Imprisonment, sharp sorrow for the dead, 
Deformed contractions, burdensome disease, 
Humbling and fleshly ills ; to all of these 
The shining messengers of comfort came, 
God's angels, healing in God's holy name. 
And when the crowning pity sent to earth 
The Man of Sorrows, in mysterious birth, 
And the angelic tones with one accord 
Made loving chorus to proclaim the Lord, 
Was Isaac's guardian there, and He who gave 
Hagar the sight of that cool gushing wave ? 
Did the defender of the youthful three, 
And Peter's usher, join that psalmody, 
With Him who at the dawn made healing sure, 
Troubling the waters with a fresh'ning cure ? 
And those, the elect, to whom the task was given 
To offer solace to the Son of Heaven, 
When — mortal tremors by the Immortal felt — 
Pale, 'neath the Syrian olives Jesus knelt 
Alone, with God's compassion and His pain ! 

All that our wisdom knows, or ever can, 
Is this, that God hath pity upon man ; 
And where His Spirit shines in holy writ, 
The great word Comforter, comes after it. 

THE HON. MRS. NORTOJi. 

London, England, 



MAY DAY 1884. 

This little gem of poetry is pronounced by good eritics to 
of all the May day poems of 188i. 

1 Exultant as a bird 

Whose first spring note is heard 

Melodiously sweet, 

I shun the busy street 

To revel 'mid the springing 

Of buds and blossoms, flinging • 

Refreshing odors round, 

With fragrance from the ground. 

2 O resurrected friends, 

My grateful homage bends 
In wondrous love and awe, 
For Nature's vigorous law, 
Running through sun and rain, 
Calls back my flowers again, 
Lily's cream and violet's blue, 
The rose-blush, sweet and new. 

3 I lovingly caress 

And call them friend, who bless 
And tell me stories sweet ; 
And oft with reverent feet 
Glide flowery paths adown, 
Thinking of flower-gemmed crown 
Our darlings gone before 
Wear, — fadeless evermore. 

4 May brings us birds and bloom, 
Gone winter's grey, dim gloom, 
Earth-tombs asunder burst 
Dry seeds and bulbs athirst 
Towards light and life come forth 
In the Southland and the North ; 
Exult, O soul of mine 

In sweetest faith sublime. 



CARRTE L. POST. 



THE SUMMER NIGHT. 

1 The night is here, the peaceful summer night, 

Of lulling waves and soft entrancing rays, 
When mortals lift unto the Source of Light 

Their weary hearts surcharged with prayer and 
praise. 

2 The night has come ! the "calm, still, holy night," 

When soothed to rest the day's engrossing sounds, 
When households have their seasons of delight, 
And friends unite on Love's enchanted grounds. 

3 The night has come ! the air is full of balm, 

Like that which came from Eden's spicy grove, 

Ah ! woe to those whose hearts know not the calm, 

Of pray'rful thoughts infused by grace and love. 

4 The night has come ! O ye whose feet astray 

Have, found the paths that lead unto despair, 

'Mid scenes that tempt the careless and the gay, 

Is there no voice to call a mother's prayer ? 



852 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



5 The night has come ! Return, wand'rer, home, 

To kneel repentant by that mother's side, 
And lift your eyes to heaven's starry dome, 

To pray to God for strength and grace to guide. 

6 The night has come ! Ah ! with its welcome hush, 

How many hearts unite in song and pray'r, 
"Which opes the way for mem'ry's mighty rush 
To enter in and wake the echoes there. 

7 The night has come ! Oh ! may existence close 

Like unto thee, thou calm, sweet summer night; 
May peaceful hours attend my last repose, 
And blend into the perfect morning light. 

HELEN A. RAINS. 



A SUNSET PROPHECY. 

"Jerusalem the Golden ! 

I languish for one gleam 
Of all thy beauty, folden 

In distance and in dream. 
My thoughts like palms in exile, 

Climb up to look and pray 
For a glimpse of that dear country 

That lies so far away ! " 

Up to my window thrills the fresh young voice. 

I drag me from my bed of pain, 
Where through the heartless sheen of sunny hours 

I and my old, old grief have lain. 
All the heat has passed from the western sky — 
(Pale-green, and barred with sunset glow) — 
'Mid the burnished leaves of the maple-boughs 
A girl swings lightly to and fro. 
"Jerusalem the Golden ! 

When sunset's in the West, 
It seems the gate of glory, 
Thou city of the blest ! " 

Ah ! but the way is long, the gate is high, 

The shining stair is hard to win ; 
Glory is there — my load of care is here, 

Present my sorrow. Is it sin 
That voices spent with weeping cannot shout? 

Remember, Lord, the finger laid 
Upon Thy garment's hem, and turn to me 
With — " Daughter ! peace ! be not afraid ! " 
"Jerusalem the Golden ! 
Where loftily they sing, 

O'er pain and sorrow olden, 
Forever triumphing ! " 

I think, were I this very hour to stand 

In that dear laud, unbound and free, 
I should not even hear the echoing psalms 

That tell the singers' mastery. 
With sacred hands crossed, with tired lids folded down 

On eyes that could kuow tears no more, 
I'd lie — a battered shallop, moored at last, 

In some calm inlet of the Shore. 



"Jerusalem the Golden ! 

There all our birds that flew, 
Our flowers are half-unfolden, 
Our pearls that turned to dew ! " 
Our birds, that fled from frost and bitter skies ; 

Our buds, that perished on the stalk ; 
Dew-pearls, that slid between our careful hands, 

And wasted on Life's dusty walk ! 
We weep, by day, the priceless, scattered gems, 

In deathless love, our withered flowers, 
And for the vanished songsters of our homes, 
Mourn sore in midnight's silent hours. 
"Jerusalem the Golden ! 
I toil on, day by day ; 
Heart-sore each night with longing 

I stretch my hands and pray 
That 'midst thy leaves of healing 

My soul may find her nest 
"Where the wicked cease from troubling, 
The weary are at rest ! " 
How long ? how long, O Healer ! Thou dost know 

It is not in me to " hold still " 
In meekness, like Thy saintly ones to wait 

Th' unfolding of Thy gracious will. 
Yet, weak and restless, with blurred eyes I gaze 

Upward to Thine, and kiss the rod 
Which shows my chastened soul the steps that lead 

O'er heights Thy blessed feet have trod. 
Still swings the girl 'mid scarlet maple-leaves, 

And chants her sunset prophecy. 
Sun-gleam and blossom, tree and singing-bird, 

Rapture to her, and soothing unto me. 
Down steadfast lines of light, set ladder-wise, 

To both, God's viewless angels come ; 
"Jerusalem the Golden ! " still she sings, 
And I — "Jerusalem my Home ! " 



MARION HARLAND. 



ON THE HEIGHTS. 

1 To-night in the purple twilight, 

As I folded my hands to rest, 
The care and fret of the work-day 

Have died all out of my breast, 
As the royal splendor of sunset 

Is dying out of the West. 

2 I seem in the softened gloaming 

To stand on a breezy height, 
Below lie the vales of Habit, 

And the fields of the daily fight, 
Where the men on their arms are sleeping, 

In the evening's dreamy light. 

3 From the Heights of Life, how distant 

Are the plains of Every -day ; 
How the cares and hopes are shrunken 

That fill up the weary way ; 
How the joys lose their thrill of transport 

And the terrors their dismay. 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, dec. 



853 



4 On the Heights we are Dear to heaven ; 

It is far from the plains below ; 
So far it is dim and hazy, 

And loses its glory and glow, 
Until a mirage we deem it, 

Between the Above and Below. 

5 But if once to the Heights we've risen, 

And breathed their inspiring air, 
It is easier then to battle 

In the depths with doubt and care ; 
Though gone is the beautiful vision — 

To recall it, is a prayer. 

HATTIE TYNG GRISWOLD, 1833. 



THE SINGER'S APOLOGY. 

1 If I may not, like the skylark, 

Soar with glorious bursts of song ; 
Nor, like pensive nightingale, 
Strains most ravishing prolong; 

2 Nor, a little timid linnet, 

Sweetly gush in hawthorn-tree ; 
If a warbler to entrance you 
I may never, never be ; 

3 If to wake the distant echoes 

I have two notes, — or but one, — 
Be it murmuring dove's or cuckoo's,— 
With full soul I will sing on. 

4 God has -room for all His creatures, 

And the varied tone of each 
Fills the air with richer music 
Than the single silv'rest speech. 

5 Monotones may be full royal ; 

Monotones the heart can move ; 
And the note I'd sing in dying 
Is the golden note of Love. 

6 Mother-love, — of all most tender, 

Never dying, ever free ; 
Lover's love, — the most ecstatic ; 
Filial love, — so sweet to me ; 

7 Love of angels hovering o'er us, — 

Guiding, guarding us from harm ; 
Father-love, — the great All-Father's, 
Filling us with heavenly calm ! 

8 Souls distraught by angry voices, 

Faint with toil, and care-opprest, 

Loves of Earth, or loves of Heaven, 

Softly sung, may give you rest. 

9 Love shall bring surcease of sorrow, 

Heal the wounds of man's untruth; 
Love shall sing of brighter morrow, 
Or recall the days of Youth, — 
Ring the silver bells of youth ! 

MARIA B, HOLYOKB, 



GETHSEMANE. 

1 In golden youth, when seems the earth 
A summer land for singing mirth, 
When souls are glad and hearts are light, 
And not a shadow lurks in sight, 
Somewhere veiled under evening skies, 
A garden all must sometime see, 

Gethsemane, Gethsemane, 
Somewhere his own Gethsemane. 

2 With joyous steps we go our ways, 
Love lends a halo to the days, 
Light sorrows sail like clouds afar, 
We laugh and say how strong we are> 
We hurry on, and hurrying go 
Close to the border land of woe 
That waits for you and waits for me, 

Gethsemane, Gethsemane, 
Forever waits Gethsemane. 

3 Down shadowed lanes, across strange streams 
Bridged over by our broken dreams, 
Behind the misty cape of years, 

Close to the great salt fount of tears, 
The garden lies ; strive as you may 
You cannot miss it in your way. 

All paths that have been or shall be, 
Pass somewhere through Gethsemane ! 

4 All those who journey, soon or late 
Must pass within the garden's gate ; 
Must kneel alone in darkness there 
And battle with some fierce despair. 
God pity those who cannot say — 

" Not mine, but Thine ; " who only pray, 
" Let this cup pass," and cannot see 
The purpose in Gethsemane. 
Gethsemane, Gethsemane, 
God help us through Gethsemane. 

ELLA WHEELER. 

THE STORM KING'S LESSON. 

1 Orchards bloomed gaily with promise, 

Nature seemed laughing right out, 
When peach tree and plum shook their censers, 
Flinging sweetness and odor about. 

2 We looked, and behold the blossoms, 

Pink with the white and the red, 
Lay strewn all soiled and shrivelled, 
All their beauty and fragrance dead. 

3 Night had brought storm and slaughter, 

While pitiless hailstones fell, 
And the wind made wreck of the petals ; 
Ah ! how could we help but rebel ? 

4 What waste of fair things ; we murmured, 

Scarce daring to think it was true, 
That the tender young fruit had perished 
Past sunbeams' power to renew. 

5 Rude storm ! it unravelled the fringes 

That gracefully swung from the oak, 
And nicely notched leaves of the elm tree 
From loftiest limbs fiercely broke. 



854 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



6 All reckless of life that was human, 

The Storm King flew, beating his way- 
Like two-edged swords, cutting keenly 
In the strength and force of its play. 

7 But sun rays came, cheerily warming 

Our faith so frozeD and cold, 
And we sought an early assurance 
That the fierce-winged robber so bold 

8 Had left unharmed the dear babies 

Of plum tree, cherry and peach ; 
Yes, Nature, with kindliest wrapping, 
Warm blankets hast thrown over each. 

9 Oh ! precious and wise are thy lessons ; 

We know our sweet blossoms must fall, 
But the robe of a Saviour's completeness 
Will cover and shelter them all. 



Springfield, 111., April 26, 1880. 

UNDERTONES. 

1 I hear earth's master-songs, sublimely sweet : 

The morning larks, to unknown glories springing, 
Pour out upon the twilight world below 

The vision of their eyes in raptured singing ; 
And nightingales, in moon-enchanted groves, 

Wide to the night their passioned hearts are 
flinging. 

2 Yet sparrow-songs along the wayside path, 

Whose simple notes small outward grace can 
borrow, 
Bring also sunlit messages from heaven, 

And weary passers, burdened with the morrow, 
Glean from the joyful accents hope and cheer, 
• And half forget the heavy care and sorrow. 

3 I know the world is full of vivid bloom, — 

That purple passion-flowers with mystic story 
Mount ever towards the sky ; that roses burn 

Red with the glow of Love's swift oratory, 
And tall white lilies stand up iu the sun 

Pale prophets in the strength of stainless glory. 

4 But are no violets clasped with tender hands 

Where gold and ruby cups the tulip raises ? 
When all the June-kissed roses light the earth 

Is there no room for buttercups and daisies ? 
May God not hearken 'mid the grander notes 

To hear the wood-anemone's low praises ? 

5 Oh ! grant another brown bird leave to sing ! 

Although no azure flight of tireless winging 
Uplift the notes nor darkness wrap them round, 

Its deeper tones of grief-born sweetness bringing ; 
Springtime and Morning may not hide their joy. 

How shall I still my eager heart from singing ? 

6 I pray you, friendly ones, for room to grow, 

Though small the beauty there may be for showing 
And if no simple child or burdened soul 

May find the floweret fair beyond my knowing, 
Perchance the Lord who planteth every seed 

May smile to see the folded blossoms growing. 



VEILED. 

1 Our fragile hearts would break with joy 

If we should gain a glimpse of Heaven — 
We could not linger at our tasks ; 
We could not wait to be forgiven. 

2 If we could know each dear surprise 

Which God is keeping, -day by day, 
How could we bear earth's sullen gloom ? 
How could we tread our rugged way ? 

3 The shining form of Truth is veiled — 

We cannot face its wondrous white. 
God knows we should be stricken blind 
Before its full, effulgent light ; 

4 And so He draws a gracious mist, 

Just softened with the hues we know, 
Across the glare, and shrouds away 
The glory of its dazzling snow. 

5 O blessed plan, that wisely holds 

Our hearts intent upon Thy will ! 

We praise Thee that we cannot know 

The mysteries Thou keepest still ! 

JULIA H. THAYER. 
Chicago, 1882. 



to, larg «. P4 nee to im 



Was born in Sullivan Co., New York, Dec. 12, 1837, and moved to Illinois 
in June, 1859. She has written to quite an extent, and is an earnest worker 
in many Christian causes, ■ She is prominently connected with the "Wo- 
man's Christian Temperance Union," and is one of its most valued 



CASTLE AND COT 

1 Castle and Cot, in this beautiful land — 
Castle and Cot, side by side there they stand ; 
Rich man and poor man, how different their lot, 
Bless'd by one Father, and neither forgot. 

2 Strange sounding words, we believe in amaze, 
How God in His justice, can equal these ways ; 
The one, having all that life hath to give, 

The other, hath barely enough to live. 

3 Toiling and hoping, enduring in pain 
Burdens too heavy, yet borne on again ; 
Struggles, privations and hardships to breast, 
Ending alone in the grave and its rest. 

4 While the old earth grows wrinkled and gray 
And generations are dying each day ; 

With God's love over them there they will stand, 
Castle and Cot, in this beautiful land. 

MART E. BALCH. 

Frankfort, Indiana, March 8, 1871. 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, die. 



855 



Caroline Bairn* 



Was born in 1766, and died in 1S45. She was formerly a Miss Oliphant, 
and the place of her nativity was Perth, Scotland. She married Major 
Nairne, who was afterward promoted to the Peerage, which gave her 
the title of Baroness. " The Land of the Leal," and the following poem, 
are among her best productions, and give her a rank among the best 
English poets. Her poems have often been published anonymously, or 
credited to other Scottish poets. They can be found in her collection 
and memoirs, edited by Dr. Charles Rogers, and published in 1868. 



WOULD YOU BE YOUNG AGAIN, 

1 Would you be young again ? 

So would not I — 
One tear to memory given, 

Onward I'd hie. 
Life's dark flood forded o'er, 
All but at rest on shore, 
Say would you plunge once more, 

With home so nigh ? 

2 If you might, would you now 

Retrace your way '( 
Wander through stormy wilds, 

Faint and astray ? 
Night's gloomy watches fled, 
Morning all beaming red, 
Hope's smiles around us shed, 

Heavenward — away. 

3 Where, then, are those dear ones, 

Our joy and delight ? 
Dear and more dear, though now 

Hidden from sight. 
Where they rejoice to be, 
There is the land for me. 
Fly time, fly speedily : 

Come life and light. 

LADY NAIRN*, 



HIDDEN PATHS. 

"What thou doest I know not now, but I shall know hereafter." 

Sad-eyed Madonnas walk the earth in every land — 
Pure mother-hearts whose secret e'en to them is 
hid » 

In deeps of love and pain, deeps by bright promise 
spanned, 
But all unbridged of those fulfillments, that amid 
Earth's pressing needs, make solid ground for mor- 
1 tal feet. 

It is so hard to walk by faith when years go by, 
And bring no added sight, or proof wherewith to 
greet 
And strengthen failing power, or still reproachful 
cry. 
So walk the seers and sages of all lands and times, 

A true apostles' true succession from the old 
First days, when God first set His seal in ancient 
climes 
Upon devoted priestly souls, through all the fold, 



4 Down to the hour when the last priestess-mother 

bore 
Some child of promise for some waiting nation's 
need, 
All true reformers, teachers, leaders, evermore 
Must come in forms prepared, despite all seem- 
ing need. 

5 In forms prepared, and through their one appointed 

lot 
Though none in all the era see and recognize 
The worker, as in grooves of royal law, forgot 
By those for whom they toil, to mounts of -sacrifice 

6 Called irresistibly — and for all reason why 

The toll, toll, toll, throughout their soul the era- 
bell 
By which God calls His chosen — Ah ! Beloved, to 
die 
Were so much easier ; yet " He doeth all things 
well." 

7 The far event and purpose justifies, explains, 

No God-appointed work may ever " haste " or 

"rest," 
The pruned away, the shorn, unblossoming years 

have gains 
Of late rich fruit that proves a hand divine hath 

drest. 

8 It shall be given these to walk in paradise. 

God's priests and priestesses co-workers are with 
Him. 
'Tis not too much to pay for such pearl of great 
price, 
That many passing earthly years be shorn and dim. 

ISADORE C. GILBERT, 

Chicago, 1875, 



LIFE THREADS. 

1 Out of life's tangled skein 

Draw here and there a thread, 
And one is black with pain 
And one with grief is red 
To show a heart hath bled. 

2 And one is white as youth. 

It marks its perfect time, 
When life, untouched of ruth, 
Mounted toward Summer prime 
Through love, romance and rhyme. 

3 Beside Love's glowing threads, 

Here one is cool and gray, 
Where passionate morning weds 
A neutral-tinted day 
And Peace comes down to stay. 

4 Imperial purple this 

To tyrannize and prey, 
With hint of loftier bliss 
Set in its royal ray, 
Yet calm to hurt or slay. 



856 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



5 Pallid and paling lines 

Of youth forever fled. 
Signs ! They are only signs 
Of the living joy long dead ; 
Wraiths for the eyes bespread. 

6 Yet, touching them, they glow — 

Again the young, warm thrill, 
The tones all sweet and low, 
The hushed heart waiting still, 
As eyes with love o'erfill. 

7 Memory her trophy yields 

To the Present's happier real; 
We pace the Summer fields, 
We move to Hope's ideal, 
And Faith and Love are leal. 

8 We seat us down some day, 

And from life's tangled skein, 
That Memory holds alway, 
We smooth out lines of pain, 
And love-threads hold pure gain. 

9 O myriad-tinted threads ! 

We gather you all at last. 
You mark our whit'ning heads, 
You bind us to our past, 
And we hold you close and fast. 

MAKY CLEMMER, 
New York "Independent." 1883. 

TINY TOKENS. 
The murmur of a waterfall 

A mile away, 
The rustle when a robin lights 

Upon a spray ; 
The lapping of a lowland stream 

On dripping boughs, 
The sound of grazing from a herd 

Of gentle cows. 
The echo from a wooded hill 

Of cuckoo's call, 
The quiver through the meadow grass 

At evening fall : 
Too subtile are these harmonies 

For pen and rule ; 
Such music is not understood 

By any school. 
But when the brain is overwrought 

It hath a spell, 
Beyond all skill and human power, 

To make it well. 
The memory of a kindly word 

For long gone by, 
The fragrance of a fading flower 

Sent lovingly ; 
The gleaming of a sudden smile 

Or sudden tear, 
The warmer pressure of the hand, 

The tone of cheer ; 
The hush that means I cannot speak, 

But I have heard ! ' 



The note that only bears a verse 

From God's own Word ; 
Such tiny things we hardly count 

As ministry ; 
The givers deeming they have shown 

Scant sympathy ; 
But, when the heart is overwrought, 

Oh ! who can tell 
The power of such tiny things 

To make it well ! 

PRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL. 

%\t fon. flw. Sortim. 

Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Sheridan was born in 1808. She is the grand- 
daughter of the celebrated Richard Brinsley Sheridan. When very 
young she lost her father, but the loss was supplied by her estimable 
mother, who devoted herself to her children, and personally conducted 
their education, as every mother ought to do who has time and capacity 
for the task. Miss Sheridan began to write poetry at a very early age, 
and appeared before the public as an author while still in her teens. At 
the age of nineteen she married the Hon. George C. Norton, brother of 
Lord Grantiey. She was most unfortunate in her choice, and in 1836 a 
separation took place by mutual consent. Her afflictions very probably 
enhanced the depth of her poetry, which is also remarkable for its 
strength of feeling. (Eng. Col. ) 

In his Cyclopedia of Female Poets, the Editor, Frederic Rowton, says 
of Mrs. Norton, that while agreeing with the "Quarterly Review" in 
calling her " The Byron " of her day, in style and intensity of express- 
ion, she is yet essentially unlike in spirit ; that whereas he scoffs and 
sneers at the best and happiest ties of life, she does her utmost to strength- 
en and extend their influence, and that while he with a proud skepticism 
flings from him the consolations and delights of religion, she clasps 
them closely to her heart, and finds in them a balm for the bitterest 
wounds of her spirit. 

The same gentleman, in his preface to the above-named meritorious 
and extensive volume, remarks in regard to woman :— "In these enlight- 
ened days it may certainly be taken for granted that women have souls, 
and further, that their souls have no small influence upon the world of 
thought and action. This admission made, it will follow that the men- 
tal efforts of woman have as good a claim as man's to be recorded ; and 
that we should be deeply ashamed of ourselves for so long withholding 
from them that prominent place in the world's esteem which is so un- 
doubtedly their due." 

Near the close he adds:— "The author confidently hopes that the work 
■which he here presents to the reader will justify the position which he 
has assumed aud at least prove that the poetical faculty is not confined 
to one of the sexes. If it should only serve to direct critical attention to 
the subject, he will be fully satisfied : for be well knows that, in such 
case, our female poets will soon be as honorably appreciated as they de- 
serve to be." 

TO THE DUCHESS OF SUTHERLAND. 

1 Once more, my harp ! once more, although I 

thought 
Never to wake thy silent strings again, 
A wandering dream thy gentle chords have 

wrought, 
And my sad heart, which long had dwelt in pain, 
Soars like a wild bird from a cypress bough, 
Into the poet's heaven, and leaves dull grief 

below. 

2 And unto thee, the beautiful, and pure, 
Whose lot is cast amid the busy world 
Where only sluggish dullness dwells secure, 
And Fancy's generous wing is faintly furl'd ; 
To thee — whose friendship kept its equal truth 
Through the most dreary hour of my embitter'd 

youth — 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, &c. 



857 



3 I dedicate the lay. Oh ! never bard 

In days when poverty was twin with song ; 
Nor wandering harper, lonely and ill-starr'd, 
Cheer'd by some castle's chief, and harbor'd long ; 
Nor Scott's Last Minstrel, in his trembling lays, 
Woke with a warmer heart the earnest meed 
of praise ! 

4 For easy are the alms the rich man spares 
To sons of Genius, by misfortune bent ; 

But thou gav'st me, what woman seldom dares, 
Belief — in spite of many a cold dissent — 
When slander'd and malign'd I stood apart 
From those whose bounded power hath wrung, 
not crushed, my heart. 



5 Thou, then, when cowards lied away my name 
And scoff'd to see me feebly stem the tide ; 
When some were kind on whom I had no claim, 
And some forsook on whom my love relied, 
And some who might have battled for my sake 
Stood off in doubt to see what turn the world 
would take, — 



Thou gav'st me that the poor do give the poor, 
Kind words and holy wishes and true tears : 
The lov'd, the man of kin could do no more, 
Who changed not with the gloom of varying 

years. 
But clung the closer when I stood forlorn, 
And blunted Slander's dart with their indignant 

scorn. 



For they who credit crime, are they who feel 
Their own hearts weak to unresisted sin ; 
Memory, not judgment, prompts the thoughts 

which steal 
O'er minds like these, an easy faith to win ; 
And tales of broken truth are still believed 
Most readily by those who have themselves 

deceived. 



But like a white swan down a troubled stream, 
Whose ruffling pinion hath the power to fling 
Aside the turbid drops which darkly gleam 
And mar the freshness of her snowy wing, — 
So thou, with queenly grace and gentle pride, 
Along the world's dark waves in purity dost glide. 

Thy pale and pearly cheek was never made 

To crimson with a faint false-hearted shame ; 

Thou didst not shrink — of bitter tongues afraid, 

Who hunt in packs the object of their blame; 

To thee the sad denial still held true, 

For from thine own good thoughts its mercy drew. 



10 And though my faint and tributary rhymes 
Add nothing to the glory of thy day, 
Yet every poet hopes that after-times 
Shall set some value on his votive lay ; 
And 1 would fain one gentle deed record, 
Among the many such with which thy life 
stored. 

MBS. NORTON, 
London, Eng. 1830. 

NAOMI. 

The ripened harvest smiled on Moab's plain, 
As with a faltering step Naomi passed 
Towards Bethlehem, her native land, 
For it was told her there was bread in Israel. 
Yet passed she not alone ; Orpha and Ruth, 
The youthful widows of her buried sons, 
Forsaking home and kindred for her sake, 
Clave to her side, even as the ivy clings 
To the scathed oak, clothing the leafless trunk 
With verdure not its own. 

Pausing to rest 
Beneath a wayside palm, Naomi's grief 
Burst forth in all the self-abandonment 
Of sad despair : " My daughters, go, return 
Each to her mother's house ! It is not meet 
That ye should further link your destinies 
With mine. One draught from my life-cup 
Of sorrow may suffice for thee, alone 
I'll drain the dregs, nor murmur at my lot. 
Within your breasts the germs of happiness 
May yet put forth their tender shoots, and in 
Their native soil produce abundant fruit. 
God deal with you as ye have kindly dealt 
With me, and with the dead. Farewell." 
So Orpha kissed her mother, and returned. 
But steadfast Ruth, twining her arms around 
Naomi's neck, in plaintive accents thus 
Her suit preferred : 

"Ah me, my mother : by that sacred love 
Which thrilled my soul when thy maternal 
Lips kissed the flushed cheek of Mahlos's bride, 
And called her daughter ; 

Oh ! by the mem'ry 
Of that fatal blow which left thee childless, 
And myself a widow ; by all my hopes 
Of happiness beyond this vale of tears, 
Entreat me not to leave thee. Wherever 
Thou goest I will go, thy people shall be mine ; 
Thy God my God ; and where thou diest, 
There will I be buried." 

One long embrace, 
Baptized in tears, the holy compact sealed, 
So hand in hand their journey they pursued, 
And as the sun's departing rays lingered 
On Judah's hills, they entered Bethlehem. 
With hearts cast down, but not forsaken, 
The weary pilgrims turned aside their feet 
Far from the crowded street, 



H38 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG 



And with their faith in Israel's God unshaken, 
In a lonely dwelling laid them down to rest, 

With God's protection blest. 
Say, was it fancy, or did angels, stealing 
On noiseless wings around that widow'd bed, 

Bring tidings from the dead, 
Their blissful home in Paradise revealing? 
And with a prophet's ken did she foresee 

Ruth's glorious destiny ? 
At first in Boaz's fields a humble gleaner, 
Then at the altar, standing by his side, 

A lovely, blushing bride ; 
And by that revelation, hath she seen her 
The joyful mother of a race of kings, 

From whence Messiah springs. 
Yes, in that hour methinks her unsealed vision, 
Peering the mist of ages, hailed afar 

That bright and Morning Star, 
The Star of Bethlehem ; and from the elysian 
Burst on her ear that sweet, seraphic strain, 

A Saviour's come to reign ! 



TWELVE YEARS OF SILENCE. 

1 Father, who in love unerring 

Hast my life in silence veiled, 
Hushed be every faithless murmur, 

For that love has never failed ; 
Twelve long years a spell unbroken 

Hath o'er ear and voice been thrown, 
Yet the Saviour's voice has spoken 

To my heart with clearer tone. 

2 Eight bright years their course had numbered, 

All undi aimed by care or pain ; 
Though those sounds so long have slumbered, 

Yet their echoes still remain. 
In my fancy still I hear them, 

And a gleam of light they throw 
O'er a path whose lonely sorrow 

Only " silent ones " can know. 

3 As the bird at midnight singeth 

In its purest, clearest strain, 
Music sweet our Father bringeth 

From the discipline of pain ; 
On my heart Him peace bestowing, 

Better far than earthly bliss, 
Soul and mind and heart are growing 

As they might not, but for this. 

4 What of life to me remaineth, 

Lord, I consecrate to Thee ; 
Silent still but working ever, 

Like the light, my life shall be, 
Till, the shadow from it lifted, 

Sound once more shall God bestow, 
In that world whose ceaseless music 

Pause and discord ne'er shall know. 

ALICE C. JENNIN0*. 



HE HATH BORNE OUR GRIEFS. 

1 He came into this world of sin, and bore the weight of 

woe and grief, 
That we who call upon His name, might have His 

joy and find relief ; 
And so we journey to the light, because He struggled 

in the night. 

2 We bear His blessings in our hands, and pass along 

the pleasant way 
With buoyant steps and happy hearts, and glad eyes 

looking to the day ; 
While He, amid contempt and loss, carried our sorrows 

to the Cross. 

3 We dwell beside a lighted hearth, with household joys 

and kindly mirth ; 
We find the shelter of our home the fairest corner of 

the earth : 
He by no friend was comforted — He had not where 

to lay His head. 

4 Love weaves a crown about our brows, and, lest a 

sorrow should remain, 
It smooths away the marks of care, and, with its 

kisses, steals the pain ; 
The cruel thorns men planted there made all the 

crown He had to wear. 

4 The wine of life is poured for us, and rivers flow and 

fountains gush ; 
We close our eyes in happy dreams ; He gives us 

sleep amid the hush. 
No copious draught, no rest He knew : He thirsted 

and was weary too. 

5 We shall not meet alone and sad the white-robed 

messenger of death ; 

Dear friends shall bless us as we go, dim eyes shall 
watch the parting breath ; 

The people, in His hour of dread, forsook their dying 
Lord and fled. 
7 O base, ungrateful heart of men, that love not Jesus 
even yet ! 

O wondrous, loving heart of God, that even now can- 
not forget ! 

O Saviour, love us as before ! O Master, make us 
love Thee more ! 

MARIANNE farningham, 1878. 



STILLNESS. 

" Be quiet : fear not."— Isa. vii : i. 

1 Thou layest Thine hand on the fluttering heart, 

And sayest " Be still ! " 
The shadow and silence are only a part 

Of Thy sweet will : 
Thy presence is with me, and where Thou art, 

I fear no ill. 

MISS F. B. HAVERGAL, 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, die. 



859 



Sara 1. Clark % ipturoit, 



The well-known author o£ numerous poems, travels, stories, sketches, 
&c, under the nom-de-plameoi Grace Greenwood, was born in New Yorkin 
1823. She is one of the nnest lecturers living, on temperance and other 
social reforms. During her several European tours, she has delighted and 
interested thousands with her correspondence published in the most 
prominent journals of our Eastern cities. She is considered one of the 
leading poets of to-day, and her prose articles are not excelled by any, 

THE STORY OF SOME BELLS. 
TOLD FOR A POET. 

1 A little legend, dear and gracious friend, 

Has strangely wrought upon my heart to-day ; 
Let me the story to thy heart commend, 
And tell it to thee in my simple way. 

2 Long years agone, a Southern artisan, 

Dowered with the tender genius of his clime, 
A dreamy-eyed, devout, and sad-voiced man, 

Cast with rare skill, a wondrous, tuneful chime, 
■3 Whose very sound might draw the pagan Turk 

To bow in rapture on the minster floor ; 
And, it was said, this founder seemed to pour 

His deep Italian soul into his work, 
Like molten music ; and when first high hung 
A triumph-peal the bells harmonious rung. 
And made a Sabbath on the golden air, 
He stood with clasped hands, and brow all bare, 
And murmured liquid syllables of prayer. 

4 Against the cliff, beneath the convent tower, 

He built the rude nest of his peasant home, 
Nor wandering sail, nor hope of gain, had power 
To tempt him from the spot blessed by his bells 
to roam. 

5 At last there came to curse that lovely land, 

The woe and waste of war ; the legend tells 
How one wild night a sacrilegious band 
Despoiled the convent even of its bells. 

6 The founder, seizing his rude arms, in vain 

Strove that fierce tide of blood and fire to stay, 
He saw his home in flames, his brave sons slain, 
And then a dungeon's walls shut out the day. 

7 Long years wore on ; at last, the artisan, 

A weary, bowed, gray-haired, and lonely man, 
Joyless beheld again the sea, the sky, 

And pined to hear his bells once more — then 
$e. 

8 Somewhere, he knew, those bells at morn and 

even 
Made sweetest music in the ear of Heaven ; 
Voiced human worship, called to praise and prayer 
Censers of sounds high swinging in the air. 

9 The legend tejleth how, from town to town 
Where'er ft minster cross stood up to bless 
God's praying souls, where'er a spire looked 

down, 
He through strange lands and weary ways did 

press 
His mournful pilgrimage, companionless. 



10 The Norman carillons, so sweet and clear, 

The chimes of Amsterdam and gray old Ghent, 
But alien music rang they to his ear, 

No faintest thrill of joy to his sad heart they 
sent. 

11 Before full many an English tower he stood 

And vainly listened, then pursued his quest ; 
At last a noble lady, fair and good, 

The sad-eyed pilgrim pointed to the west, 
And said, "At Limerick is a chime of bells 

Fit to ring in the coming of the Lord, 
So solemn sweet the melody that swells 

From their bronze throats all pealing in accord. 

12 Soft shades foretold the coming of the night ; 

Yet goldenly on Shannon's emerald shores, 
As charmed, or fallen asleep, the sunset light 

Still lingered, — or as there sweet Day 
Had dropped her mantle, ere she took her flight. 

Up Shannon's tide a boat slow held its way ; 
All silent bent the boatmen to their oars 

For at their feet a dying stranger lay. 

13 In broken accents of a foreign tongue 

He breathed fond names and murmured words 
of prayer, 
And yearningly his wasted arms outflung, 

Grasped viewless hand and kissed the empty 
air. 

14 Sudden upon the breeze came floating down 
The sound of vesper bells from Limerick town, 
So sweet 't would seem that holiest of chimes 
Stored up new notes amid it silent times, — 
Some wandering melodies from heavenly climes ; 
Or gathered music from the summer hours, 

As bees draw sweets from tributary flowers. 
Peal followed peal, till all the air around 
Trembled in waves of undulating sound. 

15 The dying stranger, where he gasping lay, 

Heard the sweet chime and knew it ringing 
nigh. 
Quick from his side the phantoms fled away, 
And the last soul-light kindled in his eye ! 
His cold hands reaching to the shadowy shore, 
"Madonna, thanks !" he cried, "I hear my bells once 
moi-e ! " 

16 Nearer they drew to Limerick, where the bells 

Were raining music from the church-tower high; 
The pilgrim listened till their latest swells 

Shook from his heart the faintest echoing sigh. 

17 With their sweet ceasing, ceased his mortal breath, 

So like a conqueror to the better land 
Passed the worn artisan, — such music grand 
Uprolled before him on the heavenly path. 

18 From the west heavens went out the swnset gold, 
And Hesperus his silver lamp uphung ;-. 

To countless pious hearts those bells, had rung 
The vesper chime that summone-tih to pray : 

But to that stranger, weary, lone* and old, 
They pealed the matins of iaranortal day, 



860 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



19 Thus thou, my poet, from thy soul hast wrought 
In tuneful song sweet chimes of deep-toned 

thought, 
To sound toward heaven, high hung on massive 

towers 
That overlook the world ; in silent hours, 
Even in darkness, gathering, note by note, 
God's deepest melodies, that ever float 
Above the toiling or the sleeping earth ; 
To answer grief with grief, and mirth with mirth, 
To fling sweet strains upon the path of day, 
As flowers are Hung upon the victor's way ; 
To cheerily peal out amid the storm 
Beneath the rolling of the thunder cars ; 
Ring in the calm eves, with sunset glories warm, 
And sound before the coming of the stars. 

20 And from thy bells we deem each latest time 
We hear a clearer and a grander chime, 

That fall their faintest notes with sweetness rare, 
Like birds that sing in death soft dropping down 

the air ; 
And when thou floatest o'er that solemn river 
That for its shade the mournful cypress hath, 
Along whose shore the peaceful aspens shiver 
That stream of dread, the icy floods of death, 
Parting our mortal life from God's forever, 
Then from the shore thou leavest, ah ! mayst thou 
Know thy true thoughts yet chiming clear and high ; 
Then may the joylight kindle in thine eye 
And smile the cold death shadow from thy brow, 
Hearing that chime sound o'er the stream's sad 

flowing, 
And echoed from the land to which thou'rt going ! 
Not smiting sharply on the air above 
And not in thunder bolts of sound down hurled ; 
But ringing soft God's peace and pitying love, 
And pealing His redemption o'er the world. 

SARA J. LIPPINCOTT. 

In "Atlau tic Monthly." 

New York, 1872. 



Itrss %frelra (§. grotomng 

Is the author of many hymns, and has published a book of poems. 
She frequently writes under the nom de plume of " Phelie," " Felie." 

PRAY WITHOUT CEASING. 

1 Unanswered yet the prayer your lips have pleaded 

In agony of heart these many years ? 
Does faith begin to fail, is hope declining, 

And think you all in vain those falling tears ? 
Say not the Father has not heard your prayer ; 
You shall have your desire, sometime, somewhere. 

2 Unanswered yet ? tho' when you first presented 

This one petition at the Father's throne, 
It seemed you could not wait the time of asking, 

So anxious was your heart to have it done : 
If years have passed since then, do not despair, 
For God will answer von sometime, somewhere. 



3 Unanswered yet ? But you are not unheeded ; 

The promises of God forever stand ; 
To Him our days and years alike are equal ; 

Have faith in God ! It is your Lord's command 
Hold on to Jacob's angel, and your prayer 
Shall bring a blessing down sometime, somewhere. 

4 Unanswered yet ? Nay, do not say unanswered 

Perhaps your part is not yet wholly done, 
The work began when first your prayer was uttered \ 

And God will finish what He has begun. 
Keep incense burning at the shrine of praver, 
And glory shall descend sometime, somewhere. 

5 Unanswered yet ? Faith cannot be unanswered ; 

Her feet are firmly planted on the Rock ; 
Amid the wildest storms she stands undaunted, 

Nor quails before the loudest thunder shock. i 
She knows Omnipotence has heard her prayer, 
And cries " It shall be done" sometime, somewhere, 

MISS OPHELIA GUYON BROWNING. 

Poughkeepsie, N. Y. 



From her book of J poems "Singing with Grace," iPub.. 1 
Tract Repository, Boston and New York, 1882. 



AMEN. 

1 I cannot say, 

Beneath the pressure of life's cares today, 

I joy in these ; 

But I can say 
That I had rather walk this rugged way 

If Him it please. 

2 I cannot feel 

That all is well when darkening clouds conceal 

The shining sun ; 

But then, I know 
God lives and loves ; and say, since it is so, 

Thy will be done. 

3 I cannot speak 

In happy tones ; the tear-drops on my cheek 

Show I am sad ; 

But I can speak 
Of grace to suffer with submission meek, 

Until made glad. 

4 I do not see 

Why God should e'en permit some things to be, 

When He is love ; 

But I can see, 
Though often dimly, through the mystery r 

His hand above ! 

5 I do not know 

Where falls the seed, that I have tried to sow 

With greatest care ; 

But I shall know 
The meaning of each waiting hour below,, 

Sometime, somewhere ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, &c. 



861 



6 I do not look 

Upon the present, nor in Nature's book, 

To read my fate, 

But I do look 
For promised blessings in God's Holy Book ; 

And I can wait. 

8 I may not try 

To keep the hot tears back ; but hush that sigh, 
" It might have been ; " 
And try to still 
Each rising murmur, and to God's sweet will 
Respond "Amen." 

OPHELIA G. BROWNING. 

Poughkeepsie, N. Y., 1884. 
From ' Singing With Grace," 



»ra Ira cp 



Was born in Medford, Mass. in 1802. Her ancestors emigrated from 
England to this country in 1636. In 1825 Miss Frances— for that was her 
maiden name— opened a private school in Watertown. Two years later 
she established " The Juvenile Miscellany"— the pioneer children's Mag- 
azine. She married David Lee Child, a Boston lawyer, in 1828. The 
following year she published " Tbe Frugal Housewife, " which soon 
reached its fortieth edition. This was succeeded by "The Mother's 
Book." "The Girl's Own Book," "The History of Women," " The Biog- 
raphies of Good Wives," &o The most eminent periodical of that day 
said of her:— "We are not sure that any woman of our country could out 
rank Mrs. Child." Few, if any writers, had done more or better things 
for literature at that time. That she was brave and fearless, when 
knowing herself to be in the right, is shown in the preface to her " Ap- 
peal in behalf of that class of Americans called Africans." She wrote : 
"I am fully aware of the unpopularity of the task I have undertaken; 
but though I expect ridicule and censure, I do not fear them. A few 
years hence, the opinions of the world will be a matter in which I have 
not the most transient interest. But this book will be abroad on its 
mission of humanity, long after the hand that wrote it is mingling with 
the dust." 

The poet Whittier once said of her :— "It is not exaggeration to say that 
no man or woman of that period rendered more substantial service to 
the cause of freedom, or made such a great renunciation to do it." 
Of her domestic cares, which at times weighed heavily upon her, she 
remarked: — "It is not I who drudge, it is merely the case containing me. 
I defy all the powers of earth and hell to make me scrub floors or feed 
pigs, if I choose to be off conversing with the angels," yet her willing 
hand was always ready for any needed service. 

For eight years she and her husband edited a New York paper. His 
ill health compelled her to manage it entirely alone for two years, but 
with great success, though arduous toil. Her husband was a most con- 
genial companion, and in old age was the same lover as in youth. One 
day in their old age he said to her :— " I wish for your sake I was as rich 
as Croesus" to which she replied, "You are Croesus for you are King of 
Lydia." Her husband was fond of quoting the reply. (This incident is 
mentioned simply as another case of conjugal affection in the homes of 
literary people. A wrong impression prevails in this matter, or has, hut 
is now being righted. As a rule, our literary womeu are the best house- 
keepers and make the best wives. An occasional exception, only proves 
the rule, aud in these instances would have been unhappy, if not engaged 
in literary pursuits). For twenty-two years Mr. and Mrs. Child lived en- 
tirely alone, without any domestic assistance, and in the same house, 
and under the most happy circumstances. 

She was very benevolent and was constantly doing something to aid 
the unfortunate and raise the fallen. During her last yearsshe remarked 
that she had never experienced any happiness to be compared with the 
consciousness of lifting a human soul out of the mire. This was in ref- 
erence to the reformation of a drunkard, after many months of diligent 
effort on her part to assist him. 



In her will a provision was made to have fifty dollars a year paid to him 
in monthly instalments, 60 long as he refrained from drink. This is but 
one of the many instances in which she helped lives to a higher standard. 
Many a fallen womau and tempted inebriate she took to her own home 
and counselled and watched over them month by month. Prison bars 
were no barrier, when she felt that she could render any assistance or 
comfort to those behind them. Thus was the blessed religion she pro- 
fessed acted out in her daily life, and she put her creed into the deed, 
hour by hour. With no children cf her own, she was yet a true mother 
to many. Her husband lived to the ripe o!d age of eighty-three, and she 
seventy-eight. Her last work, " Aspirations of the World," was pub- 
lished in 1878, Wendell Philips said of her :— "She was the kind of woman 
one would choose to represent woman's entrance into broader lit e. Mod- 
est, womanly, sincere, simple, solid, real, loyal, to be trusted; equal to 
affairs, aud yet above them; a hand ready for fireside help, and a reach- 
ing out of into the infinite and unfathomable, so that life was lifted to 
romance, to heroism, and to loftiest faith." 

Her poems, although not so numerous as her prose works, are of a high 
order and much admired and sought after, containing as they ever do 
thoughts elevating in their tendencies. Her grave in Way land Centre, 
Mass., is marked only by a plain white marble slab bearing her name, 
age, date of death, and the words— "You call us dead. We are not 
dead, but truly living now." 

THE STREAM OF LIFE. 

1 In morning hours, 
Full of flowers, 

Our swift boats glide 

O'er life's bright tide ; 
And every time the oars we raise, 
The falling drops like diamonds blaze. 

2 From earth and sky 
Comes melody ; 
Aud every voice 
Singe th, " Rejoice ! " 

"While echoes all around prolong 
The cadence of that wondrous song. 

3 Above each boat 
Bright fairies float, 
Mounting on air 
To castles there, 

The earth is full of glorious things, 

All tinged with light from rainbow wings. 

4 Dear friendship's smile, 
And love's sweet will, 
Make life all bright 
With genial light. 

And seem to shiue with steady ray, 
That ne'er can change, or fade away. 



5 More slowly glides life's evening boat, 
And withered flowers around it float. 
The drops fall dark from many oars, 
And dismal fogs shroud all the shores. 

6 Like a widowed bird that mourns alone, 
Sings Music, in her minor tone, 

Of flowers that blossom but to die ; 
And echoes answer plaintively. 

7 Bright fairies change to limping hags; 
Their rainbow wings to dingy rags ; 
Dark heavy clouds sail through the air, 
Where golden castles shone so fair. 



862 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



8 Strong hearts grow faint, and young ones old : 
Friendships decline, and Love is cold ; 

Dim twilight changes morn's ideal 
To flickering shadows, all unreal. 

9 But joy remains, if we have thrown 
Fresh flowers to boats around our own, 
Though currents part us far and wide, 
Sweet perfumes live from flowers that died. 

10 Or if our blossoms formed good seeds, 
Such as the growing future needs, 
Those little gems perchance may yield 
Rich waving crops in Time's ripe fields. 

11 Though dark the tide we're drifting o'er, 
It brings us near that brighter shore, 
Where longing souls at length will know 
The use of this world's changing show. 

12 Meanwhile, though sunlight has gone down, 
Life's ev'ning wears a starry crown, 
Where weary ones, who look above, 

May read the letters, " God is love." 

LYDIA MARIA CHILD. 

FALLOW GROUND. 

Like to an upturned field, all brown and bare, 
From which are gathered all the scanty sheaves, 
Still scattered o'er with broken grassy leaves, 
Or stock of stubble standing here and there, 
Lying exposed unto the sun and air, 
Drinking the rain in, and the blessed dew, 
Until 'tis ready for the harvest new, 
And turned, and mellowed by the deep plow-share; 
So I lie, broken, wearied by the toil 
Which yielded harvest of such scanty grain, 
The plow of thought drives deep within the soil 
Of barren soul ; and still I wait the dew 
And fruitful sun of heaven to renew, 
And make me bud and blossom once again. 



AWAKENING. 

RECOGNIZING THE HOLY SPIRIT' S PRESENCE. 

1 With careless feet and dim unseeing eyes 

We plod along the weary ways of life. 
Closed are our ears to angel-harmonies, 
Hidden from sight, the deeper mysteries 

With which the spirit-world is ever rife. 

2 One touch of the Enchanter's hand, and lo ! 

We waken up to a new heaven and earth ! 
O balmy air, — O golden sunset glow ! 
O wondrous fragrance of the flowers, that blow 

In the glad sunshine of the heart's new birth. 

3 O soul of mine, that trembles to the touch 

Of fairy fingers never felt before, 
A viewless Presence broodeth like a dove, 
Fills and enfolds thee with a perfect love 

Unknown, undreamed-of in the days of yore. 



4 'T is the sweet token of the great " To Come " 
Thro' gates ajar soft falling on thee, now, 

Then, ever as now, one earthly part must die 

Before we bask in immortality 

Or catch the radiance from Jehovah's brow. 

ELIZABETH PALMER MATHEWS. 

THE LAST HYMN. 

1 The Sabbath day was ending 

In a village by the sea, 
The uttered benediction 

Touched the people tenderly, 
And they rose to face the sunset 

In the glowing, lighted west, 
And then hastened to their dwellings, 

For God's blessed boon of rest. 

2 But they looked across the waters, 

And a storm was raging there ; 
A fierce spirit moved above them, 

The wild spirit of the air. 
And it lashed and shook and tore them, 

Till they thundered, groaned, and boomed, 
And alas ! for any vessel 

In their yawning gulfs entombed. 

3 Very anxious were the people 

On that rocky coast of Wales, 
Lest the dawn of coming morrow 

Should be telling awful tales, 
When the sea had spent its passion 

And should cast upon the shore 
Bits of wreck and swollen victims, 

As it had done heretofore. 

4 With the rough winds blowing round her, 

A brave woman strained her eyes, 
And she saw along the billows 

A large vessel fall and rise. 
Oh ! it did not need a prophet 

To tell what the end must be, 
For no ship could ride in safety 

Near the shore on such a sea. 

5 Then pitying people hurried 

From their homes and thronged the beach. 
Oh ! for power to cross the water 

And the perishing to reach. 
Helpless hands were wrung for sorrow, 

Tender hearts grew cold with dread, 
And the ship, urged by the tempest, 

To the fatal rock-shore sped. 

6 " She has parted in the middle ; 

Oh ! the half of her goes down ! 
God have mercy ! Oh ! is Heaven 

Far to seek for those who drown ? " 
Lo ! when next the white, shocked faces 

Looked with terror on the sea, 
Only one last clinging figure 

On the spar was seen to be. 






MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER. &c. 



863 



7 And near the trembling watchers 

Came the wreck, tossed by the wave ; 
And the man still clung and floated, 

Though no power on earth could save. 
" Could we send him a short message ? " 

Here's a trumpet Shout away ! 
'Twas the preacher's hand that took it, 

And he wondered what to say. 

8 Any memory of his sermon — 

Firstly, secondly ? Ah ! no ! 
There was but one thing to utter 

In the awful hour of woe. 
So he shouted through the trumpet : 

" Look to Jesus ! Can you hear ? " 
And "Aye, aye, sir ! " rang the answer 

O'er the waters, loud and clear. 

9 Then they listened. He is singing 

" Jesus, lover of my soul ! " 
And the winds brought back the echo, 

"While the nearer waters roll." 
Strange, indeed, it was to hear him, 

" Till the storm of life was past," 
Singing bravely from the waters, 

" Oh! receive my soul at last!" 
10 He could have no other refuge, 

" Hangs my helpless soul on Thee" ; 
" Leave, ah ! leave me not" — The singer 

Dropped at last into the sea ; 
And the watchers, looking homeward 

Through their eyes, with tears made dim, 
Said : " He passed to be with Jesus 

In the singing of that hymn." 

HARIANNA FARNINGHAM. 



THE WIND-SWEPT HARP. 



1 A huge JEolian harp was still, 

While gentle breezes played ; 
But when rude storms and tempests rose, 
They woke the mighty wire's repose, 
And music, such as Gabriel knows, 

Startled each listening ear. 

2 How like that harp the human soul, 

Whose deep vibrations sleep 
Till tribulation sweeps the strings, 
And anguish ope's the hidden springs, 
And from its depths such music brings 

As angels love to hear ! 

3 Thou Great Musician, here am I, 

A poor, discordant harp; — 
My trembling strings await Thy blow; 
Strike as Thou wilt, for well 1 know, 
Tho' minor, yet shall music flow, 
- Touched by the Master hand. 



THE ROCK. 

"There are storms on life's dark waters." 
"And the Rock was Christ.'' i Cor — x : 4. 

1 I looked on the surface of life's clear river 

And on its fair bosom a barque gilded on ; 
Ah ! methought, 't would remain as unruffled forever 
So soft were the zephyrs, so bright was the sun. 

2 Within the light barque I beheld there were seated 

Forms that were youthful, light-hearted and free, 
Strangers to sorrow, with warm hearts united 

And hands intertwined as they sailed o'er life's sea. 

3 And a bright bud of beauty was bound to each heart 

Whose unfolding charms were like witchery's spell ; 
They dreamed not of change that should wither and 
part 
Dear forms and sweet faces, they loved each so well. 

4 But the calm stream was ruffled, and tempests swept 

o'er, 
The ice-blast and billows lashed furiously on, 
The wild waves and blasts took them far from the 
shore, 
They were on the dark waters, all helpless and 
lone. 

5 Then the angry waves lifted their white crests on high, 

The. tempest-tost, storm-beaten barque was in twain ; 
And listening — I heard 'mid the moaning a cry, — 
Oh ! give me the " Peace be still " calmness again. 

6 But the cruel storm severed the strong golden chain 

Which bound the loved ' 
" bud," 
And the " oak " and the " 
less main 
Were swept from my si{ 

7 Ah ! where's the lone " ivy 

Alone on dark waters, with tendrils all torn 

But blasts sweep on to a " Rock " that is flinging 

Its strong arms a refuge from billow and storm. 

8 And the "ivy" twined around it and hushing her 

fears 
Whispered softly, yet meekly, " Here will I bring 
My bruised heart and bleeding, my crushed hopes and 

fears ; 
Simply and truly to this ' Rock ' will I cling." 

CARRIE L. POST. 

In "The Advance." 

Springfield, UL 



oak " and the " ivy " and 
>ud " to some far shore- 
it by the pitiless flood, 
so trusting and clinging ? 



For 24 years, : 



MRS. J. M. SADD, 1884. 

In " Woman at Work.' 
SADD was the city missionary at Louisville, Ky. 



A PICTURE. 

1 I strayed last eve across the lonely down •, 

One solitary picture struck my eye — 
A distant plow-boy stood against the sky ; 
How far he seemed above the noisy town ! 

2 Upon the bosom of a cloud, the sod 

Laid its bruised cheek as he moved slowly by, 
And, watching him, I asked my soul if I 
In very truth stood half as near to God. 

, died January, 1888. ella wheeler. 



864 



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8G7 




WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



Irs. Cartel*, 



Formerly Miss Hulme, is a native of Burlington, N. J., but resided for 
years in Ohio. She published a number of juvenile works and was a 
regular contributor to the " Episcopal Recorder " and other periodicals. 
She wrote with ease and spirit, marked,by pure and exalted sentiment, 
and usually anonymously, or with the simple signature " C." The follow- 
ing was written near the year 1847. 

THE ELECTOR OF SAXONY AT AUGSBURG. 

1 The first faint light of early day 

Rested on vale and bill, 
Touched the old towers and turrets gray, 
But Augsburg slumber'd still. 

2 Its silent streets gave back no sound 

Save some lone passer's tread, 
Some peasant to his labor bound, 
Some watcher o'er the dead. 

3 Courtier and prince in deep repose 

Forgot each toil and care, 
Yet from one quiet chamber rose 
The voice of early prayer. 

4 His princely robes aside were thrown 

His sword unsheathed lay, 
"Where an old warrior bent him down 
In solitude to pray. 

5 The long, thin locks of hoary years 

Hung round his noble brow, 
While from his aged eyes the tears 
Fell all unheeded now. 

6 Not for his threatened state and crown 

Did they in silence flow, 
No selfish fear that spirit bound 
Of royal crafty foe ; 

7 'T was for the holy ark of God 

He wept and wrestled there, 
Beseeching that his gracious Lord 
"Would guard it from each snare. 

8 The rosy light fell on his form, 

The soft breeze stirred his hair, 
And peace from heaven was gently borne 
In answer to that prayer. 

9 His soul grew calm with faith and love, 

His eye with fervor bright : 
The strength that cometh from above 
Had nerved him for the fight. 

10 He sat amid that little band 

Of noble Christian men, 
And seized with eager, joyful hand 
The truth-confessing pen. 

11 " Nay ; stop me not ! " he quickly cried, 

" I would confess my Lord ! 
Take, take from me these marks of pride, 
My ermine, hat and sword. 

12 " To me the Cross of Christ is more 

Than ail those toys of kings ; 

They pass with life — it rises o'er 

The wreck of earthlv things. 



13 " My Master's Cross ! I'll bear it high 

While life and breath remain ; 
Christ, Christ alone ! I'll dying cry 
When other hopes are vain ! 

14 " Then let me humbly place my name 

Upon this speaking scroll — 
Ye men of God, be mine your shame, 
Your conflict, and your goal ! " 

15 Thou brave old man ! where'er thou art, 

'Mid courts at princely board, 
How beautiful, how true in heart, 
Thou servant of the Lord ! 

16 Thou veteran in the glorious fight 

For Christ, for heaven, for truth, 
Faith gave thine aged arm the might 
Of strong undaunted youth. 

17 First in that band, the noble few, 

Thou stood'st with bearing high, 
" I must confess my Saviour too ! " 
Thy watchword and thy cry. 

18 No wish for honor, praise, or fame' 

Glow'd in thine aged breast, 
Yet never shone more honor'd name 
On proud, imperial crest. 

19 And long when his who triumph'd there 

Has passed from mortal sight, 
Thine yet shall live more radiant far, 
Engraved with heaven's own light. 

MRS. M. C. CANFIELD. 



THE PRESENCE OF GOD. 

1 O Thou, who fling'st so fair a robe 

Of clouds around the hills untrod ; 
Those mountain-pillars of the globe, 

Whose peaks sustain Thy throne, O God ! 
All glittering round the sunset skies, 

Their trembling folds are lightly furl'd, 
As if to shade from mortal eyes 

The glories of yon upper world ; 
There, while the evening star upholds 
In one bright spot their purple folds, 
My spirit lifts its silent prayer, 
For Thou the God of love art there. 

2 The summer flowers, the fair, the sweet, 

Upspringing freely from the sod, 
In whose soft looks we seem to meet 

At every step, Thy smiles, O God ! 
The humblest soul their sweetness shares, 

They bloom in palace-hall or cot — 
Give me, O Lord ! a heart like theirs, 

Contented with my lowly lot ! 
Within their pure ambrosial bells 
In odors sweet Thy spirit dwells ; 
Their breath may seem to scent the air, 
'Tis Thine, O God! for Thou art there. 









MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, <Ssc 



869 



3 The spirit oft oppressed with doubt, 

May strive to cast Thee from its thought, 
But who can shut Thy presence out, 

Thou mighty Guest that com'st unsought ! 
In spite of all our cold resolves, 

Whate'er our thoughts, where'er we go, 
Still magnet-like the heart revolves. 

And points, all trembling, up to Thee. 
We cannot shield a troubled breast 
Beneath the confines of the bless'd, 
Above, below, on earth, in air, 
For Thou, the Hving God, art there. 

4 Yet, far beyond the cloud outspread, 

Where soaring fancy oft hath been, 
There is a land where Thou hast said 

The pure in heart shall enter in ; 
In those fair realms, so calmly bright, 

How many a loved and gentle one 
Bathes its soft plumes in loving light 

That sparkles from Thy radiant throne. 
There souls, once soft and sad as ours, 
Look up and sing 'mid fadeless flowers ; 
They dream no more of grief and care, 
For Thou, the God of peace, art there. 



B. WELBY, 



THE WAY, THE TRUTH, AND THE LIFE. 

1 Thou art the Way ! 

All ways are thorny mazes without Thee ; 

When hearts are pierced, and thoughts all aimless 

stray, 
In Thee the heart stands firm, the life moves free : 
Thou art the Way ! 

2 Thou art the Truth ! 
Questions the ages break against in vain 
Confront the spirit in its untried youth ; 

It starves while learning poison from the grave : 
Thou art the Truth ! 

3 Thou art the Truth ! 

Truth for the mind, grand, glorious, infinite ; 
A heaven still boundless o'er its highest growth ; 
Bread for the heart its daily need to meet : 
Thou art the Truth. 

4 Thou art the Light ! 

Earth beyond earth no faintest ray can give ; 
Heaven's shadeless noontide blinds our mortal sight ; 
In Thee we look on God, and love and live ; 
Thou art our Light! 

5 Thou art the Eock ! 

Doubts none can solve heave wild on every side, 
Wave meeting wave of thought in ceaseless shock ; 
On Thee the soul rests calm amidst the tide : 
Thou art the Eock ! 

6 Thou art the Life ! 

All ways without Thee, paths that end in death ; 
All life without Thee, with death's harvest rife ; 
All truth's dry bones, disjoined and void of breath : 
Thou art our Life ! 



7 For Thou art Love ! 

• Our Way and End ! the way is rest with Thee ! 
O living Truth ! the truth is life in Thee ! 
O life essential ! life is bliss with Thee ! 
For Thou art Love ! 

MRS, CHARLES. 

THE LARK. 
1 The lark's voice dies when fall the leaves, 

And where were heaped the harvest sheaves 
The crickets chirp the whole night long ; 

The morning of the chilly day 

Through boding clouds breaks dim and gray, 
And wakes no burst of matin song. 
? But in a myriad lowly nests 

Beneath a myriad plushing breasts, 
Through noontide heat and twilight dew 

Life out of shapeless void took form, 

That voices still through shine and storm 
Might sing the mother-song anew. 
3 What matter if we hear them not, 

But lie in some still place forgot, 
Dust crumbling into older dust ? 

The song shall still make glad the earth, 

Life triumph over Death through birth, 
And doubt be satisfied in trust. 

, MARY H- KROUT. 

In "The Current." 
Indianapolis, Ind. 1885. 

THE SLIGHTED GUEST. 

1 My friend, one morning, knocking at my door. 

Found me, like Martha, cumbered with much care ; 
And though my lips a smile of welcome wore, 
Scant time for friendly converse could I spare. 

2 And so, ere long, on needless tasks intent, 

I left to silent walls my gentle guest ; 
Nor rested from my toil till day was spent, 

And shadows weird crept up the darkening west. 

3 Eemembering, then, I turned with grief unfeigned, 

And cried, " Forgive me," through the boaing 
gloom ; 
But, lo ! my guest was gone, and silence reigned, — 
A mocking spectre in the empty room. 

4 O Heavenly Guest, forgotten all the day, 

Wouldst thou but grant again Thy presence sweet, 
Fain would I put my hindering cares away 
And sit, like Mary, at Thy sacred feet ! 



CORONAT. 

1 All day the wind with bitter breath had with the 

trees been plying, 
Had rocked and tossed them to and fro and filled the 

air with sighing. 
The pallid earth lay cold and still, the heavens were 

gray and lowering ; 
Between there hung a shifting veil of snow-flakes 

softly showering. 



870 



WOMAN- IN SACRED SONG. 



2 It was a day that seemed to moan of earth's dull 

weight of anguish ; 
Of joys that die and love that pales and hopes that 

slowly languish ; 
Of all that causes jarring notes where should be 

sweetest singing ; 
Of discords in the music that the hand of God set 

ringing. 

3 But as the hidden sun went down, the snow-flakes 

ceased descending, 
And golden beams like lances flashed, the clouds in 

shivers rending, 
While through the rifts a flood of light burst on the 

tree-tops hoary, 
And set the white earth in a blaze of radiant sunset 

glory. 

4 Then in the golden sheen the load of weary thoughts 

was lightened — 
The Hand is one that sent earth's pain, and darkest 

storm-clouds brightened 
He lets the mist scure His sun, and lives be dimmed 

with sadness, 
But in His own mysterious way, doth crown the end 

with gladness. 

5 We know not how discordant notes can roll to Him 

in sweetness, 
Nor life's poor tangled, broken reeds, be gathered in 

completeness. 
We only know its purpose is with Him in beauty 

breaking, 
And on eternal shores, earth's strains are sweetest 

echoes waking. 

LUCY L. WARD. 1883. 

HOPE. 

1 'T is the sunshine of life's troubled ocean, 

The perfume of each budding flower ; 
'T is the zephyr that wafts to devotion 
The spirit in grief's darkened hour. 

2 'T is the breeze that wakes from its slumbers, 

The lyre of the heart long unstrung ; 
'T is the soft breath that bringeth sweet numbers, 
From the harp on the willow boughshung. 

3 'T is the radiant sunbeam of morning, 

The dew-drop that sparkles at even, 

'T is the joy of life's earliest dawning — 

The angel that guideth to Heaven. 



O BEAUTIFUL FRIEND. 
1 There are poems unwritten and songs unsung, 
Sweeter than any that ever were heard ; 
Poems that wait for an angel tongue, 
Songs that but long for a Paradise bird. 
Chorus — Sing to my soul the sweet song that thou 
livest— 
Read me the poem that never was penned, 
The wonderful idyl of life that thou givest, 
Fresh from thy spirit, O beautiful friend. 



2 Poems that ripple through lowliest lives 

Poems unnoted and hidden away 
Down in the soul, where the beautiful thrives, 
Sweetly as flowers in the airs of May. 

3 Poems that only the angels above us, 

Looking down deep in our hearts may behold ; 
Felt though unseen, by the beings above us, 
Written on lives and in letters of gold. 

MAKY M. C. BOOTH. 

HOW HE SAVED ST. MICHAEL'S. 

1 So you ask for a story, my darling, my brown-eyed 

Leopold, 
And you, Alice, with your face like morning, and 

curling locks of gold ; 
Then come if you will, and listen, — stand close beside 

my knee — 
To a tale of the Southern city, proud Charleston by 

the sea. 

2 It was long ago, my children, ere even the signal 

gun 
That blazed above Fort Sumpter had wakened the 

North as one ; 
Long ere the wondrous pillar of battle-cloud and fire 
Had marked where the unchained millions marched 

on to their heart's desire. 

3 On the roofs, and glittering turrets, that night 

when the sun went down, 
The mellow glow of the twilight shone like a jewelled 

crown ; 
And bathed in the living glory, as the people lifted 

their eyes, 
They saw the pride of the city, the spire of St. 

Michael's rise. 

4 High over the lesser steeples, tipped with a golden 

ball, 
That hung like radiant planet caught in its earthly 

fall,— 
First glimpse of home to the sailor who made to 

harbor round, 
And last slow fading vision dear to the outward 

bound. 

5 The gently gathering shadows shut out the waning 

light ; 

The children prayed at their bedsides as you will 
pray to-night ; 

The noise of buyer and seller from their busy mart 
was gone ; 

And in dreams of a peaceful morrow the city slum- 
bered on. 

6 But another light than sunrise aroused the sleeping 

street, 
For a cry was heard at midnight and the rush of 

tramping feet ; 
Men stared in each other's faces through mingled fire 

and smoke 
While the frantic bells went clashing clamorous 

stroke on stroke. 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER. Ac. 



871 



7 By the glare of her blazing roof-tree the homeless 14 Slow, steadily mounting, unheeding aught save the 

mother fled, goal of fire, 

With the babe she pressed to her bosom shivering in Still higher, and higher, an atom, he moves on the 

nameless dread, face of the spire. 

While the fire-king's wild battalion scaled wall and He stops ! will he fall ? lo ! for answer, a gleam like 

capstone high, a meteor's track, 

And planted their flaming banners against an inky And hurled on the stones of the pavement the red 

sky. brand lies shattered and black. 

8 From the death that raged behind them, and the 15 O nc e more the shouts of the people have rent the 

crash of ruin loud, quivering air ; 

To the great square of the city, were driven the At the church-door mayor and council wait with their 

surging crowd ; f eet on the stair ; 

When yet firm in all the tumult, unscathed by the And the eager throng behind them press for a touch 

fiery flood, of his hand, — 

With its heavenward pointing finger the Church of The unknown saviour whose daring could compass a 

St. Michael stood. deed so grand. 

9 But e'en as they gazed upon it there rose a sudden 16 But why does a sudden tremor seize on them as I 



wail — 

A cry of horror blended with the roaring of the gale, 
On whose scorching wings up-driven a single flam- 
ing brand 
Aloft on the lowering steeple clung like a bloody 
hand. 

10 "Will it fade ? " the whisper trembled from a thou- 

sand whitened lips ; 
Far out on the lurid harbor, they watched it from 

the ships, 
A baleful gleam that brighter and ever brighter 

shone 
Like a flickering, trembling will-o'-wisp to a steady 

beacon grown. 

11 " Uncounted gold shall be given to the man whose 

brave right hand, 
For the love of the periled city, plucks down yon 

burning brand ! " 
So cried the mayor of Charleston that all the people 

heard ; 
But they looked each one at his fellow ; and no man 

spoke a word. 

12 But whose is it leans from the belfry with face 

upturned to the sky, 
Clings to a column and measures the dizzy spire with 

his eye ? 
Will he dare it, the hero undaunted, that terrible 

sickening height ? 
Or will the hot blood of his courage freeze in his 

veins at the sight ? 

13 But see ! he has stepped on the railing ; he climbs 

with his feet and hands, 
And firm on a narrow projection, with the belfry 

beneath him he stands ; 
Now once, and once only, they cheer him, — a single 

tempestuous breath, — 
And there falls on the multitude gazing, a hush like 

the stillness of death. 



gaze: 
And what meaneth that stifled murmur of wonder 

and amaze ? 
He stood in the gate of the temple he had periled his 

life to save, 
And the face of the hero, my children, was the sable 

face of a slave ! 

17 With folded arms he was speaking in tones that were 

clear not loud, 
And his eyes ablaze in their sockets, burnt into the 

eyes of the crowd : — 
"You may keep your gold : I scorn it ! but answer 

me, ye who can, , 
If the deed I have done before you be not the deed 

of a man ? " 

18 He stepped but a short space backward ; and from 

all the women and men 
There were only sobs for answer ; and the mayor 

called for a pen, 
And the great seal of the city, that he might read 

who ran ; 
And the slave who saved St. Michael's went out 

from its door a man. 

MAB.Y A. P. STAUSBUKY. 

Appleton, Wis. 



COMFORTED. 



1 A weary man with toilsome hands 

And locks adrift with wintry snow, 
I've led the van for many a year, 
And still with onward step must go. 

2 Yet coming as my feet do now, 

When life's front ranks have faced the grave, 
I have a longing, even here 

For joys that little children have..* 



872 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



3 Those little ones whose trusting hearts 

Find shelter 'neath such drooping wings, 
Who cannot question love's defence, 
Or think of any care it brings ; — 

4 And sometimes tossed and beaten back 

With much to do and more to bear, 
With many hearts to lean on mine, 

When mine sinks overborne with care. 

5 I long for some love-strengthened hand 

To take the helm and trim the sail, 
And through my safe, unburdened rest, 
Guide my frail vessel through the gale, 

6 While the sweet strains of holy cheer 

That bore my soul on dreamy wings 
Floats on, though none but angels hear 
The song my faithful Pilot sings. 

7 Sweet dream of peace. Though but a dream 

Too often born of needless pain, 
Yet even this my Lord hath used 
To bring me to His breast again : 

8 For oft in such unwearied hours, 

When faith gives way to memory, 
The sweetness of a mother's love 
Comes with the name He giveth me. 

9 Come, wandering one, by doubt beguiled, 

By earth's vain estimates oppressed ; 
I know that as a little child 

That I must cradle in my breast ! 

10 Mine own ! once purchased by my blood, 

Shall I not still thy meekness keep, 
And bear thee on 'till Love Divine 
Shall give to my beloved sleep ? '\ 

11 Dear Lord ! that love which sought for me 

O'er ocean waste and desert wild, 
Finds, as of old, its precious sum 

When Thou dost bless Thy " little child." 

12 And such, in weakness, Lord am I,— 

Such in my faith I'd ever be — 

Though sorrow be Thy messenger 

To call me to my rest in Thee ! 

HANNAH MOBB JOHNSON. * 
Philadelphia, Pa., Nov., 1885. 

A SPRING SONG. 

" And we know that to them that love God all things work together 
for good, even to them that are called according to his purpose. — Ro- 
mans viii : 2-8. 

"Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth; for I am 
God, and there is none else."— Isaiah xlv : 22. 

1 What limitless comfort, my Father, to me 

Breathes soft in this " all things ; " nor billow, nor 

sea, 
Nor sorrow, nor suffering, foeman can be, 

While this promise stands ! 

Though my ship strands, 

The rock were thy touch, 

Earth has no such, 

'T would come as thy kiss, 

And only be bliss. 



2 The long darkness flieth, the true light now shines ; 
To-day's in God's Canaan, how pleasant the lines ; 
The false prophet's dying, the true now divines ; 

Hark, sin is at rout, 

And evil dies out ; 

Hush, angels, and hear 

What now saith the seer ; 

'T is, man shout and sing, 

For God is earth's King. 

3 Join, soul, in heav'n's vernal song, end famine's 

moan ; 
Fast follows the harvest long ages have sown, 
To song of heav'n's reapers attune now thine own. 

Quick, work with thy might, 

Work, motion makes light ; 

See, leaps e'en the clod 

To bloom love of God. 

Shall thy being shine 

Aught less his divine ? 

4 sing for earth's almond rod bursteth to bloom, 
Its fragrant breath filleth God's holiest room ; 
Life triumphs o'er dying, disaster and doom. 

The promise falls due, 
" I create all anew," 
And, " sighing shall cease," 
" Descend Salem's peace." 
Sing, soul, work and sing ; 
Shout, soul, God is King. 

MRS. AMELIA SWANSON QUINTON. 
Philadelphia, Nov., 1885. 
Secretary Woman's National Indian Association. 



DELAYED. 

1 Idly I mused beside the mountain stream, 

Watching all dreamily the light and shade 
That through the wind-stirred leaves upon it 
played 
In a wild revelry of gloom and gleam. 

2 Noting with half-shut eyes the shifting tints 

Of pearl and opal, emerald, amethyst, 
That through the diamond spray and gilded mist 
Shot like winged arrows — giving wondrous hints. 

3 Of the rich treasure, prisoned in a ray 

Of silver light, until, with noiseless shock, 
Some strange prismatic touch its walls unlock, 
Flinging its jewels recklessly away. 

4 So wearied was I — body, mind, and soul, 

It seemed almost an effort when I tossed 
A rose leaf on the brook. A moment lost 
In a foam-crested whirlpool, then it stole 

5 Silently, swiftly, down the streamlet's course, 

Shooting the rapids, backward hurled by shocks 
Of sudden contact with imbedded rocks, 
But onward still, borne by resistless force. 

6 Till, drifting shoreward, straightway it was caught 

In a rude tangle of dead twigs hard by. 
" Stranded ! " I murmured with a gentle sigh, 
" So like to mine, thy course," sadly I thought. 

young ladies. Her hardest literary work has been done since 



MISCELLANEOUS CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, &c 



7 " Snatched without warning from a life-work 

planned ; 
Destined, like thee, poor leaf, idly to lie 
And watch the crafts that were behind sail by, 
Scorning my impotence. I understand 

8 " It not, dear Lord ; the work I planned was Thine, 

And prospered in my hands. Then why, I pray ?" 
Lo ! while I mused, the leaflet broke away 
And sailed from sight, bathed in the glad sunshine. 

9 Then sang the brook : " Not stranded, but. delayed.'' 

" Delayed, delayed ! " echoed a bird o'erhead, 
And in my heart Hope softly stirred and said, 
" Mayhap thy course, likewise, is only stayed." 

Colorado Springs, Col. Nov. 1885. 
ELLA BEECHER GETTING3. 

A SUNSET THOUGHT. 

1 O radiance mine when day is o'er ! 

O sunset reach of thought to dwell 
On ling'ring joys the landscape wore ! 
And calm the introspective view 
Of what was given me to do, 
For, if I failed, with purpose true, 

God knoweth all, and it is well. 

2 And be it mine at close of life ; 

This rapture giv'n, whate'er befell, 
Of yesterdays unfilled with strife, — 
This gleam of the Unlived to lend 
Foreglory. Truth the Godward trend, 
Were imperfected life's great end. 

God knoweth all, and it is well. 



PANNIE H. RUNNELS. 

Sanbornton, N. H., 1884. 



OLD. 



1 I wondered, counting the years, 

Over the childish thought 
Of "when I am a woman — ! " 

Ah, me ! what time has wrought ! 
Faded and pale and gray — 

See what care will do ! 
I cannot be old to-day, 

The years are so short and few. 

2 I wondered over again, 

Another childish dream — 
The prince I once expected, 

And never yet have seen ! 
A nervous, ancient maiden — 

Do the children call me so ? 
I laid away my playthings 

Not so very long ago. 

3 I have been startled lately, 

The children are so tall ; 
Sister Alice is younger 

Than I, but when Maudie called 
"Measure with me, Aunty," 

She had half an inch or more — 
That baby I rocked and cuddled, — 

Well, fifteen years before ! 



Alas, but there's but one comfort — 

It isn't wrong to grow old, 
Spring and youth are eternal 

Somewhere, I have been told. 
The oldest thing I see 

Is Earth, as fair and strong 
To-day, as when the starry choir 

Began their morning song. 
What of the wrinkled brow ? 

What of the silvered hair? 
The blessed sunlight falling 

Mirrors its gladness there, 
Nearer eternal youth — 

Beauty that will not fade — 
I am glad to-day so much 

Of the journey of life is made. 

CHARLOTTE M. WEDGEWOOD. 
Waukon, Iowa, 1876. 



WENDELL PHILLIPS. 

1 Along the streets one day with that swift tread 
He walked, a living king — then " He is dead," 
The whisper flew from lip to lip, while still 
Sounding within our ears, the echoing thrill 
Of his magician's voice we seemed to hear 

In notes of melody ring near and clear. 

2 So near, so clear, men cried, " It cannot be ! 
It was but yesterday he spoke to me ! 

But yesterday we saw him move along, 

His head above the crowd, swift-paced and strong, 

But yesterday his plan and purpose sped ; 

It cannot be to-day that he is dead." 

3 A moment thus, half dazed, men met and spoke, 
When first the sudden news upon them broke ; 
A moment more, with sad acceptance turned 
To face the bitter truth that they had spurned. 
Friends said through tears, " How empty seems the 

town ! " 
And warring critics laid their weapons down. 

4 He had his faults, they said, but they were faults 
Of head and not of heart — his sharp assaults, 
Flung seeming heedless from his quivering bow, 
And heedless striking either friend or foe, 

Were launched with eyes that saw not foe or friend, 
But only, shining far, some goal or end. 

5 That, compassed once, should bring God's saving grace 
To purge and purify the human race. 

The measure that he meted out he took, 
And blow for blow received without a look, 
Without a sign of conscious hurt or hate, 
To stir the tranquil calmness of his State. 

6 Born on the heights and in the purple bred, 
He chose to walk the lowly ways instead, 
That he might lift the wretched and defend 
The rights of those who languished for a friend. 
So, many years he spent in listening 

To these sad cries of wrong and suffering, 



874 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



7 It was not strange, perhaps, he thought the right 
Could never live upon the easeful height, 

Nor strange, indeed, that slow suspicion grew 
Against the class whose tyrannies he knew. 
But, bitter and unsparing as his speech, 
He meant alone the evil deed to reach. 

8 No hate of persons winged his fiery shaft, 
He had no hatred but for cruel craft 

And selfish measurements, where human Might 
Bore down upon the immemorial Right. 
Ev'n while he dwelt his bitterest blows at power, 
No bitterness that high heart could devour. 

9 How at the last his great heart conqurered all, 
We know who watched above his sacred pall — 
One day, a living king, he faced a crowd 

Of critic foes ; over the dead king bowed 
A throng of friends who yesterday were those 
Who thought themselves, and whom the world 
thought, foes. 

NORA PERRY, 1884. 

In "Congregationaliat.'' 



pss Itm gngelato, 



An English poet, born 'at Ipswich, is now about 50 years old, (1885). 
She has written much prose and verse. " The high tide on the coast of 
Lincolnshire" is considered by many as her best poem. "Songs of Seven," 
ranks next, perhaps. 



COMFORT IN THE NIGHT. 

She thought by Heaven's high wall that she did stray 

Till she beheld the everlasting gate ; 

And she climbed up to it, to long and wait, 
Feel with her hands (for it was night), and lay 
Her lips to it with kisses ; thus to pray 

That it might open to her desolate. 

And lo ! it trembled, lo ! her passionate 
Crying prevailed. A little, little way 
It opened : there fell out a thread of light, 

And she saw winged wonders move within ; 
Also she heard sweet talking as they meant 
To comfort her. They said, " Who comes to-night 

Shall one day certainly an entrance win ; " 
Then the gate closed and she awoke content. 

JEAN INGELOW. 

REST. 

1 Go search through Nature, you will find no rest. 
The ocean has no respite day or night. 
The calm that lies upon the mountain-height 
Is but respose of action at the best ; 
Below the sun-touched beauty of its crest 
Volcanic forces labor. Out of sight, 
Shut from the curious world by blinds of white, 
Through the long Winter, with increasing zest, 
The Earth toils in her lab'ratory. 



2 Death 

To the enlarged requirements of the soul 
Will yield employment in new realms alway, 
We need not think with our expiring breath 
To sink to rest ; rest in an unknown goal, 
For even the deserted body must decay. 

ELLA WHEELER. 
In "The Chicago Tribune." 

THE POETS CROWN, 

Once echoing down the shores of time 
My spirit heard th' Immortals' chime, 
Beneath the silent, priestly Palms, 
It trilled my soul like Martyrs' Psalms: 
" O fields and flowers immortal, 

From realms of upper air, 
Give to the poet mortal 

The buds ye well can spare. 
Give Laurels green and shining, 

The Myrtle boughs, the Rose 
And Lily intertwining 

With fragrant Heather-blows. 
Give Passion-flowers for 'sorrow, 

And Palms for victory's gain; 
And something let us borrow, 

Type of the Poet's pain." 

Then came from far-off flowery slope, 
Fragrant with purpling Heliotrope, 

Voices that sounded most like knells 
Ringing from Eden's asphodels, 

" O Poet love ! O Poet story ! 
O poet life, O poet glory ! 
Alas ! Alas ! " 

Here, take Love's Myrtle, bind his brow, 

So much that's sweet and fair allow ; 
But take, entwined with myrtle leaf, 

Willows for grief — willows for grief. 
Roses for beauty — Lilies, too, 

For purity — and Violets blue 
For friendship : and the Passion-flower, 

For Love's self-abnegating hour ; 
Yet, ere the wreath his brow adorns, 

Bind on his head the crown of thorns. 
This shall remain, this shall remain, 

Forever type of Poet's pain. 
For he, who souls of men may touch, 

Must in himself have suffered much. 

" O Poet life ! O Poet story ! 
O Poet love, O Poet glory ! 
Alas ! Alas ! " 

Fell then a hush of holy calms — 
Yet echoing 'neath the priestly Palms, 
The Immortals' chime the mortal warns ; 
For poets' crowns are crowns of thorns. 



MARY E. C. 

St. Louis, 1880. 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, &c. 



875 



MORNING AND NIGHT. 

How beautiful is morn, when glad and new 

All nature wakes to greet another day ! 
The sweet mysterious chrism of the dew 

Has washed all signs of weariness away ; 
The flow'rs that drooped at yestere'en, now lift 

Once more their sparkling faces up. We too, 
With heart and brain refreshed, receive the gift 

Of a new day, on whose fair page, as yet, 

No character of good or ill is set. 
So, joyously and eagerly, with hope and courage high, 
We seek to trace a record grand before the day goes by. 
How beautiful is night, when darkness falls 

Softly, like some dear loving hand, upon 
The finished page of day ! The heart recalls, 

With helpless grief, the duties left undone — 
The bright hours wasted, we had thought to fill 
With helpful words and noble deeds, until 

The vision which at morn we craved, appalls, 
And gladly, as a weary child creeps to its mother's 

breast, 
We creep into the silent night for comfort and for 
rest. 



Why therefore cry Alas ! and scorn 
That gravitation, heaven born, 

Which draws us mutely to His will ? 
Who shall God's secret tell ? 
Who move in His own parallel ? 

One purpose deep all destinies fulfill. 
Dear friends, whose patient love we know, 
Why say ye " Move ye thus and so, 

For flesh is weak, and heart is strong." 
Say rather, " Move ye straight and true 
To God's great pulse beat, moving through 

Thy own frail life to tune of His new song. 1 
Still sounds from shore of Galilee 
That voice resistless, " Follow me." 

Meek Sufferer, we take Thy chrism : 
Through earthly loss we seek Thy gain, 
And knowing thus Thy crowned pain 

Bear patiently the waves of this baptism. 



MRS. MARIA UPHAM DliAK*. 



IN PATIENCE. 



MISUNDERSTOOD. 

O souls that struggle to express 
The truths ye cannot now repress, 

Of inward life for outward good ! 
In this earth language do ye own 
A word of sadder, keener tone 

Than this slow uttered word — misunderstood ? 
Earth crucified her Lord, and still 
Cries crucify, when human will 

Sets Godward strong above her bid ; 
And friends, vexed sore, with kindly ruth, 
Cry out " Enough," because forsooth, 

Truth's Shechinah from their dim eyes is hid. 
What wonder if the human lips, 
Trembling with dread apocalypse, 

Grow white with silent pain, and keep 
God's truth within, until His voice 
Break through them like their own with choice 

Of their poor words to utter meaning deep ? 
What wonder if the spirit faint 
And wearily, with tired plaint, 

Pray for its own deliverance. 
Too weak, indeed, alone to rise 
To its fore-seeing destinies, 

Too great to float on life's smooth stream of chance. 
As individual stars are we 
Set out in God's infinity, 

With cyclic ways about His throne ; 
What if the mystic, spheric course. 
Drawn by this silent, unseen force, 

Swerve out beyond thy ken in the unknown ? 



1 What if thou livest evermore alone, 

Poor and forgotten and in thy silent place ? 
What if for bread thou gettest but a stone, 

And in thy garden no rose lends a grace ? 
Still in thy soul the souls of all the flowers 
Will fill with perfume all thy dreaming hours. 

2 What if the stars are far away and cold, 

And love hath no last kisses for thy lips — 
If thou hast found misfortune overtold, 

And joy's sweet sun hid 'neath a cloud's eclipse ', 
Still, some stray gleams must keep thy desert fair, 
And wandering breezes lift thy heavy hair. 

3 No soul but hath some sun, or star, or moon, 

That keeps itself a sacred thing of light ; 
As brooks go rambling through the rose-rapt June, 

Some joy will seek thee in thy darkest night ; 
Some hallowed dream will be fulfilled and sweet, 
Some buds will open at thy patient feet. 

4 Seek not to wrench from Fate the hoarded prize : 

Seek not to bend grim Fortune to thy need, 
Save by the upturned glance of loyal eyes, 

Save by the heart that can in silence bleed ; 
Stand in thy God-appointed place, upright, 
And thou shalt yet be victor in the fight. 



FANNY DRISCOIX. 



AS THY DAYS. 

1 Not for some future years, 

Within whose misty length 
May lie a shadow of great woe and tears, 
A burden sore of care and fears, 

He stores His promised strength. 

2 Not till my weary feet 

Dark billows stem, 
Or from my life have fled my treasures sweet, 
And the days come" when sadly I repeat, 

"I have no joy in them." 



876 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



3 But as the manna fell 

Each day from heaven, 
And for the host of waiting Israel 
Did the fierce hunger quell, 

So, too, is freely given. 

4 Strength for the daily life, 

A blessed store, 
For the small worries, and the petty strife, 
With which each hour is rife, 

Some less, or more. 

5 He hath His great supplies 

For all our ways ; 
For tempest drear, or for the sunny skies, 
Whether we weep, or songs of joy arise, 

Strength for our days. 

LUCY RANDOLPH FLEMING. 
Woodstock, Va. 1881. 



THE PEACE OF THE MOUNTAINS. 



" The mountains shall bring peace to the people."— Psalms lxxii : 2. 

1 To him who, dwelling by the restless deep, 
Has shared its wild commotion day by day, 
And felt its moaning voice, though midnight sleep 

O'er his wrapt soul had sway ; 

2 When he shall seek the purple heights again, 
And find from vexing thoughts a sweet surcease, 
How softly on his spirit falls that strain, — . 

" The mountains shall bring peace ! " 

3 " The covenant of God's peace doth still remain," 
He saith, recalling some dear word of hope, 
When golden sunbeams after chilling rain 

Brighten the mountain slope. 

4 Clearly against the azure sky they trace 

The finest spray ; they pierce the darksome grot ; 
Whilst airy footsteps of the rainbow grace 
Some unfrequented spot. 

5 How can he cherish an unworthy thought 
In presence of these everlasting hills ? 
Calmness and strength unto his soul are brought, 

And God the silence fills. 

6 Be still, my soul ! offer thine incense too, 
When vapor-wreaths from these grand altars rise, 
Reflect thy God, as mountain meres the blue 

Of the o'erbending skies. 

7 He is so near and earth so far away, 
I bid all lesser aspirations cease ; 

My God ! Thy word of promise* is my stay ; 
Thy mountains bring me peace. 

ANNIE L. SMITH. 
* "As the mountains are around about Jerusalem, so the Lord is round 
about his people from henceforth even forever." 



Warn dfytnfabr gtmdton 



Has a beautiful home opposite that of Oliver Wendell Holmes, on 
Beacon street, Boston. Mrs. Moulton says she wrote her best verses in 
the beginning of her literary career, her later productions not being half 
so simple and full of beauty." It generally works the other way, — the 
more experience one has with the pen, the more does the beauty of real 
simplicity grow upon one. Brevity and simplicity are strong points, but 
it requires greater mental power to concentrate ideas into small com- 
pass than to diffuse them all over the sheet. Carlyle once wrote to 
Emerson that he should on that particular day be obliged to write him 
a long letter, as he had not the time to write a short one." Mrs. Moul- 
ton is at present in England, and spends much of her time abroad. (1885). 
She is everywhere acknowledged to be one of the best poets of the day. 
Bled August, 1887. 

WE LAY US DOWN TO SLEEP. 

1 We lay us down to sleep, 

And leave to God the rest, 
Whether to wake and weep 
Or wake no more be best. 

2 Why vex our souls with care ? 

The grave is cool and low, — 
Had we found life so fair 
That we should dread to go ? 

3 We've kissed Love's sweet, red lips, 

And left them sweet and red ; 
The rose the wild bee sips 
Blooms on when he is dead. 

4 Some faithful friends we've f»und, 

But they who love us best, 
When we are under ground, 
Will laugh on with the rest. 

5 No task have we begun 

But Other hands can take ; 
No work beneath the sun 
For which we need to wake. 

6 Then hold us fast, sweet death, 

If so it seemeth best 
To Him who gives us breath 
That we should go to rest. 

7 We lay us down to sleep, 

Our weary eyes we close ; 
Whether to wake and weep 
Or wake no more, He knows. 

LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON. 
London, Eng., 18S3. 

THE STRENGTH OF THE HILLS. 

1 My thoughts go home to that old brown house, 

With its low roof sloping down to the east, 
And its garden fragrant with roses and thyme, 
That blossom no longer, except in rhyme, 

Where the honey bees used to feast. 

2 Afar in the west the great hills rose, 

Silent and steadfast and gloomy and gray ; 
I thought they were giants, and doomed to keep 
Their watch, while the world should wake or sleep, 

Till the trumpet should sound on the judgment day. 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, &c. 



877 



3 I used to wonder of what they dreamed 
As they brooded there in their silent might, 

While March winds smote them, or June rains fell, 
Or the snows of Winter with their ghostly spell 
Wrought in the long and lonesome night. 

4 They remembered a younger world than ours, 
Before the trees on their top were born, 

When the old brown house was itself a tree, 
And waste were the fields where now you see 
The winds astir in the tasseled corn. 

5 And I was as young as the hills were old, 
And the world was warm with the breath of Spring, 

And the roses red and the lilies white 
Budding and bloomed for my heart's delight, 
And the birds in my heart began to sing. 

6 But calm in the distance the great hills rose, 

Deaf unto raptures and dumb unto pain, 
Since they knew that Joy is the mother of Grief, 
And remembered a butterfly's life is brief, 

And the sun sets only to rise again. 

7 They will brood, and dream, and be silent, as now, 

When the youngest children alive to-day 
Have grown to be women and men, grown old, 
And gone from the world like a tale that is told, 

And even whose echo forgets to stay. 

LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON. 

In "Harper's Magazine.'' 1885. 



PETER'S DREAM. 

1 In happier days of old, when still 
Earth felt the mighty thrill 

Of heavenly presences in mortal guise, 

When angels walked with man, 

Nor yet had fallen the ban 
That drives far off the once close-girdling skies, 

In some rapt hour of prayer there came 

To Peter's heart God's word of arrowed flame. 

2 " Whate'er the Perfect Mind hath planned, 
Whate'er the Master-hand 

Hath formed to bear new witness to its power, 

And on the same sweet earth 

That gave thy being birth 
Hath set to share with thee thy little hour, 

Howe'er so outcast or so mean, 

That shalt not thou call common or unclean." 

3 Long years have fled since that stern word 
The dreamer's bosom stirred, 

And slew with fire the abject fiend of scorn ; 

Yet down the listening age 

(Our noblest heritage) 
Clear rings the mandate of the Manger-born, 

The shunned and branded Nazarene : 

" What God hath cleansed, that call not thou 



4 About us still the Gentile dwells, 
And still the vain heart swells, 

With base thanksgiving for its larger light ; 

The pharisaic cry 

Blaspheming mounts on high : 
" I thank Thee, Lord, for I am pure and white, 

And not as these, Thy castaways, 

But walk in steadfast wisdom all my days." 

5 Hard by our gates squats Caliban, 
Misshaped, inchoate man, 

The disowned brother of our lordly breed ; 
The great Unkept, Untaught, 
Whose birthright we have bought 

With doles of pottage stinted to his need, 
While on his brow our trampling heel 
Stamps deep and deeper yet the bestial seal. 

6 And thus, with higher knowledge filled, 
Our house of fools we build, 

Nor fear the writhing brute we deem accurst. 

A little while we hold 

The chain so strong of old, 
Worn now so thin, the rusty links must burst, 

And leave us face to face at last 

With all the garnered vengeance of the past. 

7 Grim truth the hoary legend spake 
Of that Titanic snake 

That coils its fettered spirals round the world — 

How yet shall snap the chain 

The old gods forged in vain, 
When evil Loki's flag of woe unfurled 

Leads Death and Chaos to the fray, 

Where, side by side, sink murderer and prey. 

8 Lo ! we, the little gods who sit 
Above the seething pit 

Where our cooped giant twists his tortured length, 

With hoarse and beast-like cries 

Threatening our sacred skies — 
Calmly we smile, at rest in conscious strength, 

Nor see that still the monster grows, 

And Ragnarok its coming shadow throws. 

9 Yet well for us, we fools and blind, 
We can no longer bind ! 

For we may loose, though late, the bonds of shame, 

And with sweet light and air 

Make pure and stifling lair 
Where crouch the sharers of our shape and name. 

And clasp the brute hand in our own, 

Which, spurned, shall crush to dust our flimsy 
throne. 

10 O brethren of the stunted brain, 

Sunk in that darkest pain 
Which knows no better hope through sense of loss ! 

With inarticulate speech, 

Bruised arms to us you reach 
Up from the shadow of the self-same Cross 

Where He who died for every man 

Wiped out in blood the ancient, man-made ban. 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



1 There is no soul too wrecked to bless, 

No hand too foul to press, 
No grovelling wretch too loathsome for our love ; 

No tainted touch he fears 

Who still, like Peter, hears 
The Crucified, low whispering from above ; 

" God, who all secret things hath seen, 

Calls naught that liveth common and unclean. 

FANNY PARNELL. 

In "The Independent." 1883. 
Died 1881. 

pss gngelht* gsljbs Jfull-er 

Was born at Savanna, 111., in 1841. At the age of thirteen she became 
perfectly deaf through congestive chills. The same complaint afflicted 
her eyes, so that much of the time she has been almost totally blind. 
While a pupil in a Deaf and Dumb Institute at Jacksonville, 111., Dr. 
CMlett procured books with raised letters, for her. No medical treat- 
ment has been able to do more than allay the suffering. She is pro- 
nounced the most voluminous writer among deaf mutes, now living. Her 
contributions both in prose and blank verse appear in many papers, and 
.nearly all the deaf mute papers published in America, are indebted to her 
formany valuable contributions. In 1883 she published a volume of poems 
called " The Venture," which has received just tributes of praise from 
Oliver Wendell Holmes, Whittier, Ella Wheeler and others. Several of 
the poems in this volume are from "The Venture," by her permission, 
and were composed during seasons of illness, or blindness, orinthenight 
time while others slept, and were committed to paper by her weeks or 
months afterwards, when strength and leisure would permit. Her 
father is an Englishman, her mother French, of Canadian extraction, 
and she is the eldest of nine children — six brothers, two of whom are 
dead, and three sisters. Every reader can but sympathize with the ten- 
der heart and cheerful activity of the authoress, to say nothing of her 
poetic talent, which coupled to her sad impediments commands thehigh- 
est esteem and admiration. As the poet Whittier says, there seems to be 
a touch of inspiration in many of her poems, and their religious fervor, 
faith and trust, are especially characteristic. 

A STRANGE HALF-CENTURY. 

Suggested by the remark of Laura D. Bridgman, in a letter written 
September 15, 1879, while she was visiting her mother at the old home- 
stead in Hanover, N. H. 

"My birthday is on the 21st of December— fifty years old !" 

1 Almost fifty years of darkness, 

Darkness deep as ever fell 
O'er the world at day's declining, 

With its wierd and waking spell ; 
Darkness so intense, no glimmer, 

Were all Nature's lights combined 
With all lights of man's inventing, 

E'er could reach the imprisoned mind. 
Yet she wails no question "why ? " 
Satisfied that by and bye 
Time with emphasis will tell : 
" Though so trying, it was well." 

2 Almost fifty years of silence, 

Silence utter and profound, 
As if Nature had grown powerless 

To produce a single sound, 
As if all the air was muffled 

Or had lost resounding force, 
Lost all power to carry echoes 

Or reveal their primal source. 



Yet she wails no question, "why ? " 
Satisfied that by and bye 
Time with emphasis will tell : 
" Though so lonely, it was well." 

3 Almost fifty years unable 

Rightly to articulate 
Exclamations, questions, answers, 

Which would show the spirit's state, 
Would reveal its joy or sorrow, 

Show its cause for hope and fear, 
Tell why mirth gives place to sadness, 
Or why falls the pearly tear. 

Yet she wails no question, "why ? " 
Satisfied that by and bye 
Time with emphasis will tell : 
" Though so grievous, it was well." 

4 Almost fifty years of toiling, 

Toiling patiently to gain 
Word by word, the common knowledge 

Others rapidly attain ; 
Word by word, the truth that reason 

Holds and will forever hold 
Far more precious than earth's treasures, 
Multiplied to countless fold. 

Yet she wails no question, "why ? " 
Satisfied that by and bye 
Time with emphasis will tell : 
" Though so tedious, it was well." 

5 Almost fifty years of groping, 

Groping cautiously about, 
Pausing oftentimes in terror, 

Oftener still in dread or doubt, 
Wondering if the sun is shining, 

Or if clouds the sky obscure, 
If the evening lamp is lighted, 
Or the food and drink are pure. 
Yet she wails no question, "why ? " 
Satisfied that by and bye 
Time with emphasis will tell : 
" Though so wearying, it was well." 

6 Almost fifty years of striving 

To win victory from defeat, 
Make a prosy fate a poem 

Millions proudly shall repeat ; 
Make for scholars and for skeptics 
Theories and questions strange, 
Arguments and views perplexing 
"When from God they dare to range. 
Yet she wails no question, "why ? " 
Satisfied that by and bye 
Time with emphasis will tell : 
" Though so mysterious, it was well.' 

7 Almost fifty years attesting 

We are not the work of chance, 
But the heirs of One who ever 

Bids us rise, achieve, advance ; 
Bids us show by wise improval 

Of our talents, small or great, 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER. &c. 



879 



We may not one jot nor tittle 
Of our Maker's praise abate. 

Yet she wails no question, "why ? " 
Satisfied that by and bye 
Time with emphasis will tell : 
" Though so onerous, it was well.", 

8 Almost fifty years declaring 

Mind is mighty and will rise 
From the wreck of sense and venture 

Boldly after crown and prize, 
Venture, strive, aspire and struggle 

Conquer, persevere and stand 
On the lofty heights of triumph, 
Known and praised in many a land. 
Yet she wails no question, " why ? " 
Satisfied that by and bye 
Time with emphasis will tell : 
'• God decreed all, it was well." 

9 Almost fifty years of hoping 

For the morning that shall end 
The protracted night of trials 

Which so clearly, strangely blend ; 
End the slow and cautious groping 

End the isolation sore, 
End the wondering and the longing, 
End them all forevermore. 

Yet she wails no question, " why? " 
Satisfied that by and bye 
Time with emphasis will tell : 
" All that God decrees is well." 



THE BLIND DEAF-MUTE. 

1 Deaf, dumb and blind ! It seems so hard, so hard, 

No sound, no sound, silence on every side ; 
Silence, as perfect, utter and profound 

As reigned when chaos yawned, deep, dark and 
wide. 

2 Deaf, dumb and blind ! It seems so hard, so hard, 

Dumb, though the mind be all ablaze with thought, 
Dumb, though the spirit's tenderest depths and height 
Are into ecstacy or frenzy wrought. . 

3 Deaf, dumb and blind ! It seems so strange, so 

strange, 
No light, no light, forever in the dark, 
Darkness most dense, wide as the world is wide, 
With no relieving glimmer, ray or spark. 

4 Deaf, dumb and blind ! Alone, wholly alone, 

Shut up in the small prison of herself, 
Resembling much a book firm closed and clasped 
And tossed as useless upon Mystery's shelf. 

5 And yet, perchance, she dwells not quite alone, 

Angels may be her visitants and friends, 
Or at the dear Lord's pitying commands 
Often the Comforter to her descends. 

6 And it may be her spirit senses, all 

Keener than ours, pierce the celestial spheres, 
And while we pitying say, " Deaf, dumb and blind," 
Eare sights delight her eyes, rare sounds her mind. 

ANGIE FULLER. 



ANGIE PULLER. 



ASHES. 



A SOLILOQUY. 

1 No sound, no sound ! no loudly chiming bell, 

Nor cannon's boom nor wind's intensest roar, 
Nor thunder peal, nor ocean's loudest swell, 
Nor music, such as high-toned organs pour, 
Or best strung harps yield from their secret store. 

2 No sound, no sound ! Silence on every side, 

A silence so profound no words can show 
Its solemn perfectness, how like a tide 

Of cold, dead waters, without ebb or flow, 
It holds, engulfs and wears by tortures slow. 

3 No sound, no sound ! An alien, though at home, 

An exile, even in my native land, 
A prisoner, too, for though at will I roam, 
Yet chained and manacled I oft must stand, 
Unmoved, though sounds vibrate on every hand. 

4 No pleasant sound, yet I am well content 

To wait until the Master deigns to say 
In tones by sympathy made eloquent, 
"It is enough, lo ! thy deliverance day 
Is dawning, weary prisoner, come away. 

ANGIE FULLER, 



1 I saw the gardener bring and strew 

Gray ashes where blush roses grew, 
The fair still roses bent them low, 

Their pink cheeks dimpled all with dew, 
And seemed to view with pitying air 
The dim gray atoms lying there. 

Ah ! bonny rose, all fragrancies, 
And life and hope and quick desires, 

What can you need or gain from these 
Poor ghosts of long forgotten fires ? 

The rose tree leans, the rose tree sighs, 

And wafts this answer subtly wise: 
"All death, all life are mixed and blent, 
Out of dead lives fresh life is sent ; 

Sorrow to these is growth for me, 

And who shall question God's decree ? " 

2 Ah ! dreary life, whose gladsome spark 

No longer leaps in song and fire, 
But lies in ashes gray and stark, 

Defeated hopes and dead desire, 
Useless and dull and all bereft — 
Take courage, this one thing is left, 

Some happier life may use thee so, 
Some flower bloom fairer on its tree, 

Some sweet or tender thing may grow 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



To stronger life because of thee. 

Content to play an humble part, 

Give of the ashes of thy heart, 
And haply God, whose dear decrees 
Taketh from those to give to these, 

Who draws the snow-drop from the snows, 

May from those ashes find a rose. 



WHOM HAVE I IN HEAVEN BUT THEE. 

1 I ask not for the streams, but for the fount ; 

I ask not for the river, but the sea : — 
When my feet stand on the eternal mount, 

Whom shall I seek, O ! Lord, but only Thee ? 

2 With new surprise, each day Thy hand I trace 

In all Thy works, so varied, grand and sweet ; 
Let me behold the mighty Master's face, 
Oh ! let me fall adoring at His feet. 

3 The ocean's caverns, crags that pierce the sky, 

Majestic trees, the human form erect, 
The worlds on worlds that round about us lie, 
Oh ! let me look upon their Architect. 

4 The prophets and apostles, — I have read 

Their words, more precious far than pearl or gold ; 
But when the holy city I shall tread, 

Their great Inspirer I would there behold. 

5 The Testaments will both be folded up 

When the Divine Testator shall appear ; 
We shall not need the sacramental cup 
When our beloved Lord himself is near. 

6 In all the devious paths that I have trod, 

A Guide invisible has led the way, 
And when I reach the city of my God 

And this great Friend shall cast His veil away, — 

7 This Friend, that has been all in all to me, 

Safe leading me through forests lone and dim, 
' Midst clouds and darkness, where I could not see, 
Can any other sight compare with Him ? 

8 A soul redeemed ! — I was the slave of sin ; 

To ransom me the Prince of Life has died ; 
And, when the golden gates shall take me in, 

Shall I not press through throngs to reach His side ; 

9 Through squadrons of bright angels and sweet saints 

Yes, past the dear home faces, pined for long, 
To meet the Lord, for whom my spirit faints, 
And pour into his ear a grateful song, — 

10 Unmindful of the crowns and harps of gold, 

All sights and sounds that there in glory meet, 
My soul's Redeemer only to behold, 

And, prostrate, kiss the nail-prints on his feet. 

MISS S. A. WOODBRIDQE. 

Trenton, N. J., Jan, 10. 1871. 
In "New York Observer." 



DAYBREAK. 

1 As, in dim woodlands, ere one rosy ray 
Calls forth the birdling from its mossy nest, 
Some fine, foregoing influence of the day 
Allures sweet music from the songster 
And in 'the dusk it murmurs dreamily ; 
Thus, oft, ere morning cometh, murmur we 
Snatches of song we warble in unrest, 
Snatches of olden hymns, whose music quaint 

Some martyr fired, or cheered some dying saint 

Lyrics which haunt the universal heart, 
Whatever creeds of intellect divide, 
Whatever joys elate or ills betide ; 
So through our lives let the dear music glide, 
Till discords die, till shadows shall depart ! 

ANNIE LENTHAL SMITH. 

Stonington, Conn. 1878. 
From "The Scarlet Oak." 

Ito. tflfrtbtty mh$ M% 

Cnmberland, near Portland, Me., was the birth-place of Miss Prince, 
who married Seba Smith, the well-known author of the humorous " Jack 
Downing Letters." When Mrs. Smith first wrote , she did so at the bid- 
ding of an impulse within. Afterward, it is said financial embarrassment 
necessitated her doing so. In 1842 she published " The Sinless Child 
and other Poems," a much praised and widely circulated volume, in 
those days- " The Roman Tribute," "The April Rain," and " The Acorn," 
are among her best productions. Her nom-de-plume wasformeily Ernest 
Helfenstein. At present (1883) she is reported in the New York " Home 
Journal," as pastor of the Independent Church of ICauestoga, N. Y„ in 
which position she gives eminent satisfaction, and is doing much good. 

CHARITY, IN DESPAIR OF JUSTICE. 

Out-wearied with the littleness and spite, 
The falsehood and the treachery of men, 
I cried, give me but justice, thinking then 
I meekly craved a common boon which might 
Most easily be granted ; soon the light 
- . Of deeper truth grew on my wondering ken, 
(Escaped baneful damps of stagnant fen,) 
And then I saw, that in my pride bedight 
I claim'd from erring man the gift of Heaven — 
God's own great vested right ; and I grew calm, 
With folded hands like stone to patience given, 
And pityings of pure love-distilling balm , 
And now I wait in quiet trust to be 
All known to God, — and ask of men, sweet 
Charity. 

ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH, 1840. 

MARY'S CHARM. 

1 'T was not the features, not the form — 

The eyes' celestial blue ; 
'T was not the blushes soft and warm, 

The lips' vermilion hue, 
The waving of her golden hair, 

The beauty of her face, 
Though her's, in sooth, was very fair, 

Nor e'en her matchless grace ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, &c m 



881 



He gazed upon her speaking eye, 

But 'twas the soul to see ; 
He inark'd the glance, the smile, the sigh, 

That spake of Purity ; 
He sought the charms that long endure, 

That beauteous make the mind ; 
He only loved the jewel pure 

That this fair casket shrined. 



ANNA CORA MOWATT. 



ARTIST AND MAN. 

1 Make thy life better than thy work. Too oft 
Our artists spend their skill in rounding soft, 
Fair curves upon their statues, while the rough 
And ragged edges of the unhewn stuff 

In their own natures, startle and offend 
The eye of critic and the heart of friend. 

2 If in the too brief day thou must neglect 
Thy labor or thy life, let men detect 

Flaws in thy work ; while their most searching gaze 
Can fall on nothing which they may not praise 
In thy well-chiselled character. The man 
Should not be shadowed by the artisan. 

ELLA WHEELER WILCOX, 1884, 



The following little gem from " Wheat and Field Flowers," is ad- 
dressed to the wife of one of Chicago's most eminent divines. The 
poems of its author, Mrs. Williams, are very much admired. During 
the holidays of '83 and '84. the hook from which it is taken came out un- 
der another name — " Treasures New and Old " gotten out in elegant 
style suitable for a holiday gift. 



SENT FROM GOD. 



1 I asked the Sun, 

Canst tell me what love is ? 

He answered only a smile 

Of golden light. 

2 I prayed the flowers : 

Oh ! tell me what is love ! 
Only a fragrant sigh was wafted 
Through the night. 

3 Is love the soul's true life ? 
Or is it but the sport 

Of idle summer hours ? I asked 
Of Heaven above. 

4 In answer, God sent thee, 
Dear heart, to me ; 

And I no longer question 
What is love. 

MRS. ALICE L. WILLIAMS. 

Chicago, HI. 



I CANNOT LOSE. 

1 Now summer finds her perfect prime, 

Sweet blows the wind from western calms, 
On every bower red roses climb, 

The meadows sleep in mingled balms. 
Nor stream, nor bank the wayside by, 

But lilies float, and daisies throng, 
Nor space of blue and sunny sky 

That is not cleft with soaring song. 

flowery morns, O tuneful eyes, 
Fly swift, my soul ye cannot fill ! 

Bring the ripe fruit, the garnered sheaves, 
The drifting snows on plain and hill, 
Alike to me falls frosts and dews ; 
But heaven, O Lord, I cannot lose. 

2 "Warm hands to-day are clasped in mine ; 

Fond hearts my mirth or mourning share ; 
And over hope's horizon line, 

The future dawns serenely fair. 
Yet still, though fervent vow denies, 

I know the rapture will not stay ; 
Some wind of grief or doubt will rise 

And turn my rosy sky to gray. 

1 shall awake in rainy morn 

To find my hearth left lone and drear; 
Thus, half in sadness, half in scorn, 
I let my life burn on as clear, 

Though friends grow cold, or fond love woos 
But heaven, O Lord, I cannot lose. 

3 In golden hours, the angel Peace 

Comes down and broods me with her wings, 
I gain from sorrow, sweet release, 

I mate me with divinest things ; 
When shapes of guilt and gloom arise, 

And far the radiant angel flees, 
My song is lost in mournful sighs, 

My wine of triumph left but lees. 
In vain for me her pinions shine, 

And pure, celestial days begin ; 
Earth's passion-flowers I still must twine, 

Nor braid one beauteous lily in. 
Ah, is it good or ill I choose ! 
But heaven, O Lord, I cannot lose. 

4 So wait I. Every day that dies 

With flush and fragrance born of June, 
I know shall more resplendent rise, 

Where is no need of sun nor moon. 
And every bud on love's low tree 

Whose mocking crimson flames and falls, 
In fullest life, I yet shall see 

High blooming by the jasper walls. 
Nay, every sin that dims my days, 

And wild regrets that veil the sun, 
Shall fade before those dazzling rays, 

And my long glory be begun. 

Let the years come to bless or bruise, 
Thy heaven, O Lord, I shall not lose. 

EDNA D. PROCTOR. 



882 



WOMAN IN SACRED SONG. 



DRAXY'S HYMN. 



1 I cannot think but God must know 
About the thing I long for so ; 

I know He is so good, so kind, 
I cannot think but He will find 
Some way to help, some way to show 
Me to the thing I long for so. 

2 I stretch my hand — it lies so near, 
It looks so sweet, it looks so dear, 

" Dear Lord," I pray, "Oh ! let me know 
If it is wrong to want it so ! " 
He only smiles, He does not speak ; 
My heart grows weaker and more weak 
With looking at the thing so dear, 
Which lies so far and yet so near. 

3 Now, Lord, I leave at Thy loved feet 
This thing which looks so near, so sweet ; 
I will not seek, I will not long — 

I almost fear I have done wrong. 
I'll go, and work the harder, Lord, 
And wait till by some loud, clear word 
Thou callest me to Thy loved feet 
To take the thing so dear, so sweet. 

"SAXE HOUC." 

In Scribner. 



By buttress and tower, and postern arch, 
Of many a Jericho's walls of pride ; 

And still behind the rallying ranks 

The Jordan flows over all its banks. 

Retreat is death ! — and the work we do, 
Seems an idle march, as in days of yore, 

No victory won, no conflict through, 
But timing footsteps, o'er and o'er. 

4 But courage, hearts ! be brave and strong, 

Ye bear in your midst the Ark of God, 
The path that your feet have travelled long, 

The bleeding feet of the martyrs trod. 
Soon shall be ended God's week of years, 

The spell of silence shall soon be riven, 
The victor-cry banish all your fears, 

" Shout, for the city to you is given ! " 
From the sunset shore comes the rallying word, 

The Father of Waters has caught the cry. 
New England's hills have the challenge heard, 

And in answering echoes made reply. 
The world moves on, — our God is true, 

Without Him never a sparrow falls, 
The triumph-hours of the past review, 

Count the Jericho's fallen walls. 

ALICE M. GUERNSEY. 

Brattleboro, Vt. 1885. 



THE WOMAN OF CANAAN. 



A SONG OF TRUST. 



1 My wondering eyes see a city rise, 

Fair on the Jordan banks, 
The sky above it is clear and blue, 

The air is sweet with the breath of morn : 
Its walls are strong and its guards are true, 

The siege or attack it laughs to scorn. 
I see its army's glittering ranks. 

I hear its warders' challenge cries. 

2 And at break of day a strange array 

Unfolds to my wondering ken ; 
A long procession passes by, — 

I see in its midst the ark of God, 
I know that this host with courage high 

Through the waves of Jordan in safety trod. 
I hear the tramp of armed men, 

And the trumpets' call to the deadly fray, 

But never a voice through all the way. 



3 The cycle rounds with the circling year, 
The days of old are the new and here. 

Beset with foes on every side, 
Still the hosts of God sweep their mystic march, 



"And Jesus answered and said, 'O woman, great is thy faith, be it unto 
ee even as thou wilt.' " 

1 Outlined against the eastern skies 

The cedar-crowned hills of Lebanon rise, 

And away in the distant west, 
The Mediterranean blends its blue 
In the amber red of the sunset's hue 

That glows on its placid breast. 

2 Bathed in the light of the sunset's fire, 
They stood on the coast of sea-swept Tyre, 

Christ and His chosen band, 
When a woman came with a humble plea, 
" O thou Son of David ! pity me," 

And she knelt on the dripping sand. 

3 " Send her away ! " the people cried, 

As she closer pressed to the Master's side, 

" She has vexed us with her cries ;" 
But her simple prayer the Saviour heard, 
And the light of a loving pity stirred 
In the depths of His tender eyes. 

4 " woman ! great is thy faith," spake He, 
" Even as thou wilt, be it unto thee ;" 

And she went on her joyful way. 
Down through the centuries dim and slow 
Those sweet words spoken so long ago 

Seem echoing to-day. 



MISCELLANEOUS. CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR'S, EASTER, Jcc. 



883 



5 Ages have passed since the splendor bright 
Of the Tyrian sunset's amber light 

Fell on that group by the sea ; 
But the simple sentence that woman heard, 
The lesson of faith in the Master's word, 

Still liveth for you and me. 

6 O' woman of Canaan ! thy simple trust 
Springs like a flower from the buried dust 

Of the centuries dead and gone, 
And we feel in this dawning of woman's hour, 
That by woman's faith, and woman's power, 

The victory shall be won. 

JULIA MILLS DUNN. 
Moline, LU., Aug. 1885. 



In a poem on the late General Gordon are these graceful lines : 

Oh ! it was wonderful that he should choose 

To dwell among the poor, and vile, and lost, 
All things repulsive ; where was all to lose, 

And naught to gain ; save, at extremes t cost, 
A few dark souls ; — jewels the Lord might see — 

Whose sight is not as ours : whose love is broad- 
Which, purged from ignorance and infamy, 

Might glorify the living Father, God. 

MRS. RE QUA. 

Aurora, I1L Nov. 1885. 



tors. Jamtt Wmtx $e <$m 



Ha3 just published a volume of poems entitled ' ' Stones for the Temple, 
from which the following verses are selected. The author is evidently 
one who has suffered much, and thus learned valuable lessons in life, 
obtained in no other way- In the language of the "Christian Herald:" 
" The consolation which she received of the Master, she distributes in 1 
tuneful language to her fellow-believers, and we think no Christian, and 
especially none who are passing through trial, can read her work without 
thankfulness and profit, as well as pleasure." Nov. 20, 1885. 



FKOM THE POEM 

"IN HIS FOOTSTEPS." 

1 Sometimes the snow of a drifting cloud 

Comes sifted among the flowers, 
But my dearest treasures it cannot enshroud, 
And the sun-rays stoop to the heads that are bowed, 

Till snow turns to freshening showers. 

2 The way is rough, is often rough, 

And over the mountains high ; 
But I sing as I climb o'er each frowning bluff, 
The shining summit I'm sure enough, 
Is nearer the throne-lit sky. 

3 And it may be there, it may be there, 

I shall catch a passing gleam 
Of the garnished towers of the city fair ; 
Or the sapphire arch of the gateway where 

The glorified go in. 

MRS. RK QUA, 



SUNSET. 



1 The setting sun 
Fills all the sky 
With sweet good-bye 
When day is done. 

2 But sunset here 
Is sunrise where 
The day has gone. 
So time rolls on ! 

3 Oh ! when the snow 
Of sunset years 

Shall come, 
And life — like wing 
Of birds that sing 

And fly- 
Soft folded lie 
Awaiting doom 
Of night and gloom, 
May we abide 

Content 
i That beauty lent,, 
The other side, 
Beyond the tide 
Of doubt and tears, 

Shall show 
In sunrise glow ! 



ESTHER T. HOU8H. 

In " The Woman's Century." 



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